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sydneymack · 10 days
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Throne of Glass Dust Jackets
Artist: @/diabolical_victorian_art for @pineandash
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alice-bad-thoughts · 3 months
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I just realized a very funny and strange thing. If Gavriel were a mortal sin, he would probably be Lust. Lorcan would be Wrath. Connal would be Pride, Rowan would be Sloth and Fenrys would be Gluttony. I’m done. Move on, sleep easy, but don’t forget this shit.
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highqueenofelfhame · 11 months
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rowaelin // 5.8k words // masterlist // ciwyw masterlist let me know if you want to be tagged in my writing :) i hope you enjoy <3 i can't wait to see all your comments. y'all are kILLING me with them on this one.
As much as he knew he shouldn’t be, Rowan was drunk. Again. 
Tomorrow they had a match against Adarlan on Doranelle’s home field. While Rowan laid on his back,  staring at the ceiling fan above him with a full half-empty bottle of whiskey resting on his stomach, he knew they were going to lose. Not because Adarlan was better or because they wanted it more, but because Rowan was a selfish piece of shit and couldn’t put the bottle down. There was no way he would be in any condition to play tomorrow— at least not well. 
Burying his sorrows at the bottom of the bottle seemed like the better alternative until he could figure out how to repair what he had catastrophically obliterated. It had been a full week with no word from Aelin. Not a single one of those days had passed without him sending an apology text into the void. There had even been a few voicemails Wednesday night that went unanswered. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was erasing them without bothering to listen. He deserved that much. 
Rowan Whitethorn had never had social media. Ever. Not even in high school when it was just becoming a cool thing to do. Nobody needed to know that much about his life. At this point in his career, his agent and PR team begged him to do it because it would garner him more popularity. Even Lorcan posted on instagram from time to time and kept everyone happy. 
The thing that finally drove Rowan to making an instagram account was stalking Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. It was easier for his thumbs to scroll through her feed while nursing sips of whiskey, trying not to double tap on any pictures. He was pathetic enough— Aelin didn’t need to be aware of his sulking and pining. 
This all came after he googled her name paired with various words like ‘spouse,’ ‘husband,’ ‘wife,’ and ‘wedding.’ Nothing came back with a result, but it had been lurking in his mind when she didn’t answer his question earlier. Besides, Rhoe Galathynius very well could have been her father-in-law. As it were, she wasn’t married, and Evalin and Rhoe only had one child: their daughter. At least if she was married, there was no record of it. No photos of her in an elegant white gown standing next to the love of her life. 
Good. He could deal with that. 
What he couldn’t deal with was the photos of her in bikinis, arms wrapped around the waists of other men. She was nestled between the pair on the deck of a yacht all three of them with wide smiles and sunglasses covering their eyes. Her bathing suit looked more like lingerie and Rowan had never wished so hard for summer to come back around than he was right then. 
There were pictures of her with a stunning brunette woman, both of them dressed in finery or night-out attire depending on where they were headed. Aelin with a full face of makeup, with sultry dark eyes and a full pouty lip was enough to drive him into madness. 
He found photographs from holidays with her family, Aelin perched on a couch in comfy clothes and thick socks with Aedion Ashryver standing behind her. Further down her page he found the ones from years ago of her on Aedion’s shoulders after he won some match or another. It was captions Always my hero. 
Lower and lower he went until he finally hit her first post: a simple kingsflame flower from nine years ago with the caption Fireheart. He supposed that was where she garnered the name for her foundation. Gods above, she was incredible. A super-hero amongst ordinary women. 
Rowan scrolled back towards the top of her instagram, all the way back to the most recent one. It was from their day downtown, when they had bought a piece of chocolate hazelnut cake and sat outside the bakery. Aelin was laughing around her thumb that she held between her teeth. At that moment, he had been teasing her about getting the frosting everywhere. Behind the camera he was smiling just as brilliantly as she was. The light in her eyes, her smile, the utter joy that radiated off of her… It was enough to make him breathless all over again. 
“Fuck,” he murmured to himself, heart squeezing and soul dying at how absurdly beautiful she was. It didn’t seem fair. Everything about her was perfect. Not just outside, but inside, too.  Aelin Galathynius was the most selfless and loving person he had ever met. Inside and out, she shone with the light of a thousand suns. It made it impossible to look away and broke his heart that he had driven her away so sharply.
“M’such a bloody dobber,” he mumbled, zooming in on her face as close as it would get, until she was little more than a monochromatic cluster of pixels, none of her features distinguishable. 
The phone fumbled where he held it over his face, falling directly onto it. Rowan swore, the taste of metal blooming over his tongue where his tooth had cut through his lip. Worse than that, though, was when he noticed the giant heart that appeared in the center of the picture he’d been staring at. 
Rowan had accidentally liked it. Just as quickly, he unliked it and tossed his phone to the other end of the couch. Jail. He needed to be in phone jail. 
It had over ten thousand likes and three hundred comments. There was a chance she would never notice the notification appearing and disappearing. She might never notice. It didn’t stop the ice creeping into his veins, though. The idea that she would realize how utterly pathetic he was, as if all the texts weren’t indication enough. 
Rowan swore violently under his breath and grabbed his phone again. With bleary, bloodshot eyes he opened their text thread to send off another message. Just as his fingers started their drunken dance over the letters once again, his phone began to ring loudly. The vibration shook him to his core as he beheld the name flashing on his screen, a photo of the two of them laying on her couch flashing in front of him. The sight of it knocked the wind out of him. 
Aelin. 
Fuck. Shit. Mala fucking fry him. 
“Hello?” he said, breathless like he’d been running a marathon. 
“Hi.” Aelin’s voice was quiet. Rowan could imagine her sitting in the middle of her couch, a tv show paused. 
“I am so sorry, baby,” he began, letters and syllables stringing together with no space between. “I need to explain, to—”
“Did you just like that picture on my instagram?”
“I…” it was long and drawn out as he squinted at the ceiling, trying to find a way out of it. There wasn’t one. Heat crept up his neck and bloomed over his cheeks like rose petals. “Ye-yeah. That was me.”
“Are you drunk?” was her follow up question. On the other end of the phone it sounded like she was rolling over in bed. Gods, he would love to be wrapped up in bed with her. The expanse of her golden skin under his hands wasn’t beat out by anything, not even football. 
“No,” was his quick response. 
“You sound drunk.” It was impossible to tell what, exactly, her emotions were. Rowan swallowed thickly, setting the bottle on the coffee table and nudging it out of reach. 
“I sound like a pathetic bastard that ruined something perfect.” 
“You’re definitely drunk.” If Rowan wasn’t positive that she hated him, he might mistake her tone as amusement. 
“I miss you. And I’m sorry,” he paused to hiccup, “And I want you to tell me what to do to fix what I’ve broken.” A heavy, resigned sigh came through the phone and Rowan froze.
“Start with sobering up–” Fuck. She was going to hang up, and he had blown his only chance at making things right. Shit.
“Don’t hang up,” Rowan pleaded, lip tucking between his bottom teeth while he waited for her to respond. 
