#ana writes

[emmaduerrewatson]

huge shoutout to everyone who started their blog when they were teenagers and now they are in their 20s and 30s

#ana writes

[rarephloxes]

A Feeling So Peculiar

Elain Appreciation Week, day 7 - Free Day

Hi friends! Long time no see:))))

I've been extra busy with life and med school, but this fic has been brewing for some time now, and what better moment than @elainarcheronweek to share it? This is part 1 of what I endearingly call the Healer!Elain story. It's officially my first fic with a Taylor lyric as a title and I'm very proud!!!

Anyway, here is this fucking thing <3

(1) 

 A ghost slides through the flaps of a tent into its cold, vacant interior.

   The space is cramped, a rough bed of furs, a small table filled with piles of heavy tomes, ink-splattered journals, and clothing. The heavy smell of mold, grass, and candle wax permeates the air, almost tangible like dust through a shaft of yellow light.   

  There’s a slight tremble to the hands which reach for the half-burned candles sitting sadly on the far end of the table, lighting them with slow, feeble movements, the only survivors of a dreadful day.

  Hands that are not blue and translucent, but pale and corporeal, numbed from the cold but filled with blood. 

  The ghost doesn’t contemplate any of it, set in her chore. There are things to be done, still. It is night and she’s gone inside. Yet it repeats, a loop inside her mind, there are things to be done.

   A swoosh of breath sparks a coal-smudged piece of timber which quickly develops into a sickly fire. It barely warms the minute space. It’s necessary, nevertheless. Like her, it does its job.

  Tent.

  Light.

  Wash. 

  Lay.

 A book with its spine cracked allows a weary mirror to lean on it, a lonely figure moving through it. The specter in the mirror finds a copper bowl, frigid water inside, a ring of humidity staining the book cover used as its resting place. A smudge of soft pink and crimson reflects on the rust-speckled surface. A braid of what used to be bright brown hair lays limp on a tired, curved spine, brown eyes with deep purple half-moons underneath - the only hint of color on once flushed features.

 Her face remains impassive as her hands dip a cloth beneath the icy surface tinting the water brown.

 The amount is insufficient to wash away the grime and blood of the day, but Elain will not leave her tolerably cold tent for more, so she makes do. 

 Alone she lingers in her chair, the only creature inside, water dripping from her hands and drawing patterns in the dirt powdering her arms.

  An image intrudes her mind, for a few seconds. Warm tan hands bringing a deep bucket of water they would heat themselves with a careful touch. She thinks of the thankful smile she’d give for it. She wonders, the thought whispered like a swish of butterfly wings, of what his face would say as he cares for her. Maybe his scar would reflect firelight just so, and she would forget where she is and allow herself to blush. She welcomes it, for the minute it sparks until the next when it fizzles.

 As predicted, the water is only enough for her arms and face. Once, the disgust alone would be a reason to risk outside, maybe dare the nearby stream, or else sleep would escape her stench, running away with a hand plugging its nose.

 Elain plops down on her pallet, fur covers warming her body, her tight muscles consoled by the rough structure beneath. It is in no way comfortable, only it’s reliable and quiet. One of the best tents in their camp, the one privilege the High Lady’s sister has, if only because it is the only one to be had. 

 Most importantly, it doesn’t die or spray contaminated blood into her face. It does its job as it is, with all its faults. It stays still through the night and belongs to her.

 There’s sleep to be had. Poor, fitful sleep. But it does its job as it is. 

 Tomorrow, she knows, she’ll immerse herself in the unforgiving cold from the stream, and a faerie will emerge, dress, and present herself to her duties at the main healer’s tent.

 There’s always work to be done.

(2)

 The first time Elain sees a healer, there’s a woman screaming. Loud, painful bellows that have harried maids coming in and out of heavy wooden doors with buckets of steaming water, clean and in turn, bloody towels. Nesta holds her shoulders, small fingers digging absently into Elain’s clavicles through her pink cotton nightgown. Barely a year older than Elain, yet she sees such wisdom in her eldest sister’s eyes, as if Nesta knows all the secrets of the universe at the soft age of 7. There’s no place in Archeron Hall Nesta could go where Elain wouldn’t follow. They’re supposed to be asleep, but there are no dreams to be had during a storm like the one that has been pouring down, soaking the garden soil into swimming pools for frogs and threatening to bring down even the wisest and sturdiest of oak trees. 

  Soon, there will be a deafening quiet, quickly followed by a babe’s booming cries. Elain thinks it just like the noise that sounds right before one of her father’s ships is about to leave the shore, taking fairy dust and bright-colored jewels to the continent, where they will be sold to queens and wizards. She knows it because Nesta is always explaining the world around them to her. 

 It’s Feyre, born in the bleak hours of the night, lighting tearing down the sky like a claw through silk.

 Their governess catches them, huddled by an alcove, spying on the birth of the smallest of them as if they are as inconspicuous as flies on a wall.

 “Come,” she demands, a small smile on the tough line of her lips, “Your sister awaits you.”

 It’s the only time a healer was the bringer of fortune and good news.

(3)

Madja had her fingers pressed around Elain’s wrist. 

 The ancient healer’s brown eyes were focused on the time counter ticking on the wall, steady knobby knuckles cradling Elain’s palm.

 If Elain had feeling in any part of her body, if even a single inch of soft, hollow skin wasn’t as numb as a reflective glacier tip, she would have been able to feel her own heartbeat fighting against the High Lord’s favored healer’s fingertips. Her wooden eyes, however, remain filmy, like coffee sat still cooling outside for too long. 

 The bedding should have been the downiest she ever felt, the warm hug of a thousand sheep who only survive in the mountain range closest to Dawn Court. Called Woolen Peaks, because during spring one would be hard-pressed to find a stretch of land free of the bleating creatures, also known for secreting iridescent mucus from their blue snouts. A sea of endless white. 

 Elain should’ve loved to have known that, should’ve giggled, and maybe even requested to see such charming animals. 

 Once, she might have.

 There were no sounds in the bed chamber but those of instruments being enclosed in a lovingly used leather bag, which promptly vanished into the fold between worlds for later use. 

 “I believe tea is in order” Madja said in the rough monotone of age, voice traveling through the air, her gaze watchful like a wise tree, leading Nesta and Feyre to exit the sunlit room.

 Elain was profoundly grateful for the silence, the stillness of her mind, her whole being stripped down to understanding the heat around her, registering the passage of time solely through decoding the illumination, no previous knowledge guiding her thoughts, images of old folded into drawers, only an amalgam of threads in her mind, the fear to pull at any of them curbed, until any will was pressed so flat it vanished into particles. The effort, like stopping water with a barrage of hands, to tune out rhythmic drumming in her ears.

 There were the dreams, of course. Sad. Unavoidable. Drenched in foreign sentiments that left her dizzy and breathless, trembling through the aftershocks of a rumbling earth no one else seemed to notice. Those came and scrambled her meticulous system of calmness. Elain, in her excruciating bouts of clarity, hated them with a strength her strange body found unfamiliar, hated how they made Nesta look as though she was watching a duckling swim into a waterfall through a looking glass. How they made Feyre’s face contort into hopelessness.

  Hated how they made her see.

 Those are not mine; she’d plead silently on particularly violent nights; I would know, I once would have known.

 Elain closed her eyes and searched for the wall of dark swirling steel delimitating her mind. The ivy branches were nearly covering every inch of cold metal now, blooming in sleepiness. Her closed lids allowed the sun breaching the skin to paint her vision a newly comforting shade of red.

 Red had always been Nesta’s color. Nesta’s dresses, Nesta’s fire, Nesta’s anger. Or the insubstantial maroon of the fire in her family’s frozen cottage, the violent crimson of the carcasses Feyre brought home. Those had never awakened thoughts of safety before. Protection, maybe, like a cage made of thorns and spikes. But never the safety of a hearth, of burgundy crackling fire.

Now, when her thoughts gently explored the unknown paths in her mind, red would forge itself into crisp Autumn leaves. Bergamots and warm skin

 Elain buried herself deeper into the covers.

 She left before contemplating any of it.

⠀

(4)

There is a house on a land that is surrounded by ivy-covered iron walls.

 A wrap-around porch cracked open by vicious thorns that sprout from the ground, the rotten wood gouged open, foliage like teardrops on every crack, splinters shimmering on air, spores in the wind.