“Get some sleep and win your game tomorrow. After that… maybe we can talk.” If that was what it took, then yes. A thousand times yes he would do both of those things. Anything to get her to talk to him, anything so he could hold her, feel her lips on his skin, taste her and feel her beneath him.
“Do you promise?” A schoolyard thing to say, but he couldn’t help it. The gift of hearing her voice again after an entire week of deafening silence was the most beautiful thing he could ever imagine hearing. If he could, he’d bottle it up and get drunk off it. It was better than any alcohol, any drug. 
“I promise,” she replied, and Rowan swore he heard a hint of laughter weaving between each letter of those two, simple words. That couldn’t be right, though. Aelin was mad at him. They wouldn’t be laughing together anytime soon.
“Okay.” It felt stupid to say, but it was the only word he could find. 
“Okay.” Aelin’s voice was still soft and told him nothing of the status of his forgiveness, or if he needed to beg on his knees and worship her as penance. He would never, ever stop if that was what she required. “Goodnight, Rowan.” 
The line went dead before he could say anything else and a new zap of determination electrified his blood. If she wanted a win, she would get it. But he had to get sober first. 
With a pained groan, he pulled himself upright. A few deep breaths later the room wasn’t spinning quite so quickly and he was able to stumble to the kitchen. The smell of coffee made his nose wrinkle when he opened the bag. It quickly filled the space of the kitchen as he dumped the beans into the grinder, wincing at the shriek it made. Coffee and bread would help sober him up, and then he would focus on fluid intake to not be a useless sack of meat on the field tomorrow. 
He leaned against his counter, ignoring incoming messages from his teammates checking on him, and shoved half a piece of bread into his mouth. A cold shower would wake him up, and tons of water and painkillers before bed would help the hangover tomorrow. 
Anything Aelin wanted, he would give her. Starting tomorrow night by defeating the Adarlan Wyverns and handing it to her on a silver platter. 
When he finally drifted off to sleep, his phone screen was still illuminated in his palm: that final photo he’d taken of her at the bakery wearing a smile just for him. 
~*~
As soon as she took one step into the Neon Moon, she found Connall looking over at her with a healthy dose of surprise in his eyes. Aelin moved through the crowd that had gathered to watch the game, managing to snag a single barstool in front of the beer tap. 
“Water, please,” she half-shouted over the loud voices filling the room. As soon as it was in her hands she took a long drink before placing it down on a napkin in front of her. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” A crooked grin spread across his face and he leaned forward on his forearms. “Watching the game?” 
“Against my better judgment,” she sighed, ruffling her fingers through her hair. Now that she knew that he played for Doranelle, she just couldn’t miss it. Had she known from the get-go, there wouldn’t have been a single game that she missed. Even if it meant she’d be catching up on work during the short commercial breaks. “How much do you know?”
“Oh just… everything.” 
Aelin groaned and looked up at the ceiling. She wasn’t upset that he’d told his friends, his support system. Rowan needed that, just like she did. Though she had yet to tell her family, she was going to do it soon. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. Some of the dust had to settle with Rowan first. 
Though she was content to let him stew for a few more days, the single like she’d gotten from an account called actuallywhitethorn made her pick up the phone. A result of her doom-scrolling before bed, the notification had dropped from the top of her screen. By the time she clicked her notification icon, that particular like from that specific account was gone. It was like fate, she decided, for her to have seen it in its brevity. If he was miserable and pining enough to accidentally like an instagram picture, it wouldn’t hurt to call him. So she did.
At first, she didn’t know what to say, but as he talked it became more and more clear that he was very drunk. All his words had melded into one long syllable, and the fact that he was likely drinking away his feelings and problems had tugged at her heart. He really was adorable when he was drunk, calling her baby and trying his hardest to apologize, begging her not to hang up the phone. As much as she really did want to talk to him, it wasn’t a conversation to have while he was only half-aware. The apology she deserved needed to come from his sober lips, not drunk, loose ones.
After they hung up, Aelin had decided she would go to the bar to watch the game. It didn’t seem like a feat she could conquer at home alone on her couch. Even with Lysandra a phone call away, it felt too big to do on her own. The bar made sense.
“Congratulations?” Connall offered, and it was the first time she’d really picked up on any shyness or hesitancy from the man. 
“Thank you.” It was still so new, so foreign. The racing of her thoughts hadn’t died down about it yet, her emotions didn’t have a full grasp on the situation. “How is he?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.” Kind of. If his texts were any inclination to his mental state, he was having a rough go of things at the moment. “Feels like a piece of shite.”
“Yeah, well.” That was a little deserved after what he’d said to her. Connall didn’t seem to disagree, merely shrugging as he followed her eyes to the television.
The game had been on for fifteen minutes, and Doranelle had scored one point. Adarlan had nothing. It was a bit of a feat to score so early on in the game, showing just how skilled Rowan and his teammates were. A camera zoomed in on the players, a towering, dark-haired man with a glove tucked under his arm, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. Aelin’s eyes widened and her head whipped toward Connall when the spitting image of him appeared on the screen. The only difference was the color of the curls: Connall’s were black, his brother’s golden. 
“You have a twin?” By way of answer, Connall merely winked and nodded back at the TV where Rowan had come into view. His uniform for home games was navy blue with white letters. Hands braced on his hips, he joined his teammates where they talked. It was only when he turned around that she saw how horrible he looked. 
Though his skin was golden brown as ever, his face was ashen. Dark circles clung beneath his eyes and his bottom lip was swollen and scabbed over. The sweat gathering at his temples didn’t do anything at all to make him look well, if anything he just looked sicker. 
“Whitethorn looks a bit… peaky,” Connall said cautiously, the corners of his lips tugging downward into a scowl.
“As drunk as he was when I called him last night, that makes perfect sense.” She was frowning, too. The most put together part of him was his hair, the single french braid down the center until it all met in a mess of a bun on the top of his head. 
As soon as the whistle blew, he inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. That was when the cameras zoomed back out to take in the entire field, all the players getting into position. Aelin watched closely, one eye on the ball and the other always aware of where Rowan was in the frame.
For a while, it was a lot of passing back and forth, working up and down the field, the ball getting stolen one way or the other. Once, Adarlan got close to scoring but the goalie for Doranelle was quick to block it and pass it back down the field. Another of Rowan’s teammates was quick to get it back toward the Adarlan goal. It was passed back and forth between a few as they worked further and further down the pitch until a pass from Connall’s twin had the ball being juggled between Rowan’s feet.
Watching Rowan play brought back the old feelings she felt watching Aedion. Her competitive temper rose in her chest as he sprinted downfield with the ball between his feet. Somehow, he never tripped or stumbled. When he passed it off to a dark-haired man, Vaughan, Connall told her, it was with tricky footwork that he made look easy. Seconds later and a single pass back toward him, Rowan lunged from behind a crimson jersey. By some grace of the gods he managed to land the perfect kick that arched beautifully through the air. Adarlan’s goalie missed it by a fingertip.
The bar became deafening– some of them rooting for Doranelle, others wanting them to lose for the sake of Varese’s team. On the TV, Rowan’s teammates pulled him off the ground and jostled him amongst them, Connall’s golden-haired brother smacking a kiss to Rowan’s sweaty forehead. 