 A felled roof, with a mighty willow trunk through it - a stab wound on a soft, white underbelly - warms the rain inside in a mother’s embrace, a shroud of dark green moss slipping from the gable into the stillness inside

The front door is open, a beckoning hand of wispy white smoke so thin one wouldn’t be sure whether it is only a trick of the pressing nebulous light.

 If a breeze like the grey finger of an ancient hand were to curl around it and move the hinges in a half-moon motion, a woman would be seen on the inside.

 She is tucked upon herself, sleeping on disintegrating wool and dye, the remnants of a beautiful rug. The slope of her waist breathes up and down like the rolling of a hill.

 The room around her is filled to the brim, clocks covering an entire wall, some pointers spinning madly onto themselves, some turning with the patience of a grandfather reading a book to his lineage. 

 Rain, it reads on the chipped blue label of a numberless clock, a hand circling in a rhythmic tick, a mass of angry black clouds where midnight should be, the drawings changing around the wheel from April showers to jolly drizzle.

 There are rusty gardening tools beneath a boarded-up window and opened sacks of humus bleed into the abandoned floors. Unnervingly arranged dead seeds form a stream towards the shadow beneath a hand-painted chest of drawers.

 An open portmanteau rests on the wall framed by rays of moribund light squeezing through rickety walls; lavish ragged dresses and dusty stuffed bunnies swimming within; pink baby shoes and over-washed underskirts having a tea party at the bottom.

 Lined-up novels on bookshelves lay on top of each other in the comfort of touch, interspaced with torn childish letters in alphabetic order. A tiny cloak made of velvet hangs on a chair as if a visitor dropped by for tea.

 A precarious chandelier hovers watchfully over the lonely sleeping woman, unsafe chain links repaired with strong white threads that spread unevenly on the whole ceiling.

 Guarded by an unnatural radius of clean floor, a white gown lies.

 Sewn to perfection, beaded with gleaming pearls and the most delicate of laces. Impeccable seams, regal lines.

 A dress made mindful of love, of promise. A dress fit for a future princess.

 A rumble of thunder shakes the house as the pointer in the blue clock approaches woeful clouds.

 Next to it, a black clock with eight bent lines shooting from the sides of its mechanism box moves from sleepy lids to the daunting indication of bug wide eyes in a resounding clang.

 Come see, flurry black bodies with milky white eyes descend on long lines of silk hanging from the ceiling. Siblings, mothers, and children crawl over the mold, spidery legs fortifying supporting beams, the walls, covering memories in a shield of white.

 Come see come see come see come see

 I do not wish to open my eyes; she mumbles.

 I do not wish; she rolls to her side; her nightgown catching in the shards beneath.

 I do not want; she covers her face with a feeble palm.

 I do not feel; she insists.

  You must, the wind howls, rattles her clothes, scrapes down her skin. Your house is dying.

 The hearth coughs soot, black and filthy like a diseased lung.

 I do not see; she screams, eyes sewn shut, tears fighting to slip through the sutures, cracked fingernails pulling at the roots of her hair, weeds from soil. I am no longer this body.

 The unstoppable hand of time reaches midnight.

Storm water slides down the walls in a furious current, washing away the grime and dislodging all the clocks. Those crack and splash onto the rising puddles on the floor with various clangs, cuckoos flailing madly in their springs before falling into final silence.

 The bookshelf cracks under a stretch of ceiling that collapses, books losing themselves from each other, weeping in their solitude as they drown in now waist-deep water, loose papers with family drawings (Mum, Dad, Nesta, Me, and Feyre) soften and rip, the colors bleeding and blending into undistinguished blobs of ink.

 Seeds of all shapes twirl wildly in whirlpools, and a window box of dead flowers floats aimlessly in the chaos. In the aquatic graveyard beneath them lays a dress of snow, pulled until it is trapped below the floorboards; a bunny covers itself in an old velvet cloak, lingering tragically hopeful underneath the hand-painted dresser.

Cobwebs are unwoven by each violent raindrop, supporting beams breaking like bones.

 The woman stands limply in the midst of it all, eyes unseeing, unaware of the fatal torrent around her.

  There is a cause to her silence, just as there is a cause to a collapsed house.

 I am made of fear, she mulls under the debris, quiet in the wreckage, silent in the aftermath

 There’s nothing else for me but forever.

(5)

  The House of Wind’s library was the biggest private collection Elain had ever seen. Rows upon rows of carefully curated stories, some ancient with cracking leather covers, tell-tale signs of use staining the spines, dented with the accumulated pressure of readers’ hands. Other books seemed new, the residual smell of press machine oil and ink lingering on the pages, spines unbroken.

  Nesta had smuggled romance books from their old village’s dusty bookstore for years, kept them below a loose floorboard in their cottage, discreetly wrapping them in old, moth-eaten clothes to prevent damage. Nesta had cherished those books, had wished for them, and would come into a nasty mood when it was time to return them to the store to avoid the wrath of a deceived salesman with the law by his side.

  Old habits die hard, Elain discerned, as her sister slipped a pocket-sized, pink-covered booklet into the folds of her dress. Even with permission to own the piece, Nesta still chose to take it for herself like a criminal. Never conceding, never compromising. 

  Elain eyes remained unmoving while she made her inspections, the unbending lids to the husk which sheltered her thoughts. She had been counting the organized shelves, internally categorizing books within her eyesight.

 83 with single-worded titles, 6 – 12 letters.

102 with double-worded titles, the first being predominately articles.

329 with three words in the title, a maximum of 27 letters.

  A small fold in her brow flattened into the clear glass of her forehead, all the muscles in Elain’s face relaxing as the shallowness of her research settled her bones.

 Elain was perched on the window’s nook, manufactured lightness to her sentience, while Nesta was lounging straight-backed on a velvet armchair, both hawk-eyed towards their worries. Biscuits grew stale and tea turned cold in gleaming silver trays between them.

  There was one volume, Elain noticed, with undisguised and not yet restrained annoyance, which clashed horribly with her elegant system of grouping books by minimalist names. There’s control in succinct titles. There’s calmness in brevity. No space for subterfuge, for mazes or threads leading to somebody else’s memories, eyes not of her own.

 A raging woman made of flame, screaming screaming screaming-

 One blink of cavern-like pupils.

 514 publications with respectable construction.

 Not that one, though.

 Norton’s Concise Manual for Swift Diagnosis and Treatment of Battlefield Injuries

 First, it blatantly lied. There was no brevity of title or length, the heavy-looking tome glaringly thicker than a closed fist. A deceiving book. Elain’s head moved to the side, instinctually, the skin of her neck folding into the unpracticed movement.

 A deception not even attempting to remain cloaked. What a disagreeable structure.

 No balance, no harmonious restraint.

 11 words in the name, what indisputable distaste. 

 70 letters made tiny to fit into its obnoxious shelf back. 

  Elain wanted it gone.

(6)

  The guest room was soft, like the lingering feel of worn leather. 

 There was light everywhere, reflecting from mirrors and vanity vials, bleaching the dark wood floors. It created the most delightful shapes under her eyelids if she gazed out the window just right.

 Incandescent.

 Perfectly blinding.

 Elain could stay inside all day, motionless above uncreased bed linens. 

 Frozen in the armchair with a book resting in peace on her lap.

 Unless, of course, it was night.

 There was nothing uncovered beneath revealing starlight.

 No cave, no shelter, only the stoic awareness of a seasick mind.

Melting snow; ethereal crestfallen swans; the breakage of a woman who would have never begged; a lake so deep it is bottomless.

Bottomless black eyes, all-seeing, swirling, a current so strong it is the hands that push you down, down into the whispering voice that loves you while killing you.

 The shards of porcelain on the floor were still beautiful, if only someone mended them.

 Elain grabbed each one and placed them delicately on a tray, using a finely made doily to sweep the warm tea spilled on the floor

 She padded slowly down the stairs, nightgown dragging around her feet.

 Broken china rested on the kitchen countertop, Nuala would take care of it, see to it with the loving touch of an artisan who was ageless and immortal.

 Elain reached for the multicolored leaves inside a mason jar under the window, setting them inside the copper pan with boiling water over the stovetop.

 Only her hands, if she blinked, started to wither with age, and a black box of fury appeared between them-

 The coolness of the counter beneath her young, translucent fingers.

 Her mind stalled for half a second, hesitating, unsure, then searched until it found it.

 Anger for the unpalatable book.

 Elain had something to do.

  ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ 

  Libraries are known for their solitude. A place for reflection, for diving deep between words, for biting into a book and spitting out a seed-shaped thought.

  Elain walked barefoot on the soft expensive carpet beneath her feet. Sangravah patterns, she noted, not quite sure of how she had known so.

 The book still stood where it always had, after Navigation for Beginners (3 words, 23 letters). It was just… there. Like its existence wasn’t a disrespect to the Mother herself.

 Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, clumsy and irritated hands grabbed the dark blue cover and, unprepared for its weight, let it fall with a muted thud.

 The pages fell open, a warm invitation, into the carefully drawn figure of a lacerated spleen. ( when the pages fell open, her eyes couldn’t help but see)

 Mindful of the spleen’s vascularization, a Concentric Mending Spell (page 278) must be placed using the middle, ring and little finger, pinpointing the magic into the gash and closing it quickly thus avoiding fatal hemorrhagic shock. The healer’s pointer finger and thumb must only locate the laceration, while the palm concentrates the spell, and the latter three fingers expel it. Previous use of whole-hand magic in repairing interior cuts has led to unwanted tissue adherence and is advised against when in treatment of internal organ damage (see Index for Whole-Hand Magic).

 Elain blinked once, then twice. 

 Smoothness replaced the furrow in her brows and with a short tilt of her head, Elain brushed back her golden curtain of hair with an absent hand as she ran the pad of a curious finger along the lines, her knees completely pressed down on the rug.

 Those instructions sounded nothing like the healing she had experienced from Madja.

 The ancient fae had only felt her, placing her palms on either side of her head or using unfamiliar copper tools to measure some information she deemed important but escaped Elain’s logic. Madja had moved her hands over Elain’s body as she had once seen a Child of the Blessed do over a clear glass orb during a town square fair.

 A quiet, expanding bubble of pressure grew from the pit of Elain’s belly until it lay underneath her skin, soft light shimmering behind once dulled, wooden eyes.

 The intricate directives from the book were precise and sure, based on wisely curated knowledge and the pure need to guide those who could be good to others. Save them, even.

 Elain held the book kindly in her hands, resting it on her arms as she skittered over to her room in fastened steps so as not to attract unwanted attention.

 Under the shy rising sun of the following morning, a side lamp - a friend to a sleepless, captivated woman in a sunlit room – rested with its oil completely burnt.

(7)

The townhouse was empty when Elain woke up.

 It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, most of the house’s occupants were busy, political figures with a multitude of urgent daily tasks.

 Not that Elain was particularly aware. 

 She had been furtively reading every healing book she could get her hands on, and the more fascinated she became, the less she seemed to register the comings and goings of the routine around her.

She could barely help it, could she? It was an entire world she was becoming privy to. It had never occurred to her as a human to be curious about such things. In fact, she doubted anyone in the Human Lands had any notion of the delicacy and potency of Healing. The healers back home had to rely on herbs, cold or warm wet cloths, and wishful thinking to cure someone, if they were even able to achieve such a feat.

 Not home anymore, she would think, instinctually, and remember the towering walls she longed to be housed within, of luxurious balls, of blue eyes so bright they were sapphires, of a simple band of iron on a delicate finger.

 Elain turned to her books.

 Mending charms, diagnostic spells, potions. Instruments with the most varied, peculiar purposes. Special needles could be used to draw blood, and expertly assembled lenses could reveal what lay within it. Armbands imbued with magic could indicate the strength of a patient’s blood pressure.

 The body was made of such intricate systems, which worked together magnificently to perform delightful, orchestrated functions. She was mesmerized by all of it.

 Elain had also taken to helping in the kitchens as well. Nesta and Feyre tended to worry and watch Elain much more closely whenever she stayed in her room too long, and it was exponentially harder to read what she wanted when they were around.

 You shouldn’t concern yourself with these things, she feared they would say, the shadow of a winged male behind them. Maybe you should try reading something else, something with nicer pictures, or lighter stories to ease your mind.

 Those kind words, seemingly thoughtful advice, and concern would dwindle her precious books one by one, and then she would have nothing again.

 Elain hated it too, how they were always looking at her with disheartened gazes. Not only her sisters but of all the Inner Circle. They never understood anything of what she had to say, would never credit any of her thoughts. Even the fox twitched its nose and bent his head to the side with confusion - on the occasion his face wasn’t drenched in pain and longing. 

 But she had tried. She had told them of the changed woman with feathers set aflame. Warned them of the tempestuous owner of the onyx box, only for it to fall on seemingly deafened ears, her speech only another line added to Feyre’s forehead, another bolt of iron in Nesta’s spine, another worry for someone else had to deal with.

 Only Elain could see, and for that, she remained invisible.

 The dough flattened smoothly under the roller; Elain’s arms loosened into the motion. The floured surface of the worktable was crammed with little jars of sugar and jams, multipurpose cloths, and an open cookbook. She would finish her pastries, leave them resting on the windowsill then hurry upstairs. Hopefully, her sisters would see them and take much longer to search for her, allowing Elain to have the afternoon she was carefully crafting for herself.

 With the soft ding of an egg-shaped time counter, Elain took out a tray of perfectly golden crusted squares and placed them on the cleared table.

 There was, if she was honest, a soothing quality to baking. The gentleness of each step lulled her mind and made it easier for her to tune out external and internal frictions, focusing only on the motion of her body.

 As she dried her hands in her apron, pastries gleaming with homemade poisonberry jam, Elain heard the soft padding of boots down the hallway, a slithering shadow curling around the doorframe and disappearing as quickly as it came.

 With haste, she fled the kitchen and went to her room to find the singularity of calmness.

⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ 

 Dinner was a loud affair, as it always was, so Elain waited until they were all overtly satisfied and tipsy to approach her sister in the drawing room. The looming threat of war had yet to diminish the utter happiness Feyre’s return had on Rhysand and his friends.

 Feyre was sprawled on the couch, the spot next to her newly vacated by a stumbling Mor, who had claimed the need for beauty sleep. 

 “How are you feeling today?” her sister asked, her long fingers dragging lovingly over Elain’s arm. A caress she is sure her sister would have never allowed herself to even try, if it weren’t for the drink-induced fog on her mind.

 “Just fine,” Elain said, and then with the planned drop of her chin and the openness of seemingly unsure eyes, she continued “I was wondering if you could call for Madja again,”

 Fey sat up in alarm, which could attract Nesta’s piercing, preoccupied gaze, so Elain hurried to add “She mentioned some sort of sleeping draught the last time, I believe I could make good use of it,”, watching the other side of the room with the corner of her eye to make sure Nesta was still in her hushed conversation with Amren. 

 “Oh,” Feyre visibly relaxed, and some of the tension harbored between Elain’s shoulder blades loosened. “Of course, I can send for her,” her youngest sister confirmed, and the tight fist of anxiety in Elain’s gut released its tight grip, replaced by tentative anticipation. 

 “I’m so glad you’re taking care of yourself.”

⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ 

The calendar on the wall indicated the start of the weekend.

  I believed it Monday still, Elain thought to herself.

  She was sitting in the living room, having a late breakfast by the window.

  An odd sight, the antonym of the barely acknowledged empty chair below early sunlight, collecting the friendly conversation around. There was no one else to notice so.

  Feyre had told Elain the previous afternoon – while hurriedly moving down the hallway, rushing outside for some appointment she didn’t even consider explaining - that Madja would come to the townhouse at ten o’clock in the morning, and that she would try to join the appointment, but was unsure if she would be able to.

  Nesta was, as she so often was those days, in Amren’s apartment, strengthening her magic. Elain thought she’d heard why that was but couldn’t remember.

Maybe a dream, then.

  Distantly, something in Elain longed to also have that privilege. A tutor, someone to guide her in learning this well of uncharted territory inside, but that consideration was swiftly swept under a sodden rug.

  A knock on the front door had Elain on her feet, shaking her head as if staving off an unseen fog.

  It had been considerably hard, trying to maintain herself awake. She had reached and held so strongly to the absence of her mind that it had become nearly impossible to keep herself lucid on the rare occasions she had wanted to. There was a particularly interesting book on the history of Healing Magic, thankfully written in the common tongue – unlike a large part of the Medicinal Section in the library – that had Elain repeatedly dozing off, either proverbially or literally, in the same way, she had gladly done numerous times.   Before it had been a welcoming state, the static of nothingness, but it was consuming her now in a way she hadn’t understood, glad as she had been for the reprieve from her life. 

 These epiphanies often came and went like waves. Sometimes she would allow the ships to go in with the high tide and return with small storytelling orbs of white light.  Sometimes the boats would be swallowed whole by the tyrannical sea, drowned to the bottom until only a clear empty surface stretched on, the reflective glow of crystal spheres crushed in the sand below.

 Now, she wanted something more.

 There were things she wanted to know.

 Madja stood on the front steps in her healer robes. The magic surrounding her was cool and soothing, the relaxing breeze on a perspired forehead. Elain wondered if the old fae is the type to enlighten a room simply by standing in it.

 Elain ushered her into the already prepped sitting room, an open notebook, its pages organized in scribbles, sat on the arm of the host’s armchair.

  “You seem to be in better spirits,” Madja began once they were both comfortable sitting, pleasantries exchanged. “But I was called in to see the need to prescribe sleep medication.”

  “I asked my sister for your presence, yes” Elain stammered. “I have questions, and was hopeful you could aid me in finding the answers,”

  Madja sipped her tea with steady hands and eyed Elain with a look she had seldomly encountered directed at her.

  Interest.

  “My time is yours, Lady Elain.”

  The leather-bound notebook was humid from the sweat in her hands, some ingrained sense in her mind making the back on her neck pinprick and her knuckles curl as if afraid of a straight ruler.

  “Well,” she breathed in once, then blinked. “In most medical texts, there are numerous examples and experiments on healing fae bodies. I found in one of Joseph Norton’s books many references to the need for quick healing, done with moderate care, and modest effectiveness rates yet high survival chances. Practices are much more rudimentary than the ones from Annabelle Rite’s manuals. She maintains through all her works the extreme need for balanced, methodical, time-consuming procedures, which allows her to utilize whole-hand magic with minimal side effects, and it seems so curious to me that she would even attempt to do so with so many predecessors discouraging it so deeply...”

 She shook her head again, blushing – truthfully! - in a fashion she hadn’t for years, 

  “But I am unsure of why would fae people even need healing practices, if there are entire collections dedicated to explaining the varied ways in which the body heals itself, at higher rates than any other known species. Wouldn’t the spells muddle the body’s own magic? It sounds unnecessary, why isn’t it enough?”

  Madja settled her teacup down and laid back further in her armchair, eyes crystalline and lips tugging at the side for an aged smile.

  “It would depend on what sort of injury we’d be discussing. Internal bleeding, for instance, if small enough will be dealt with by the body’s own magic. It is noticeable in the evolution of hematomas, as they change colors as the blood is reabsorbed and the blood vessels are restored. Now, when internal bleeding comes from blunt trauma – falling from a high distance, for example - the body would not be effective in healing itself quickly enough. The simplest reason for that is, as much as some try to state otherwise, faeries aren’t perfect. The healer’s job, in this case, would be to work with the patient’s own natural healing magic, potentialize and organize it to ensure they would be able to regain all their functions. It can often, in presentation, be much more complicated. Norton’s protocols would be a particularly safe choice, seeing as they prioritize promptness, and in high-risk situations, those are inevitably what a healer with a multitude of variables to solve will likely tend towards.”

  “A stab wound, on the other hand, is much more critical, and with hemorrhage comes the diminishing of the natural magic. Then, suturing charms or manual stitching might be required with the danger of losing the patient completely if not done in proper haste.

Rite’s protocols, I’ve found, are much more appropriate for long-term care. You seem to have read her book, so perhaps you may remember that most of her case studies and examples center around lasting injuries or chronic illnesses. I’ve seen impressive improvements in previously immobile limbs, once from almost permanently dormant to near full range motion from her Wavelength Spells.”

  “Mind Injuries, which differ greatly from both, are perhaps the most elusive sort of healing. It tends to be intuitive, and it takes considerable skill to allow the healer’s magic to run unbound in the patient’s body without any harm, and an even greater amount to ensure recovery.”

  “I would add that Faeries, High Fae or otherwise, tend to see themselves as infallible due to their perception of immortality, but healing magic and healers came from the tested and true knowledge that there is much frailty in being fae, to the utmost displeasure of the others of our kind. A healer’s job, as I’ve discovered, lies in giving them a second chance.”

  “Oh,” Elain said still flushed, and resisted the urge to press her palms to her cheeks. 

   She could barely believe she had dragged this female from her prior, likely much more important engagements to come and explain to her the seemingly most logical and obvious concepts she had ever heard.

  No wonder no one took her seriously if even with the amount of literature she had consumed in the past days (weeks? or months?) she couldn’t make sense of the most common of concepts.

  How could she think— How delusional she must have been to even consider herself able to understand such a complex subject – 

  “Thank you, sorry for taking up so much of your time.” She made herself say, prying her stiff knuckles from her notebook, five crescent moon shapes on the once plain black leather cover. Her teacup clattered mortifyingly on its plate as she moved to pick it up, brown eyes irreflective.

  “That was quite refreshing, Lady Elain. I haven’t had a chance to mull over healing in such a long time… Most of my protocols are so inherent to me, I find myself doing them instinctually.”

  Elain wouldn’t learn this about herself for many years, but her ears twitched most daintily, disturbing some strands of her golden-brown hair.

 “That is very kind.”

 “There is a Healing Program here in Velaris if you find yourself with time. It is mostly lectures and debates. There is a selection process, but from what I gathered, you’ll have no problem enrolling.”

 “I want,” she whispered, half dazed, teacup clutched tightly in her hands. 

 “If you believe I could… Yes, Ms. Madja, I want it.”

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Thank you for reading! I would LOVE to know what you feel about it ;)

I'm working on part two, if you want to be tagged to find out what sort of crazy shit imma put my baby Elain through, let me know.

Special thanks from the bottom of my heart to @bittermuire and @sunlightsage for being the sweetest most supportive and most amazing beta readers I could have asked for! You mean the world to me :)

#elain week #elain archeron #elucien #if you squint #you guys i love this one ok #elain archeron fanfic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #acotar fic #ana writes #i went full nerd mode on this #elain archeron week

[anthonyed]

Character Study: Anakinn Theerapanyakul

Kinn has death carved into his bone.

Rotten and harrowing since the day his mother passed and everything his father says starts having thousands of layers underneath them. 

He was two days fresh out of thirteen; youth killed at the very bud of its wake. 

At fourteen, he sips whiskey hidden under his bed, at fifteen he starts having them for breakfast.

Kinn grows up; too fast to live, too young to die. 

He has barely a second to think, even in the shower he isn't spared for thoughts. Exhaustion hangs over him like heavy clouds, rain soaking through clown clothes bearing him down, spine fractured and yet he forces himself to stand straight. Make daddy proud. 

Some days, he lacks the energy to wake. Most days, he wishes he was with his mother in her grave. 

He stopped crying when his father asked him to man up, wipe that tear, look straight, stand tall and don’t make the family’s pride fall. 

He’d just seen his mother’s heart flat lined and Tankhun was wailing by her deathbed, Kimhan long asleep in his crib. Father stood by Kinn’s right shoulder, hand heavy, nails digging into his collar bone and he wished and wished he was anywhere but right there. 

He was twenty and dancing with the devil when Tawan ripped his heart out. Bleeding fresh anew, never healed to begin with; Kinn thought fuck it and just locked that bloody nuisance in its cage, never wants to bother because what is there to gain except more pain whenever he holds it?

He spends every waking day working, scheming, acing all of his father’s tests and plotting his own like a baby bird, spreading its wings, yearning to fly but the nape of his neck is in his father’s mouth, hurting. 

He knows his strength, and he knows his plans but his father never trusts them, despite all of those tests he’d scored hundreds, his father never trusts him.

But Kinn doesn’t give up, he works and works. He works harder and harder because he knows his father has his own reasons. All practical right?

Because if he gives up, he has nothing else to live for and he’ll think back to that wake and that grave and his bones will ache; death longing to crawl out of his marrow to where it truly belongs.

#kinnporche the series #kinnporsche #kinn anakinn theerapanyakul #mile phakphum #ana writes #it's a start of something ; been a start of something for two years now so imma just post this shit now

[sweetest-sunset]

A PerthChimon AU - MY SECRET CRUSH ♥️

FMV link: Let's Collide! 🔥

Perth was struggling with his monthly report which has to be completed today itself. He's a perfect employee in all aspects but he was find it hard to get back to the form after he took off for a week to take care of his sick mother. He was not able to keep up with the fast paced environment as he was missing the context of lot of things happened during his absence.