If Aelin didn’t know any better, she would say his teammates were being a little more gentle with him than they might be otherwise. Rowan’s jaw remained clenched tightly, that muscle feathering as he nodded to the only person on the team that was taller than him where he stood down the field.
“Who is their goalie?”
“Lorcan Salvaterre. Team captain and one of Rowan’s closest friends. My twin’s name is Fenrys.” Aelin nodded and rested her chin on her hands as the next play started, polished blue nails digging into her palms. She knew of most of these names from Aedion’s soccer days and the afternoons at her parents house where her father prattled on about different team rosters.
The minutes ticked by, Rowan fiercely focused on the game. That look of sheer determination never left his eyes, even in the brief moments of reprieve he had to gather his wits. Whenever he could, Connall hovered near her for the moral support she’d come in search of. It meant more to her than she could ever put into words. Being in a new city, far away from her support system, with no one else to lean on? It was really nice to know he was there. Even if they barely knew each other. 
When Adarlan scored, Aelin had over half the pub groaned. The Doranelle players looked beyond pissed. Rowan and Lorcan shared matching expressions, both of their jaws grinding as they shook their heads before getting back into position. 
It led them into more volleying back and forth, the ball little more than a blur between feet. And then it was back in Rowan’s possession. It was like the wind sang for him, pushing him faster as he bolted down the field. Almost as soon as he made his goal, the one that would get them a point ahead though, a whistle blew and a yellow-checkered flag was waving. 
“Shit,” she murmured, closely eyeing the playback. It was a fair call, he had been offside. When the camera showed Rowan again though, he was pointed at the goal, mouth wrapping around words that looked a lot like fucking bullshit. The words weren’t more than a whisper as she said, “Rowan, you stupid idiot.”
Connall chuckled, despite the dire situation at hand. She knew he was only laughing at her, not his friend’s situation. Still, she wadded up a napkin and threw it at his head. It nailed him in the temple.
“It’s not funny,” she hissed, nibbling on the end of her straw, a sick feeling roiling in her gut.
The referee pulled a yellow card brandishing it in front of his face. A spark of anger flickered behind his eyes, mouth opening to spew something else when Fenrys grabbed him by the shoulders and made him turn away. Aelin exhaled a tight breath as Rowan shook his head on screen. Fenrys said something in Rowan’s ear and he nodded, lips thin in a stiff line.. It was enough to make him nod and hustle to his spot on the field, shaking his arms out when he came to a stop.  
Beneath the bar, Aelin’s legs were bouncing. Butterflies flitted their way through her insides enough that she braced her hands against her stomach as though it would calm them. It was impossible to look away as Adarlan took their free kick from the offside, launching the ball halfway down the field and into another frustrating back and forth between the two teams. 
This was always the part of the sport that Aelin hated. No, perhaps hated was too strong of a word. The build up always made her feel nauseous, waiting for one team to make one quick move to kick everyone into high gear to avoid a goal or make one. Being pregnant, it was worse. It felt as though her stomach was in the back of her throat.
Just before the end of the second half, disaster struck. Aelin saw it coming. She was pretty sure everyone watching at home or in the stands did, too. Connall swore filthily as Rowan ran for the ball and dove feet first to knock it away from Adarlan. Except in the process, his cleats clashed into the other player’s feet and they both went down in a heap on the field. 
“What the fuck did you say to him?” Connall asked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the screen as a ref jogged across the pitch. 
“I told him to win and maybe we would talk! I didn’t tell him to–” A yellow card appeared in the ref’s hand, followed by a red one and Aelin lost all of her words. Both were for Rowan. 
“I think he took that a little too do or die.” And so it seemed he had.
Distantly, she heard the announcer saying it was the first time he’d ever been red carded in his entire career. The patron’s of the bar murmured amongst themselves, many of them asking what the hell was wrong with Whitethorn tonight. 
The cameras zoomed in to where he walked off the field, sweat trickling down his face. Their coach followed him to the end of the field, the words he muttered only for Rowan to hear. Though he looked ready to hit anyone that was close enough, Rowan simply nodded. Fenrys caught his arm just before he walked off, mouth moving too quickly for Aelin to decipher. 
The last clear shot of him was walking into the tunnel and off the pitch, body rigid and muscles rippling while he pulled his jersey off his body. 
“I… I need to go,” Aelin said to Connall, who only nodded in response. She threw a few bills on the counter as a thank you and pushed her way out of the pub, walking as fast as her feet would carry her to her rental car down the street. 
~*~
Even though his team had another win under their belt by the time the game was over, it had been a fucking disaster. Rowan watched the second half on his phone from the comfort of his car after getting kicked out. 
It was the first time in his eleven year career he’d ever received two yellow cards, and consequently a red card, and been ejected from a game. All that anger and frustration from the week, from his hangover, had boiled to a head and exploded on the field. Next week he would have to sit out, too. 
Failing his teammates didn’t sit right with him. Lorcan was probably fuming and Rowan anticipated a less than friendly visit from him tomorrow. Coach Malakai was mad, too. The last thing he told Rowan was to get his shit together before practice on Monday. Only Fenrys, who never missed a chance to be a jokester about anything, had murmured words of encouragement before he left the field. 
By the time he pulled into his driveway, he was exhausted. His entire body ached from that last dive. There would definitely be bruises on his hips and thighs tomorrow from the way Ress Taylor landed on top of him. All he wanted to do was let his muscles thaw under a shower so hot it burned. A glass of whiskey would be great, too. Not that he deserved it after his performance on the pitch.
The game was… rough.The entire day was rough. From the time he’d woken up his mood had been in the pits of hell. Drunk Rowan hadn’t been able to piece together what Aelin said just before they hung up, but sober Rowan did as soon as his alarm sounded. 
Win your game tomorrow. 
Not win the game, like she used to say when she thought he was the coach. She didn’t ask him to wish the boys good luck like she had in the weeks prior. The words had changed. Win your game. The game he would be playing in, that belonged to him. She had given him a personal goal and though he helped his team achieve it, he still felt like he failed. Especially since he would have to sit out next week, too, because of the red card.
It had been stupid of him to think she wouldn’t find out the truth before he had the chance to tell her. Everything had just gone to such absolute shit before he had the chance. Rowan Whitethorn would be groveling at the feet of Aelin Galathynius for the duration of his life, and then some more after he crossed into whatever afterworld awaited him. 
The news of his career was just another lie he had to make right. All day it sat with him, festering like an open wound. It wasn’t that he suddenly felt bitter about his job. He didn’t. Rowan loved what he did, he loved the sport. It was his greatest passion and love in life. But Aelin deserved to hear about it from him. Not knowing how she found out only made it worse, until everything he felt was bleeding out into the astroturf beneath his feet and getting him thrown out of a game.
Upon pulling into his driveway, something white in front of his house caught his eye. His heart came to a stop as soon as his car did. Rowan didn’t even bother to pull into his garage, just parked beside the white SUV and stared at his porch. It felt like a fever dream, getting home from a hard game and seeing Aelin on his porch swing. The wind slowly moved her back and forth, but when she saw him step out of the car she stood, hands sliding into her back pockets. 
“I told you to win, not get a red card before the second half was up.” The lilting tone of her voice made his knees buckle. It forced him to gather himself before approaching, slowly walking up the stairs until he stood one below her.
“My mouth keeps getting me in trouble this week, it seems,” he said back, mouth completely dry. It was an effort to make his tongue form the words with his lips. “But it got you to my house, so I suppose there are worse things that could have happened.”
“Few things are worse than a red card.”
“Not talking to you might beat out all of them,” he said smoothly, fingers sliding along each of his keys until he found the one for his front door. He held it up between two fingers and Aelin nodded, stepping to the side and gesturing toward the door. 
She wore simple leggings and an oversized t-shirt, a pair of socks and slides on her feet. Though she wore no makeup and her hair was twisted half-hazardly onto the top of her head, she had never looked so beautiful. Lorcan would laugh himself hoarse if he heard the thoughts Rowan had about this woman, yet he didn’t care. Even in her most dressed down and casual state, she was breathtaking. 
He led her inside, locking the door behind them. It was late enough he assumed she would be staying for a while. Few people made a nearly two hour drive to turn around and leave upon arrival. Then again, he hadn’t seen last weekend going that way, either, and it’s exactly how that night ended.
“You played…”
“Shittily,” he offered, hanging his keys on a small hook by the front door.
“Brutally,” Aelin amended, slipping off her shoes and heading to the kitchen. Rowan watched as she grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and handed one off to him before heading for the couch. “Have you eaten?” 
“No. Have you?”
“Not since lunch.” Phone in hand, she curled up in the corner and pulled a blanket over her lap. “I doubt we have any notable options, but Taco Bell is open and is shockingly one of the few things not making me sick at the moment.”
Rowan watched her from where he stood in the center of the room. It didn’t feel real. None of today did, really. It could be the hangover talking, but the day felt like a horrible dream. He was scared to move, scared that if he sat on the couch with her that she would vanish into nothing and he would wake up alone in his bed. 
“Are you going to just stand there all night?” Her eyes didn’t leave her phone while presumably selecting everything she wanted to eat, eyes narrowing at the screen briefly in thought. A moment later she held it out for him. Rowan stared at her, heart thundering away in his chest. “Rowan.”
“Right. Thank you,” he murmured, taking the phone and trying not to acknowledge the rush he felt when his fingertips grazed her palm. Not big on fast food most of the time, it took him a little longer to pick his dinner. “What do I owe you?”
Aelin just snorted as she submitted the order, eyes rolling slightly before placing her phone face down on the couch next to her, head tilting as she said, “Come to think of it, maybe you do. I think your twenty dollar fast food order might do me in completely. I’ll have to take out a loan.” 
“I can Venmo it,” Rowan said dumbly, reaching for the phone in his back pocket.
“I don’t need your money any more than you need mine.” Once there might have been a teasing edge to her voice. Her delivery was much drier than he was used to from her. But there it was. That stupid thing he’d said before he could stop himself, the words that brought everything they were building crashing down.
“Sit,” she told him, patting the cushion next to her. Rowan was careful to leave plenty of space between them. There were definitely lines and boundaries now. The risk of getting ensnared in one was too great and he had a lot of apologies to make. With his arms elbows braced on his knees and hands clasped loosely between them, he stared at the floor. 
“You’re actually getting a pretty sweet deal.” Aelin sighed, shifting so she was facing him full on. His green eyes didn’t leave the rug. “According to google my net worth is two-and-a-half times what yours is. Isn’t that crazy?”
“I didn’t know,” he finally said. As much as he wanted to look at her, he couldn’t. He was a fucking coward. Guilt was a disgusting, oily thing crawling beneath his skin. It threatened to consume him whole even worse now that he was talking to her than it had the rest of the week. 
Aelin sighed again, finally pulling his attention to her face. She laid her head back against the sofa and a few tendrils of hair fell down to frame her face.  Rowan’s fingers curled into fists to fight the urge to sweep them behind her ear. She must have sensed it because she did it herself. The blue of her fingernails was the same blue as his jersey. Part of him wondered if it had been on purpose. 
“I think tonight we can call a truce.” Aelin seemed to notice his gaze on her fingers because she folded her arms over her chest, curling her hands so her blue nails were hidden. “We’ll eat, sleep, and then tomorrow… Tomorrow we’ll talk.”
“Okay,” he agreed. The word was falling off his tongue as soon as she finished speaking. Her cheeks seemed to twitch with amusement, and if he had reacted differently last week she would probably be smiling. 
“I am curious, though. Did you make an instagram for the sole purpose of stalking me?” 
Rowan cringed. His eyes squeezed shut, lips rolling between his teeth as he looked away. Beside him it sounded like Aelin laughing, though it was little more than puffs of air coming out of her nose. It would have been easy to go on the defensive, to add one more lie to their crumpled house of cards. Instead, he went with the truth.
“I missed you. I just wanted to see your face.” He looked back over at her then, but it was she who looked away now. Her eyes were glassy, the dim lighting making the unshed tears in her eyes sparkle. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s these fucking hormones.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand when he started to reach for her. It stung more than he would ever let on, but he retreated and dropped his hand into his lap while she used the collar of her shirt to dry her eyes. 
It was silent after that, the two of them alternating from staring at nothing to sneaking glances at the other. Rowan only knew because he caught her staring at him more than once when he thought he could take a second to drink her in. It was only when the doorbell finally rang and he stood that she said his name, stopping him when he was halfway to the front door. Turning to look at her, eyebrows raised in question, he watched her lick her lips. 
“I missed you, too.” It was barely a whisper, spoken so softly he might have dreamed it if he was any more tired. 
Still, it was enough to get him through the rest of their silent night. Enough that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would when he insisted she sleep in his bed without him. Enough to chase him with sweet dreams when he finally slipped into the guest room down the hall and tumbled into a deep sleep. 
@elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @fancysludgeshoelamp  @wordsafterhours @live-the-fangirl-life @the-hospitality-of-knives @tangledraysofsunshine @readandlisten @westofmoon @rowanaelinn  @morganofthewildfire @writtenonreceipts @feynightlight @emster1622-blog @scarblx @thefaetrove @loveyatopluto @actuallybarb @peppermint-fae @the-devils-own @scottmcgivemeacall @livingmylifeforme  @wordsafterhours @foreverfallingforthestars @llyncooljones @emily-gsh @loosesimplicity @emilyrose111294  @charlizeed @aelinchocolatelover @cretaceous-therapod @sayosdreams @fireheart-violet @the-regal-warrior @backtobl4ck @shyvioletcat @mariamuses
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highladyofterrasen7 · 3 months
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I want a cadre pre-aelin book
Coz they’ll act like a bunch of immature children
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lorcandidlucienwill · 2 months
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Y’all is SJM ever going to write the cadre members’ backstories or should I just write them myself?
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"Far up the hill, as if they had come racing down from the mountains and had not stopped for food or water or sleep, were a towering man, a massive bird, and three of the largest predators she had ever seen.
Five in all.
Answering their friend's desperate call for aid."
if this doesn't have you screaming and kicking your feet and throwing the book across the room I don't know what will.