Clock striked at 11, He finished almost the entire report by himself because he knows how to gather data needed for him without any help but still a small part was left unfinished due to lack of information. Since everyone left at 6:00 pm itself, the office was empty and filled with darkness. A golden light illuminated his cabinet. He laid down on his desk being exhausted because it's not an easy task to get back to work, when you don't even know the context.

He suddenly felt a warm hand on his shoulder, when he turned around to check, he was hit by a dangerously pleasant fragrance which clouded his mind making him forget about all of the stress he had due to work. It took him a moment to regain his composure. There was an angelic face right in front of him. It was Chimon, his colleague. 'Perth, why are you still here?', he asked with a softest smile on his face.

He tried to answer his question but nothing came out of his mouth except air. His hands went chill, he felt his heart racing and his cheeks burning. All these reactions happening inside him justifies the crush he has on Chimon. 'Hmm?' chimon hummed when he didn't get answer for his question, which made Perth come back to his senses. He managed to tell him about his pending work while things happening within him are still not subsided.

Chimon pulled a office chair from the cabin next to Perth's and sat beside him. 'Okay, let me know what are all the data you need in for completing this report', chimon casually asked while Perth's mind couldn't comprehend what's happening. Perth snapped and mouthed, 'Thanks for offering help, but this might take an hour to complete. I don't want to bother you!' he said not wanting to trouble Chimon for his personal issue. But deep inside he feels that he would really love to spend time alone with his secret crush of long time.

But chimon defended, 'If we work together we can complete this real quick, also I have completed mine yesterday, so I have an idea of what goes where. So without any further delay can we get started?' Perth was touched by the kind offering from Chimon, because he really needed that. He gave him a soft smile along with a nod. It's been 20 mins since they started working. Chimon guided perth with the data he needed.

When their fingers brushed accidentally while trying to reach for the mouse, their eyes locked for a good moment. Perth's eyes gave up on hiding the crush he has on Chimon. The entire world was blurred for him except a beautiful face which is just few inches away from him. As for Chimon, he felt a brand new sensation in his body while looking deep into Perth's eyes. Those sparkly eyes conveyed something beautiful to him. The air around them shifted but they were interrupted by Chimon's phone call.

While both of them were brought to senses by a sudden call, they were at loss of words. They somehow managed to complete the entire report within the next 10 mins. When they turned off their computer and got ready to leave. Perth uttered, 'Chimon, I really want to thank you for helping me, I might have gotten into a huge trouble if you are not here with me today! Please allow me to treat you a meal!'. Chimon replied, 'Okay, if you insist, let's go to the nearest restaurant. You want to come with me in my car?'

'Sure', said Perth ignoring the existence of his brand new car parked in the ground floor of the office.

The whole trip to the restaurant was filled with a romantic melody chimon played while their heads were full of what happened earlier. What if chimon didn't got the phone call at that time. Will they be one step ahead from where they are right now? These thoughts were racing within them as they reached the restaurant. Chimon asked perth to wait and got of the car. He reached Perth's side of door and held it open. Perth was taken aback by Chimon's actions. His treatment towards him felt special. He had lot of things going on his head, right at the moment.

When they were inside the restaurant, it came to Perth's knowledge that there's a premium table has been reserved for them prior. Chimon led Perth to their table. He pulled a chair out for Perth to sit. When they're settled in their respective seats. Perth started, 'how come we have a reserved table while came unplanned, chimon?'. 'Umm, I made an reservation while you were packing your stuff ', chimon answered. Perth couldn't stop his mind from taking all of these as a sign that he can open up to chimon about his inner feelings.

When the food arrived at the table, both of them started to enjoy their dinner. When Perth suggested chimon to try his favourite food by extending his spoon, Chimon leaned in and took Perth's spoon directly to his mouth, savouring the food. When Perth was still speechless by his actions, he offered his food to perth, not thinking much perth did the same. They were occasionally stealing glances and their eyes lingered in each other faces every now and then. There was a rush of sensations in their bodies due to the mere existence of the other one.

When they finished their dinner and came out of the restaurant, they found a beautiful park and decided to take a walk. A cold breeze swept as they were walking through the trees. Perth turned to chimon to talk just to find out he was already looking at him. 'You wanna say something?' chimon asked.. Perth felt he need to pour his heart out otherwise he'll burst into million pieces. Because it's been a year since he started having a secret crush on Chimon.

He was moved by how gentle chimon is with his words. It was not a sudden change, he fell gradually but deeper and deeper for him. In Perth's eyes Chimon is perfect in all aspects. Perth has spent hours admiring how hot chimon looks while handling crucial matters with ease. The way chimon dresses with his signature, High turtle neck topped with a monochrome blazer always leaves perth breathless. The tenderness in his actions is what made perth fall harder for him.

He was trying to convey all of the feelings in his heart but he felt like his words are stuck at his throat. Chimon smiled softly seeing Perth's condition, he took Perth's hand and started inching closer to him, slowly. He stopped moving closer when they were just millimeters apart. Perth held his soft gaze for a moment before closing the gap between them. All it took was a soft and gentle kiss to convey eachother's inner feelings for them. The kiss was tender, warm and delicate.

After few moments of breaking their intoxicating kiss, chimon began to talk. 'Sometimes we need actions to deliver our feelings while words don't come to help.' while being in eachother's warm embrace. Chimon pulled them out from the hug and continued, 'Without me knowing I had grown feelings for you, the more I know about you, the more I fell. I have secretly admired you. Sorry for taking too long to convey my feelings for you!.' he said with a softest smile on his face.

Perth felt like his fantasies were coming to life, never in his wildest dreams he thought that Chimon would have felt the same way as he has feelings for him. 'The gentleness in your attitude is what made me fall harder for you. Thank you for making me feel special!' completing his words he pulled chimon into a warm hug. Chimon felt wetness on his shoulders from Perth's tears. They stayed in eachother's embrace for a long time.

When Chimon's car stopped at Perth's place, perth turned to him for saying goodbye, but they both couldn't have enough of eachother. Their gazes conveyed that they no longer want to go on the separate paths. 'Wanna stay over at my place?', perth asked. 'Why not, I am not ready to stay away from my boyfriend, not even for a moment!' chimon replied. Perth chuckled and leaned in for a quick peck leaving chimon flustered. They both giggled at eachother.

When Chimon entered Perth's home, he can see a wall dedicated for his images. Perth gave him sliders and dragged him inside. He offered a decent set of his tshirt and sweat pants to him and sat in his bed. 'Okay, I'll wash up first', chimon turned towards the bathroom just to be pulled by Perth making him sit besides him. 'What's the hurry, it's already 3 in the morning and we are tired. So we won't be able to go to office tomorrow anyways. How about getting to know eachother better?', perth asked with a sly smile.

Chimon placed the clothes beside him and fully turns towards perth, 'That means.. we are not getting any sleep, am I right?' chimon asked while taking a subtle grip on Perth's tie, bringing him closer. Perth was totally enjoying Chimon's actions, he let chimon take the lead. He was getting closer as chimon was pulling his tie towards him. The moment when their lips touched, both felt an electrifying sensation running through them.

Perth conveyed all of his unsaid feelings through this kiss. The kiss was passionate and filled with love and care. They both treated eachother like they were made out of glass. Perth pulled chimon on top of him, pulling him by his tie. He closed the distance between their bodies with the help of his knees. They were lost in the Gentle and intoxicating love they have for eachother!

Note: References embedded then and there.. 👀

#chimonperth #chimon wachirawit #chimonac #perthppe #perth tanapon #perth #perthchimon #office romance #ana writes

[allabout-ana]

I always thought the longing in my romance books was overplayed, I thought impossible to miss someone's touch the second they pulled away.

But here I am replaying in my mind everything that happened tonight, we were going to have dinner with your friends and as I arrived to the restaurant panic settled in

"What if he's different when he's around them?" "What if his friends don't want me here?" "Man I really should have picked another outfit... "

If's and what if's were cut short as you called my name trough the crowd and hugged me tightly, as you let go I took a deep breath and walked inside to greet your friends, after a couple of minutes we got a table and it was right then when I felt it, that emptiness, that coldness, suddenly your arm was pulling out a chair in front of us and not in my waist, I don't know when it got there on the first place but I just felt so right, as though that was it's designed place and I craved it the minute it was gone.