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wordsafterhours · 6 months
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Songs About You - Chapter 15
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Author's Note: Buckle up and enjoy this fluff fest. I worked so long on getting this chapter right and I think it still fell short. But I just love this time of year. Fall and Winter are my bread and butter, especially Christmas. I'd like to live in a Hallmark movie and make zero apologies for it. In the next few updates, we will be seeing more explanation onto what happen to her parents, more details on Arobynn's betrayal, and Gavriel and Aedion's exile from Aelin's life.
*Unedited update. I couldn't wait.
Triggers: I can't think of anything crazy that would need to be listed
Word Count: 9.8k (I haven't written college papers this long)
Masterlist
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Still quite bemused with herself, Aelin dawdled through getting dressed and making her way down the stairs. Several familiar voices deep in conversation reached her ears long before she found them in the foyer, digging through dusty boxes. 
“Does she have decorations for every occasion? I’m pretty sure I’ve looked through thirty boxes and only found one with Yulemas stuff,” complained Dorian. 
“Her family was big on celebrating any and everything. It was magical coming here as a kid. Trust me, the Yulemas decorations far outnumber anything here three to one,” Elide stated matter-of-factly.
The dark-haired male dramatically whined and started opening another box. Aelin decided to take pity on him, “The items in question are in the basement and carriage house.”
“Oh, hey there. I didn’t realize you’d come down.” Elide’s cheeks tinged pink with her admission, clearly flustered at having been caught unaware. 
The blonde said nothing, leaning casually against the wooden banister to her left, patiently waiting for anyone to divulge an explanation for the scene at hand. Elide dusted off her hands against her jeans and smiled tensely. “I’m sorry about last night. You were right to be upset and after you left, I was such a mess trying to figure out how I was going to apologize. A little birdy told me the house wasn’t decorated and I decided that it would be the best apology I could muster.” 
Her friend bounced anxiously up and down while she talked, a telltale sign of how unsure she was of herself right now. Aelin knew it had taken a lot for Elide to show up uninvited, especially given how last night had gone, and in taking such a bold move to decorate the house. Yulemas wasn’t the same since her parents passing and even less so after exiling the only family she had left. Each year, as December fell, she longed to pull out the boxes, to put up trees and wrap garlands around the columns, yet it never came to fruition.
Chaol had tried it to snap her out of it, but after one too many meltdowns, he’d just stopped. He’d always get her a gift and then head south to Adarlan, to spend it with his father, Dorian, and Dorian’s family. It was easier that way. No fake smiles, pretend happiness, or unwanted melancholy chasing away the holiday joy. 
If the very idea of this holiday hadn’t been artfully avoided, the decorations’ locations would be a forgotten memory, beyond her grasp. But her mind cruelly remembered what each and every box had, where it lived, and whose job it had been to put it up. Yulemas used to be the one thing worth waiting for as a kid. Not her birthday, summer, visits from Aedion, or traveling the continents—it was and had only ever been Yulemas. 
As the air cooled and the calendar marked December 1st, her mother was hiring local city folk and paying bonuses to landscapers to help put up all the decorations. It was a grand affair and the week before Yulemas, her parents would open their finished home for tours. Hot cocoa, cider, and sweet treats were offered. Carols would be sung, and she would play piano for their guests. Aelin lived for it. What she wouldn’t give for five minutes in one of those memories. 
A very sharp delivery of her name brought her out the reminiscent reverie. She took a startled step backward in attempt to gather her bearings. Elide was in arms distance now, looking concerned more than anything. “Are you okay?”
Was she? Simple answer: no. Would that be shared? Also, no. 
“Only trying to process all of you here, digging through my house.” She internally winced at the tone, knowing its harshness wasn’t deserved, but too aggrieved to cop to it. 
“I wish all my friends groveled like these two,” Fen casually declared between bites of toast. 
“Sharing my bed wasn’t enough, you’re eating my food, too?”
“I worked up an appetite,” he whined, dark eyes giving her a pleading look that would rival Fleetfoot’s. 
Graciously, no one chose to run with the blond’s comment, sparing her from further humiliation and or drawn-out explanation. At least the day was giving something back to her, small as it was. 
“Who else is here?” 
“We all are, well minus Lorcan. He’s being a pain in my ass, and we can leave it at that.” 
She gave a non-committal acknowledgement, staring too hard at one of the boxes Dorian had previously been looking through. If she granted them the okay to pull out the Yulemas decorations, could she bear it? Would the joy of it overshadow the grief that was picking her a part, one stitch popping at a time, threatening the remaining seams that were left. 
A presence came to rest behind her and she unconsciously gravitated back. His warmth radiated across her, momentarily chasing away the chill that had settled. Even as upset as she was with him, as betrayed as she felt—Rowan had become a much-needed life raft. 
He shouldn’t be. 
Couldn’t be.
But yet, he was. There were somethings this world knew that she didn’t, but what she did know, undoubtedly, down to her very marrow, was that Rowan Whitethorn had been the very thing missing from hers. “It’s okay to be scared and sad, Ace, but you have to stop limiting your happiness. Take it back. You deserve joy. Elide told me how much the season means to you and it’s almost over, but it doesn’t mean you can’t partake in it. We’re all here for you. Just say yes.” 
His appeal was low, warmed breath washing over the exposed column of her neck, words meant to only be heard by her. Resigned, her shoulders sagged as she nodded in wordless acquiescence. 
“This is going to be so exciting!” cheered Elide, clapping her hands together in paramount enthusiasm.
At least someone was thrilled. All Aelin could feel was a ten-pound leaded weight sitting in the pit of her stomach. It was cruel how emotions could rule, define, own. She’d do anything to turn it all off; to be cold and unfeeling, if only to get through this day. 
Her blue eyes stared intently, roving over every oak plank not covered by the foyer rug. One, two, three… one-hundred and fifty-one. All visible ones accounted for and the heaviness humanely lessened. She was alone, the sounds of her friends muffled, but it was clear they had wasted no time tackling the decorations. 
“Better?”
Her breath caught in surprise. Why Aelin had assumed she was truly alone was beyond her. If her thoughts hadn’t consumed her so, his presence would have been felt. A lie was forming on her tongue, but it tasted bitter, too bitter to bring to life. “Not really, but I think you already knew that.”
“Perhaps. Not that you give me benefit of the doubt often, but I don’t know everything.”
An unladylike snort sounded between them. Her eyes widened in embarrassment, and she hid her face. Rowan laughed loudly, chasing away her self-consciousness, and warming her to the core. It was such a beautiful sound, carefree and unbound. 
“I heard they found the sitting room decorations and some aged sheet music. Dorian said you play. Can you show me?”
“Gods what a gossip queen,” she muttered with rolled eyes. 
“I know I don’t know him well, but he doesn’t seem like a vault by any means.” 
“He would spill everyones’ secrets for a good romp in the sheets.” 
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Rowan acknowledged dryly. 
Expectance hung in the air as Aelin waffled between telling Rowan no or sucking it up and playing. She hadn’t played in years. The piano was surely out of tune, the ivory keys covered in a telltale dust film. It was a talent, a habit long forgotten, buried beneath a barrage of painful memories.