The thought confused me endlessly, it couldn't be normal to miss someone like that and much less when they are sitting next to you, but as soon as it came it left as you mindlessly pulled my chair closer to yours and then there it was again, warm and conforting and right.

As the night progressed the last of my anxieties melted away, I was joking with your friends and you kept on being you, no weird personality changes, no douchy remarks, you didn't change while being around them and it was a relief.

From time to time you'd play with my hand and tell me bits of gossip or little inside jokes about the people around us, if I had leaned in I could have kissed you or you me but neither closed the gap. Maybe I should have but instead we talked and we joked and eventually we ate.

At some point half of the group got up to take a picture, I stayed sited, watching you guys smile and laugh, for some reason it made me irrevocably happy to know you had friends like that, you walked towards me, not to sit down again but to hug me tightly from behind, I smiled, I was home.

Now I'm sitting in my room, writting this and thinking you gotta feel it too right? The need for closeness, the longing, the love... And with a chuckle I realise I have become one of the caracteres from my books, irrevocably and deeply in love with the man I call my best friend.

#found it in my drafts #ana rants #Love #Blue #ana writes

[overzeldalyzer]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Master Kohga, Link (Legend of Zelda), Yiga Clan (Legend of Zelda) Additional Tags: Unrequited Love, parasocial relationship gone wrong, parasocial lovers to parasocial enemies, Confused Link, Yiga!Link, Sort Of, author is so sleep deprived, nonverbal link, yiga base, banana bribes Series: Part 3 of Yiga and Link Chaos Summary:

Link has visited the Yiga Clan base to find out the truth. Do they want him? Or do they want him dead? And is it possible to maybe get them to leave him alone.

#yiga!link #ana writes #the conclusion of the Yiga Clan and LInk trilogy is finally up!

[ana-deaky]

Might fuck around and complete the fic and post it.

#maybe not #who knows #ana writes

[borealnyx]

is it truly doctor who if it doesnt create a new very convoluted nightmare scenario from time to time ??

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #wild blue yonder #dw spoilers #dw #ana writes her own posts for once

[reminiscingtonight]

Sisters Know Best

Ana-Maria Crnogorčević x Wälti!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I may or may not have forgotten the Olympics was a thing. Oops

[WOSO Masterlist]

Consciousness comes to you slowly. Eyes gently fluttering open, your smile is automatic at both the feel and sight of your favorite person wrapped around you.

Ana’s face is peaceful and relaxed as she still remains fast asleep, arms securely locking you against her body.

You’ve missed this. Being able to fall asleep and wake up to Ana is something you took for granted until suddenly you weren’t able to do so anymore.

Her departure from Barcelona was unexpected, for both you and her. None of your teammates knew it was coming as well. A relationship that blossomed during the last half of your one year overlap at Barcelona was suddenly subjected to the distance between your club teams. 

But the two of you made things work. Facetime dates were a regular occurrence, so were the trips to visit one another during short breaks of play. One and a half years after you began dating, your relationship is still going strong.

As much as you would have loved to stay trapped against Ana until she woke, eventually your bladder wins, urging you to find an escape to the bathroom. It takes a couple minutes, but eventually you wiggle your way to freedom without waking Ana. 

After relieving yourself, you’re halfway between the bathroom and your bedroom when you notice the jacket hanging from the hook by the front door. The jacket that very much was not present when you and Ana got to the house earlier in the day.

Eyes wide, you have to remind yourself to stay calm.

A year and a half into dating, you’re already certain Ana’s the love of your life. But that doesn’t negate the fact that you’ve known her nearly almost all of your life. And of course you had no one but Lia to thank for that fact.

Ana’s been your sister’s best friend for as long as you could remember.

And that would be cool, everything would be 100% fine. Except… maybe Lia’s still unaware of your relationship.

Initially, the two of you kept it under wraps, not wanting Lia’s unwanted opinions to potentially interfere with whatever was happening between the two of you. But then as time moved on, as you and Ana settled down into a smooth relationship, separated from your sister by both a country and the English Channel, you didn’t feel the rush to disclose your relationship to her.

The stress of the world cup last year allowed your relationship to remain undetected during the off-season. Lia didn’t have the time or brainpower to focus on anything other than keeping your national team together and functioning under the direction of your head coach who could barely string a coherent play together. 

But that was last year. And now, more than a year after you and Ana made things official, you still have not told Lia about your relationship. And with the beginning of this off-season, you’re about to spend the majority of two months together with no major tournaments to act as a distraction.

A part of you is really hoping you just missed the jacket when you arrived earlier, but the more logical side of your brain tells you you’re as fucked as you think you are.

Tip-toeing down the stairs, you pop your head around the corner into the kitchen.

Lia looks up from where she’s sat by the counter when you push the door open. You were already expecting to see her there, but you still can’t mask the surprise in your voice. “Lia? What are you-- You’re home!”

Your sister raises an amused eyebrow at the tone in your voice. “It’s great to see you too.”

Shaking yourself out of your shock, you lunge forward, letting Lia pull you into the comforts of her arms. “Missed you,” you grin, momentarily forgetting your girlfriend is fast asleep upstairs. 

Though the thought quickly returns when Lia gestures towards the front door, hidden behind the wall. “I noticed you got new shoes?”

Paling, you remember the way you had to bribe Ana with kisses to neatly place her shoes next to yours by the rack. 

“Yeah! I did a little bit of shopping in Barcelona before coming home,” is the first lie that passes through your mind, something you’re quick to voice.

“I can see that,” Lia chuckles, tugging at your unfamiliar but also so obviously worn down sweatshirt. It’s just your luck that you’re also wearing one of Ana’s sweatshirts right as this moment. You find yourself wanting to curse your girlfriend out. Dubbed Ana’s ‘favorite,’ this piece of clothing is your go-to for stealing. It just always smells like her and makes you feel safe, but safe is the last thing you feel as you are quick to nod again, lying that you did indeed get a new piece of clothing too.

The two of you chat about everything and nothing, making up for lost time. While you’re so obviously just trying to buy time as you try to come up with a way to either sneak Ana out of the house or come clean to Lia without facing her wrath, you come bask in the presence of your sister. You really have missed Lia.

After spending the majority of your career chasing Lia from club to club, you finally made your break away from her two seasons ago to Barcelona. Leaving Arsenal was hard, but you were ready for something new. And Lia was more than happy to support you.

Some time in between Lia praising how well the new Arsenal players have cemented their place on the team over the season and discussing which possible movie the two of you should go put on, Lia ducks under the cabinet to pull out the kettle, intent on making some tea. You use the brief moment of distraction to make your getaway.

“Oh shoot, I forgot my phone upstairs in my room. Do you mind waiting here for me while I quickly go get it?”

Lia chuckles, gesturing to stove. “Go for it. I won’t be joining you until our tea’s done.”

Your trainers at Barcelona would be proud of the speed to which you race out of the kitchen and then back up the stairs to your room.

To your delight, and horror, Ana’s already awake, sleepy smile sent your way when you shut the door behind you. 

“Hi baby--”

“Lia’s home,” you whisper, cutting Ana off.

The blonde’s eyes grow in size as she bolts upright in your bed.

“What do you mean? I thought you said she wouldn’t be back until…” Ana’s words trail off when she flips over her phone and sees the time.

The two of you definitely napped for longer than you originally intended to.

“You’ve got to go. Lia’s about to hunker me down with a movie marathon. God knows how long you’ll be stuck here if you don’t try sneaking out now.”

Ana blinks. “How exactly are you going to sneak me out then?” 

You point towards the window in your room. “I’ve snuck out of the house multiple times growing up. There’s a tree that you can climb out and get into the front yard from.”

Ana balks, looking at you as if you just grew three heads. “You want me to sneak out the window and climb down a tree?!”

You roll your eyes, pressing a sweet kiss against Ana’s panic-stricken face. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe.”

Turning around, you head for your closest. After a bit of digging you finally pull out an old pair of tennis shoes.

“Here, wear these,” you whisper, shoving the shoes into Ana’s hands

Ana frowns, though she does as you say and slips on the offered shoes. “Why can’t I just wear mine?”

“Lia was asking me whose shoes they were and I said I got some new shoes in Barcelona.”

Ana shoots you a look that tells you she’s less than impressed with your white lie. “I better get those shoes back. They were expensive.”

You have to muffle your snort, both of you knowing very well the chances of you returning them would be close to 0. “I know, I was there when you bought them.”

Ana pinches your cheek for the sass, and you respond by giving her ass a little slap as she slips pass you towards the window.

Though she rolls her eyes, you can see the smile on her lips.

“If I break my neck before the international break I’m blaming you,” she mumbles, swinging her legs through the opening. 

“Such a sweet-talker,” you shoot back, ignoring her huff of faux-annoyance. Instead, you lean in to press a light kiss against Ana’s lips.

“Call me?”

You nod. “As soon as Lia lets me go.”

With one last grin over her shoulder Ana shuffles fully out the window onto the roof. You only wait until you see Ana begin her descent before hurrying back down the stairs towards Lia.

The brunette’s already sitting in the living room, movie pulled up when you come skidding to a stop next to her. To your relief it seems as if Lia’s been engrossed in her phone the whole time you’ve been gone. 

She looks up with a grin, lifting up a corner of her blanket for you. 

“I’m thinking we can start with The Sorcerer’s Stone and make our way down from there.”

It isn’t until the sun’s long set and the two of you have switched to watching cooking shows for the past two hours that Lia rises with a yawn. 

She pats your leg, stretching as she stands. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Sleepily nodding, you sink deeper into the blankets. “I’ll probably watch another episode or something before heading up,” you mumble, fully content with letting your sleepiness take over right here right now. Though your body would most likely hate you tomorrow when you wake, your bed on the second floor just seems so far away.

Lia doesn’t say anything else, giving you a gentle hum as she makes her way towards the light switch. Dimming the lights a bit, she watches with amusement as your eyes slowly flutter, trying, but failing, to keep yourself awake.

You’re two seconds from drifting off into a peaceful sleep when Lia speaks up, not having fully left the living room yet. Spoken over her shoulder almost as an afterthought, her parting words have you suddenly snapping wide awake. 

“Next time Ana comes over let her know she can use the front door to enter and leave like a normal person.”

---

Closing the door as quietly behind her as she can, Lia pops her head over the wall separating the front door from the living room.

Her face falls into a frown when she doesn’t see you anywhere on the first floor. 

You had texted your sister that you made it back to Switzerland only hours ago. Surely you haven’t already left the house without waiting to see her first?

Sighing, she toes off her shoes, not without noticing a new pair of shoes sitting by the shoe rack. You must have gone shopping or something, Lia muses before heading for the stairs.

There’s really only one other place you could possibly be if you were still in the house. Dropping her bag off in her room, Lia lightly skips towards your bedroom. It’s only been two months since you last saw each other in person, but you and Lia have always been extremely close, and paired with how her season ended, Lia just really wanted to see you.

Quietly cracking open your door, Lia pokes her head into your room.

The first thing she notices is how dark it is. The blinds in your room have been drawn, the only light filtering into the room being through the door she has opened.

It takes a couple seconds for Lia’s eyes to adjust, and when it finally does, she can’t stop her mouth from dropping open.

Well there you were, definitely not roaming the streets of your childhood town. But what she’s not expecting is the extremely familiar head of blonde hair tucked around you like a protective shield. 

The shock quickly turns to affection as Lia smiles to herself at the adorable sight of you and Ana cuddled together in your sleep. Pulling her phone out to snap a quick picture of the two of you deep in sleep, Lia quietly closes the door behind her as she sets her sights for the kitchen.

Her sister and best friend? Together? Totally unexpected but Lia couldn't be more than happy for the two of you.

And when you sleepily stumble into the kitchen nearly an hour later, panic crossing your face at the sight of Lia already home, well who can blame Lia for having a bit of fun at your expense?

Especially when it means she gets to see Ana ungracefully scale the tree outside your bedroom window.

#ana maria crnogorcevic x reader #ana maria crnogorcevic imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

[emmaduerrewatson]

harry styles: my favorite thing about the movie is that it feels like a movie

chris pine:

#chris pine #harry styles #ana writes

[feral-ballad]

Ana Istarú, tr. by Shaun T. Griffin & Emma Sepúlveda-Pulvirenti, from These Are Not Sweet Girls: Poetry by Latin American Women; "XV"

[Text ID: “you are a forgotten angel”]

#ana istaru #angel #love #tenderness #excerpts #writings #literature #poetry #fragments #selections #words #quotes #poetry collection #poetry in translation #typography

[bunny-extract]

If you sent Price your nudes he's calling immediately. No typing bubble, no reaction, just 'John Price ♡' at the top of your screen. Pick up, love.

He hates getting pictures half because he's a possessive technophobe and can't stand the possibility of you being seen over such an unsecure line (please don't show him your social media he'll lecture you to hell and back), and half because it leaves him ruined for the rest of the day.

Answering that call -- because, be honest, there isn't another option -- to the deep, slightly hoarse greeting on the other side is a hundred times better than whatever discreet text he could have sent. Hearing your influence over this man in just the tone of his voice sends powerful chills over your body, the anticipation of his ever-welcome directions leaving you almost impatient, wanting to test his resolve further. Practically moaning his name in greeting, answering him in drawn out monosyllables. When he puts on that voice and starts scolding you for taking him away from his work, distracting him from his duties, your head bobs, nodding along as if he were there to see. If he was he'd have probably cut the scolding short, your eyes glossing over and focus zoning out while you wait for him to get to the part where you 'abuse the hold you have over him' and 'make him act reckless' before the Captain's inevitable capitulation.

#Tuck a polaroid into his pocket instead #so he can get hard to a picture of you nobody has or will ever see. Seriously he'll protect it with his fucking life. #bunny writing #john price #this is j a quick blurb ana said it was fine so here eat eat eat #price

[selfdestructiveslvt]

mean women that need a cute little obedient slut... older women that want to abuse a younger girl... controlling women that want a dumb pet...

I can be that girl for you just fyi 🫶🏻

#writing the most pathetic posts because im so needy #and just- women!! i fucking love women #ana archives

[sweetest-sunset]

The idea of KangSai in University has been lingering in my mind.. I'll just share a glimpse..

Coming back from field Kanghan sat in the last row. It was a extra credit class which is common for both engineering and sports faculty.. his eyes searched for Sailom who was sitting two desks away from him..

Kanghan was not able to focus on the class as he remembers how long it have been since they spent time together.. Sailom was caught up with his project work while Kanghan was preparing for their upcoming football tournament.. Eventhough they video call eachother every night.. they were missing the warmth they find in each other's embrace..

Kanghan was lost in his thoughts staring at sailom.. that's when the professor called out Kanghan for being absentminded in the class and asks him get out..Kanghan has caught everyone's attention in the class including Sailom's.. they shared a little eye contact which is enough to convey the longing for eachother.

As they class came to an end.. Sailom stepped out of the class just to be captured by Kang who was eagerly waiting for him to come out.. Sailom was caught off guard by kang's sudden action.. as usual Sailom whines ai' Kang to the one who literally jumped on, making him take two steps back.. After getting enough stablity to stand straight, Sailom hugged him back, closing his eyes he can feel the Warmth in Kang's embrace..

Kang was sweaty in his jersey.. but still sailom snuggled into the crook of his neck before asking about his foot ball practice, "How come you're here this early, yesterday you told me you have football practice till evening.." without breaking the hug Kang answered , "I missed you so much that I asked coach to leave earlier, I knew you'll be here.. so I came to see you.. "

Sailom let out a small giggle seeing Kang acting like a puppy, even he can visualise a tail wagging at his back.. It's been a while since we met in person, Sailom replied, while bringing Kanghan closer to even tighter hug..

After few moments..

Let's go to the cafeteria Sailom said making Kang whine for breaking their hug.. Sailom gave Kanghan a quick smooch which made him freeze at the spot.. and Sailom took this chance To drag him to the cafeteria.. they spent hours talking..

Can we play video games this weekend, Kanghan asked while sipping on to his drink.. Sailom took a moment to answer..

Sure.. said sailom eventhough he had plans for his project work.. cause he wanted to Spend time together with Kanghan.. Playing videos games is just an excuse to be close to eachother..

Sailom felt his cheeks heat up..just by thinking about Kang's hands around him.. Wait what about your tournament preparation? he asked as he remembered Kang mentioning before..

I'll pass.. I can make up for it in the next week.. I just want to spend my weekend with you.. he says looking deep into Sailom's eyes.. and he continues.. "Without Wind, how a windmill can spin?"

Taking Sailom hand in his, he placed a gentle kiss.. Their eyes conveyed the longing and pure love they had for each other!