The feel of smooth keys beneath her fingers could never be forgotten and suddenly hers were itching to glide across them. To artfully construct notes into beautiful chords and drown out the world until only music remained. Nothing else mattered when she sat at the bench. Maybe, just maybe, that was what she needed. 
“Just one song.”
“Just one song,” he agreed. He sounded somewhat surprised, but Aelin wasn’t too sure since her back was still to him. 
She brushed around the foyer table and pushed apart the dark wood pocket doors, revealing a beautiful brown piano, nestled in the far corner, between a window and fireplace. Without much thought, Aelin raised the lid, and then sat down, flipping back the cover, revealing ivory and gold keys.
The piano had been a gift from her parents one Yulemas, after she’d shown promise with the instrument. It had been redone just for her; the traditional black keys replaced with gold. After the finished stretching her hands, she played a few notes to ascertain how out of tune it was. 
It wasn’t as much as the thought and a small, pleased smile turned the corners of her mouth upwards. Out of her periphery, she watched Rowan’s large frame settle into one of the chairs that faced the piano. Her hands slightly trembled, the gravity of the moments to come setting her nervous system haywire. 
Assuming proper position, Aelin moved to the edge of the bench with her back straight, arms out and relaxed in front of her. The opening chord notes tinkered through the air, harsher than they out to have been—her wrists were dropping. In the back of her mind, the severe chastisement of her former tutors reminded her that she wasn’t “grasping the keys”, thus her wrists were not lifting accordingly, the notes not soft.
Playing solely from memory, more than a few missteps occurred, but if Rowan noticed, he never gave it away. His green eyes were piercing, watching her with rapt attention. He could have been a stone statue if not for the occasional rise and fall of his shoulders.  
Moving to the next piece, her fingers glided across the keys, caressing them in near reverence, like one would caress a lover after long being separated. Tendrils of blond hair slipped forward, partially obscuring her view of the man sitting opposite her. The wisp of privacy came at the perfect time—the crescendo was up. 
Furiously, her fingers danced upon ivory and gold with precision, the familiar ache settling into her hands and shoulders. Uncertainty, grief, life—it ceased to exist as Aelin gave all of herself to the keys. It wasn’t until the last beautiful note filled the air with a resounding resonance that she let herself breathe. 
Silence, the cliché type where you could hear a pin drop, settled heavily across the room. Rowan was still sitting there, wordless, jaw resting against a balled fist, watching her with an undecipherable gaze. Had she not played as well as she thought? Was he trying to find the words to critique it? Critique her? Vulnerability and anxiety came on swift wings, like thieves in the night, whisking away her joy.
His opinion should not matter, especially under the circumstances now encompassing their friendship, but it did. Rowan’s opinion perhaps mattered more than anyone’s and she hated he had that power over her. It was power she gave him, but the heart was a fickle, stubborn thing, particularly the one housed beneath her own twelve pairs of ribs. It did not adhere to the principles of logic, not now, not ever.
The statue broke from his confines, leaning forward, bracing both elbows on his knees, hands steepled. He remained quiet, his gaze still just as studious as it had been the entirety of her playing. If he didn’t say something, Aelin’s nerves were going to split apart. Vulnerability was making her it’s entire three course meal.
His warm timber reached her ears, and she stood in anticipation before he’d even said two words. He gave a faint laugh. “I think your piano needs tuning.” 
Six words have never been so defeating. The small kernel of joy that had roared to life instantly snuffed out, leaving as though it had never been there in the first place. The traitorous burn along her lower lids meant tears were welling up, preparing to fall down, like water from a broken dam. Aelin prayed to the gods for the floor to split open and swallow her whole; it would be a mercy compared to this. 
Angered, she roughly wiped away the moisture, pinning the silver-haired man with her gold and turquoise stare. “If you didn’t like it, you could have just lied to my face. It took every ounce of will I could muster to sit down and play for you and the only comment you can make is antagonistic? You can be a real godsdamned asshole sometimes, Ro.” 
His brow furrowed and he took a step back, hitting the chair causing it to squeak sharply in protest against the oak floor. There was just enough space for her to run by him and Aelin seized the opportunity. His warm hand encircled her left bicep, stopping her before she could get out of the sitting room completely. 
“Aelin, stop.” 
She fought against his hold, refusing to turn and face him. His pressure became a little firmer, not enough to hurt, but enough to cease almost all of the fight. Calloused fingers twirled the errant tendrils of hair along her face and neck, and as though he had done it a thousand times prior, he tucked the hair behind her ear, tracing the shell of her ear softly.
“I wasn’t trying to upset you. I didn’t know what to say. Everything that I was thinking just seemed so trivial and underwhelming. Inadequate.” 
“I don’t understand.” 
“There are moments in life that define who you are. Moments that break and remake you all in the same breath. Moments that will be written on your bones for others to see long after you’re dead. Moments that you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you could revisit them because nothing will ever be as sweet.” 
He was whispering now, hushed, like he didn’t want any part of the world to hear him. Secrets and words were powerful currency. Both could be used at a moment’s notice to bring someone to their knees. Aelin had learned that with the death of her parents, Arobynn’s betrayal, Aedion’s strangled pleas as she shut the door on him. If you never gave words life or shared secrets—then they could never be used against you. 
“You can’t keep cutting my legs out from underneath me to protect yourself.”
“Aelin, that wasn’t my intention at all. I thought you’d call me on my bullshit with some line about how the piano wasn’t out of tune or something.” 
“I showed you my underbelly. I know you could tell I was nervous. Do you really think a joke was the appropriate response?”
He snorted. “Well, now I don’t.”
Exasperation zipped up her spine and she pulled hard against his hold. If he wanted to be a prick to someone, it wasn’t going to be her. Rowan adjusted his hold before slipping his other arm around her, holding her tight to his chest. She struggled but stopped when it became apparent he wasn’t going to let up. She didn’t have to see his handsome face to know he was wearing a smug smile as he rested his chin on her head. 
“I think that if I could bottle up that moment, I’d never know another sorrow for the rest of my life.”
The confession had been unexpected and brutally honest. The vulnerability in his words was profoundly tangible. A feeling all too familiar. The tension left her body as Aelin relaxed into him, taking time to process what he had said before she responded. Words, they mattered, and while he wasn’t hers, it felt like right now he was. In another life, she could turn to him and capture his lips with her own in a silent conveyance of how she felt. They were two faces of the same coin, different, beautiful apart, but whole together. 
But Hellas himself would have to drag that secret out of her. No acknowledgement meant no control. This life had enough influence on her; she couldn’t afford to give it anymore. So instead of saying and doing what she wanted, she offered him a small thank you that tasted rancid on her tongue. 
He continued to hold her; his strong arms wrapped comfortably tight. His shirt had moved up his arms a bit, showing off tanned skin, and the whorls of his tattoo. Later, she promised herself, she would ask him what it all said and meant. A handful of the words were known to her, but the archaic language had fallen out of favor years before her time. 
“Do you think we should help with the decorations?” his question vibrated across her back.
“Why should I help with my apology gift, defeats the purpose doesn’t it?”