And here goes my first fic ever!

I just want to see them spending time together in University!

#perthchimon #chimon wachirawit #chimonac #perth tanapon #chimonperth #perth #dangerous romance #dangerous romance the series #ana writes

[anawrites3]

Jaydick, but Dick gives Jason a big mommy kink

It was a joke, at first.

The first time it happened they were in the Cave, having just came back from the patrol. The night was considered a huge success because for all the bullshit that managed to happen in the span of those few hours anyone barely got hurt at all.

Instead, everyone was fucking exhausted. Jason’s fingers were still slightly shaking as he fastened the last bandage around his arm, not to mention the way his eyes kept slipping shut. Boy, was he grateful he didn’t get hit in the head that day because he didn’t think he’d be able to stay up, even if he would have concussion.

That’s why he was planning on crashing in the Manor. Bruce was there too, obviously, but Jason was too tired to worry about that asshole right then. He was going to throw himself onto one of the beds in guests’ bedrooms and sleep for as long as his body needed him to.

He said a quick goodnight to Alfred who wished him a good rest with a smile. He didn’t say a word earlier when Jason announced he’d be staying the night and Jason in turn didn’t comment on the fact that a bedroom for him was already prepared. Jason was too tired to deal with that right then – and he’d have other excuses not to later – so he saluted to the rest of the clan, before starting towards the stairs.

That’s when it happened the first time.

“Hit the shower before you go to sleep, Jay.” Dick called after him. He was sitting in the medical area of the Cave, stripped down to just his underwear so Alfred could stitch up the cut on his calf. “You’ll feel less like shit when you wake up.”

“Master Dick-” Alfred chastised.

Jason rolled his eyes but found he wasn’t actually annoyed. His relationship with Dick was… better, now. Way better than what he expected they’d ever had, especially with everything Jason did before. But here they were. Jason wasn’t going to complain.

“Sure, mom!” He called back.

Dick just smiled.

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

The next time it happened, Jason didn’t think too much of it either.

He was in the middle of baking when Dick broke into one of his safehouses – the one that was currently serving Jason as home and the one that Dick absolutely shouldn’t know about – and started talking to him about a case he needed help with. Jason decided to actually play nice and help him out, even if he was kind of annoyed that Dick found him.

If anything else he could at least be certain that the big bird won’t blab the location of it to Bruce.

And… then there was that whole thing of him feeling… something about the fact Dick turned to Jason when he actually needed help. Not to Babs, not to Tim. Not to the rest of the birds and bats. Him.

Yeah, he wasn’t gonna think too hard about that.

On the other hand though, Jason was in the middle of baking. And he always got bitchy when he got interrupted while doing something in the kitchen – and Dick freaking knew that. It never stopped him, of course, not even from trying to steal the dough or popping a bit of chocolate into his mouth whenever he thought Jason wasn’t watching.

Jason was less annoyed about that than he thought he’d be, too. Huh. Yeah, not touching that one right now either.

“Oh yeah, come to mama.” Dick said, reaching for one of the cookies as soon as Jason placed the tray on the counter in front of him.

Jason cocked an eyebrow at that.

“Mama?” He teased with a grin. “Wouldn’t you be more of a daddy or something?”

Dick moaned around the cookie in his mouth, “I can be whatever you want me to be, as long as I’ll get to eat more of these.”

-----------

And then-

“It’s not one of Bruce’s galas, Dick, I don’t have to look like I just walked out of the fashion magazine.” Jason rolled his eyes.

Dick ignored him as if he didn’t even open his mouth, making sure his sleeves were rolled up evenly.

They were getting ready for an uncover mission or – more precisely – Jason was. Dick was spending this one in the Cave as his eyes and Bruce was going to keep watch from the roof of neighboring building, ready to drop in if anything got too out of hand. Jason was the one going in this time, simply because their target haven’t seen him before.

Jason hated the fact that Bruce was going to be his support. Not like he could do much about it, with Dick still healing his injuries and Tim being away but still.

“It won’t hurt. You need to stand out.” Dick smiled. “Besides, I don’t get to see you in a suit very often. I need to take advantage of the opportunity.”

“Sure.” He drawled sarcastically but allowed Dick to fuss over him a few minutes longer.

It was true though, Jason couldn’t remember the last time he was actually wearing a suit. Not as nice as this, anyway, a grey three-piece that hugged his frame like a second skin would. It didn’t feel that alien – his gear was very fitting too so that part at least was familiar.

It’s the way Dick kept glancing at him that felt… new. Different from the way he was looking at Jason before but Jason couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Alright.” Dick hummed and Jason breathed out because that meant he was finally done dolling him up. “Now, be a good boy and don’t punch people’s teeth in before we get what we need, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Jason huffed. It’s not like he wasn’t good at undercover stuff. He didn’t like it and he definitely thought that Dick was way better at it, yeah, but it didn’t mean he would ever make such a rookie move. Even if he really wanted to, at times. “Not my first rodeo, remember? You really don’t have to mom me so much.”

“Mm.” Dick started adjusting his tie. “Then be a good boy for mommy and play nice.”

If anyone would ever ask about it, Jason would say he didn’t say anything back simply because he didn’t want to. Or that that was when Bruce walked in and told them it was time to move out.

When Jason will think back to it, he’ll remember the way he opened and closed his mouth a few times. The way his cheeks stung with the force of his blush. The way Dick ran his hands over the lapels of his jacket to smooth them out, slowly.

“Off you go then.” He murmured, looking at Jason from under his eyelashes and Jason still couldn’t know if Dick did that on purpose or not but he knew that it worked very well.

He lowered his chin in a sharp nod and Dick smiled, and then Jason was on the way to the club.

He couldn’t quite focus for the rest of the night. They got what they needed, no outside help from the Bat required, and Dick sent him a big happy smile when he came back to the Cave but Jason couldn’t stop thinking about what happened before.

He wondered if Dick was aware of what he was doing. He wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

-------

So. Maybe Jason had the slightest idea on how did it come to this-

“Mommy, please.” he breathed out, half a moan and half a whine.

Dick shushed him with a fond smile, peppering kisses across Jason’s jaw and cheeks. He was a solid familiar weight on Jason’s lap, pinning him firmly down to the mattress even when everything Jason wanted to do was to buck his hips, rub himself against Dick’s tanned stomach. Just enough to get some friction, just a little bit of pleasure Dick took away from him again because he was insistent to drag it out this time.

“Such a good boy, Jay.” Dick murmured against his skin, hand so close to where Jason needed it to be before sliding away again, higher and higher so it could settle on his stomach. “Just a little more, baby. Then you’ll get to fuck mommy the way you want to.”

“Please-” He gasped, fingers digging into Dick’s waist. How easy would it be to pull him closer, to slip between those cheeks… “Please, I need you-”

“Shh.” Dick gently cupped his jaw and lifted his head to press their lips together better. He kissed Jason slowly and filthy, slipping his tongue between his lips as soon as Jason parted them to gasp. He chased the sugary taste of cookies they had earlier, the one Jason barely finished making before Dick started pressing against him. “You have me, Jay. I’m right here.”

And it was the truth, wasn’t it? Jason had him, in a way no one else ever could. Dick Grayson, body and soul, all of that belonged to him now.

“Then do something about it already.” He demanded breathlessly as soon as Dick allowed him to speak again. “Prove it to me.”

Dick lowered his hand onto Jason’s thigh in a sharp slap that had Jason moaning again.

“That’s not very nice, baby. And you were doing so good.” Dick shook his head. “Only good boys get rewards, remember?”

“Sorry, mommy.” Jason whispered but he couldn’t stop his hips from moving anymore, trying to fuck into air.

“Mm, that’s better.” Calloused fingers slid down his stomach to finally, finally wrap around his cock. It was already so wet, both from saliva and precome that slid down the shaft from the head and Jason threw his head back with a loud whimper. How happy he was that those walls were sound-proof. “I forgive you, sweetheart. Now fuck me.”

And Jason didn’t need to be told twice.

#ta-da! #this was fun #thanks for the prompt anon!! #jaydick #dickjay #my writing #my reply #anon #Ana's spicy writing

[overzeldalyzer]

I finally got around to writing my Yiga!Link crack fic. Unfortunetly Link seems to have forgotten the genre. Stop trying to self actualize! You're supposed to be confused and having a goofy time. Don't worry about saving the world.

There are bananas!

#Ana writes