“Always with the smart mouth,” he declared with a pinch to her side.
“It’s part of my charm.”
“I mean if that’s what you want to call it.”
“You know what, you get to put up the 26ft tree up outside. By yourself.” 
“You promise?”
He sounded too excited at the prospect. “Better yet, I’ll send Manon to help you.”
Rowan’s arms dropped from around her and he stepped into the doorway, wide-eyed.
“Snow leopard got your tongue?” Aelin’s smirk was threatening to split her face in two.
“I will take anyone else. She’s scary,” he fake whispered, looking over his shoulder while he said it.
“I know. I think it’ll be good for you.”
“I had another idea in mind.”
“Go on,” she encouraged.
“I was thinking you could help me. I won’t make you do any heavy lifting, and you can insult me the entire time.”
“It’s not enough. What else?”
“What else?” he said slightly taken aback. 
“Mhmm, what else?” She thoroughly enjoyed how panicked he looked as he wracked his brain to come up with something agreeable.
“I’ll bring you an entire chocolate hazelnut cake the next time I come by the shop.”
“But you’ve already brought me some before. Try again.”
He ran a hand through his hair, displacing some of the silver locks. Her eyes followed and it was then she knew what she wanted.
“You can let me braid your hair?”
He suspiciously sounded like he was choking before falling into a small coughing fit. Aelin had got him, satisfaction rolling through her.
“One time. This is a one-time deal because I fucked up a lot recently and I’d do just about anything to make you smile.
“Well, I chose wisely then. We better go drag tree out of the carriage house. And check on everyone else, because it’s too quiet and with Dorian around, that’s never a good thing.” 
Rowan gestured towards the foyer, allowing her the chance to head first into the chaos. 
Surprisingly, most of the upstairs had been decorated and the bannisters had been wrapped in garlands. When Rowan and Aelin had surveyed everyones’ work, both shared a look of guilt at not having helped. Connall and Vaughn had moved the big boxes for them and hadn’t been seen since. Rowan asked if they needed any other heavy lifting done, but Lys, Manon, and Elide waved them off. 
Taking the back set of stairs down, they wandered into the kitchen, to find Vaughn flipping through several cookbooks laid out on the counters, writing things down on a scratch paper. “Do you have a zester?” he asked without looking up.
“I should, in one of those drawers. What are you doing?” 
“Well, someone has to make Yulemas Eve dinner, Aelin,” he replied like it should have been glaringly obvious.
“I normally just have takeout and pretend the day doesn’t exist,” she admitted quietly. 
“Aelin?”
“Yeah, Con?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way but get out of the kitchen.” 
She questioningly looked up at Rowan and mouthed, “Was it something I said?” 
He jerked his head towards the back door and out they went. “He takes food very seriously. He loves to cook for everyone, and he eats pretty clean. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat takeout. He’ll eat at restaurants but spends twenty minutes picking apart the menu before eating. Its rather cumbersome.”
“So, it was something I said,” she chuckled. 
“Can you two shut up or go somewhere else?” a displeased, muffled voice asked. Both turned and noted Dorian happily smothered beneath two dogs on the porch swing. Rowan had brought Elliot. She smiled to herself—it was sweet he loved his dog the way she loved Fleetfoot.
“I thought you were helping with decorations, not sleeping your highness.”
“I was in the way and Fen said I was too whiny. Besides, Lorcan showed up looking angry and pushed me off the ladder. I wasn’t going to get into it with that guy. He’d eat me for breakfast or use me as snow leopard bait.” 
“And to think you’re supposed to be taking over running Adarlan.” 
“Well, when I take it over, I can order someone to deal with unpleasantries like that man. Or manual labor. You know I was built to supervise.” 
People told Aelin she was dramatic, which she was. But somehow, she knew they’d find another adjective to describe her antics if they had to put up with Dorian. He was lovable, fiercely loyal, fun, a good listener, but nauseatingly theatrical without much effort or thought. 
“If you change your mind and get tired of lying with the dogs, we’ll be out front putting up the tree.” Rowan looked like he was ready to bite through his lip to keep from laughing. 
It took twenty minutes for them to pull out all the tree boxes from the carriage house and drag them into the front yard. Lorcan and Fen had offered to help but Rowan had politely declined, letting them know if they were needed, he’d get them.
Aelin could tell Rowan was really trying to make up for last night. He’d followed each direction she’d given him to the T and done so without terrorizing her in the process. He didn’t even laugh when she tripped over an errant tree root poking out of the ground and knocked over several boxes, spilling shiny ornaments everywhere. 
The tree was halfway done, and she was fluffing the faux branches, waiting for him to return with ladders so they could put the rest up. Once it was put together, they could plug it in, and see what lights needed replacement before deciding on ornament placement. Her mom had always taken ornaments seriously and hung them all herself. It took hours sometimes because she’d take several breaks to step back and look, moving the glass balls accordingly until they were perfect. 
Inside, there was a Christmas tree for every room except the bathrooms and kitchen. All differed in size or style, each with their own set of dedicated ornaments. Each Yulemas, Rhoe had gotten both her and her mom a new ornament to be hung on the tree of their choosing. Some were wooden, others blown glass, and on occasion, metal. It had been years, but pain ferociously nipped at the heels of nostalgia made it feel like this was the first Yulemas without them. 
In a way it was. The holidays that had been celebrated with Aedion, Gavriel, and Arobynn, had been spent at the latter’s house. It was easier that way. She thought that Arobynn had been doing her a kindness but really it was just to ensure he could keep an eye on everyone. If all ends of the knot were in your hand, nothing could unravel, providing all the reassurance you needed. 
Not wanting to be melancholy when Rowan came back, she sidelined her thoughts, returning back to fluffing the branches, doing her best to fill in any bare spots. It was tedious, often cramping her hands, but there was comfort in monotonous activity.  Most of it was done, but one particular branch was proving to be a hindrance. A few colorful words escaped as she tipped forward, catching a mouthful of synthetic tree.
“Are you trying to tip the whole thing over?” he asked playfully.
“If that what it takes to get that last branch fluffed, then yes,” she replied stubbornly looking over her shoulder at him.
He tipped his head back, a full-bodied and carefree laugh sounding from him. He looked like the picture she’d been admiring on the bar wall—young and happy. She could only watch him, a smile of her own forming. Rowan was handsome; the most striking man she’d ever seen but nothing compared to this, and Aelin vowed to never let this memory go. He continued to laugh as he walked up and reached above her, righting the troublesome branch. 
“Is that better?”
“Yes. If you could have been a minute sooner, I wouldn’t have taken branches to the face.” 
“If my defense, the appropriate ladder was in the back of the carriage house, buried under stuff. And it’s heavy. I also stopped to talk to the guys.”
“Uh huh. I just hear excuses.” 
A loud squeal escaped her as Rowan’s strong arms picked up and tipped her upside down while tickling her ribs. “Excuses, huh?” 
“Ye—.” She tried to speak but he continued his assault, making it too hard to answer. 
“What was that? I can understand you. Words, Aelin. Use your words.” 
Every time she tried to talk; he tickled her again. Her stomach hurt from laughing and her head felt heavy from being upside down. If she was lucky, he was ticklish, too. She grabbed above his knee and squeezed—he jerked and almost dropped her. 
She screamed in half in delight, half in panic. Was tickling him back worth the possibility of being dropped? It wasn’t that far to the ground, but it was far enough. Tickling him won out and she latched onto his knee, squeezing it. 
“Hey, stop that!”
“You started it.” 
“Don’t make me drop you.”
“I trust you not to.” She smiled deviously. He wouldn’t drop her now, not after she’d said that. The likelihood of him dropping her before was minute, but added reassurance wasn’t bad. She hadn’t counted on him starting to spin. His grip tightened and he spun and spun and spun. Her head was swimming when he stopped. He seemed completely unphased.
Aelin was about to tease him some more when she felt the familiar vibration of a phone. Hers was inside, which meant it was Rowan’s. As though she weighed nothing more than a feather, he continued to brace her body against his with one arm and used his newly freed one to dig in his pocket. His body stiffened as he looked at the screen. Flipping her upright, he set her down and took two steps back, answering the phone. 
Eaves dropping was extremely rude, but he was still so close—it was hard not to hear every word of the exchange between them. His silver brow furrowed the longer the conversation continued, and he was intermittently pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Lyria was clearly upset that he hadn’t answered her previously calls or called her back. Then she brought up how he wasn’t “here”. Aelin didn’t know where “here” was, but she did know it wasn’t hanging out with his friends.
“I’m not going to do this with you right now. You’re jumping down my throat and I understand you’re upset, but this isn’t how I want to spend my holiday. I love you and I’m sorry I had a prior commitment. You knew this when you asked me last week.”
Prior commitment? The decorating was last minute, she knew from Elide’s tenuous confession and pleading this morning. So, what had Rowan given up to be here? The mother of his child was currently ripping him a new one, he’d ignored several phone calls, and still, he was in here, instead of doing whatever he was supposed to be doing. 
She startled when he said her name. She had missed him hanging up with Lyria. His guarded green gaze met hers and held steady. He was waiting for to ask him what was going on. Most of it didn’t need to be asked about because she heard it, but against her better judgement, she had to ask two questions.
“Where were you supposed to be and why aren’t you with her?”
His angular jaw tensed just enough to let her know he was uncomfortable with what she had asked of him. His left hand clenched into a fist, the tanned skin of his forearm flexing the tattooed whorls. “I’m not with her because I didn’t want to be.” 
“But she’s having your baby. And it’s Yulemas tomorrow.”
“Thank you for that astute observation, Aelin.” 
“I just don’t understand,” she said plainly. Quietly. 
“I was supposed to go to Doranelle early this morning, on a red eye, but I didn’t. She’s mad because I wouldn’t cancel it to go spend the holiday with her and her parents. I’ve spent every Yulemas with my cousins since my parents died.” She knew he’d lost his parents, but he’d never stated is so plainly. Truly, he had said more about himself in those three sentences as he had in as many months of friendship. 
“Did you tell her you didn’t go?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“And she’s livid you still didn’t go to her parents.” It should have been a question, but she said it as a statement instead. It was evident from the tense exchange just how upset the dark-haired woman was about his lack of attendance.
“Correct.”
It was apparent that any further explication on the subject was going to be like pulling teeth. 
“Did you miss your plane?”
“No,” he answered flat and succinct. 
“Did they ask you not to come?”
“Of course not. They were very upset when I called this morning and said I wasn’t coming.” 
“Why didn’t you go?” she pushed. It was unfair he always knew what was going on in her head, soliciting more than what she wanted to comfortably give. She didn’t regret trying to give him a taste of his own medicine. 
“Don’t ask me that Aelin.”
While the please wasn’t audible, she knew it was implied, as was the reason he didn’t go.
Her.
His green eyes were still upon her, narrowing slightly, as he anticipated her next move. She wanted to call him on his unsaid truth. To prod and prod and prod until one of them snapped, the consequences be damned. But she didn’t. He’d shown her the smallest glimpse inside his walls. If her inquisition backfired, he’d never let her in again. 
Trust took an irrational amount of time to foster and create but could be forced to ruination in seconds. She would not bring their friendship to the battlefield today. As hard as it was to sit on her hands, it was exactly what she did.
“I think if we don’t hurry up with the tree, it’ll be dark, and we’ll have missed Connall’s cooking.”
Rowan visibly relaxed, like one of the Staghorns had been lifted off his shoulders. “You’re probably right. Fenrys and Lorcan won’t hesitate to eat our food if we’re not there when Con deems its dinner time.” 
The rest of the tree took around an hour to put together, Rowan of course doing all the heavy lifting, and much to his chagrin, some branch fluffing while Aelin directed him from the ground. After she had almost fallen off the ladder reaching to fix one of them, he had refused to let her back on, using his body to block her. She was secretly glad; it gave her a chance to watch him unencumbered. His muscled frame, despite being large, moved with graceful ease, keeping him steady 20 plus feet in the air. 
Aelin had only seen a small glimpse of the finished decorations and was itching to get up from the dinner table to look, but her friends kept sending judgmental looks her way. Rowan had thought it would be more special to plug in the lights outside once dinner was over, so they could ring in Yulemas as a family—she’d been pouting ever since. The need for instant gratification was on the forefront of her brain. 
Now that the decorations were up and finished, the joy she used to feel before her parents’ loss was coming to life, soon to be a roaring fire. Connall had said he was putting the finishing touches on several dishes and waiting for dessert to finish, before dinner would start. It felt like later would never come.
“Would you quit bouncing your leg like a little kid who has to pee?” Lys quietly said into her ear. 
“I’m starving and no one will let me look at the decorations.” 
“Yes because you got out voted and we’re doing it all together. Not any one person has seen it all.”
“Quit scolding me like a child,” whined Aelin, tipping her head back against the chair. On her left, out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rowan’s mouth tip up in a lopsided grin as his gaze flicked away from Fenrys to her. Her pain was the night’s entertainment.
“You’re acting like a toddler right now,” Lysandra tried to sound stern but ended up laughing.
“Lysssssssss.”
“This is why you were an only child. Elide was she this insufferable growing up?”
“Worse. Between her and Aedion, it was constant ego, theatrics, and bad decisions. I’m pretty sure it’s why I ended up being an only child. My mom had to put up with them and then come home to me. I asked for a brother once and she started bringing me to play with them… I didn’t want one after that.” 
“It wasn’t that bad, Elide,” Aelin declared indignantly.
The dark-haired woman remained silent, but raised a disbelieving eyebrow and stared her down. Aedion and Aelin had been menaces to her parents, Elide’s mother Marion, and Gavriel, but Elide had been their partner in crime too many times to count. Aelin would let the rest of the table believe Elide the angel she appeared to be, for now. 
“Aelin, why don’t you go decorate the tree in your bedroom? I left a box with your name on it sitting on the bed. It was full of ornaments,” chimed in Manon as she walked in from the kitchen, a newly poured glass of red wine in hand.
“You found my tree?”
Manon snorted, the wine almost sloshing over the side of her glass when she did so. “It was hard to miss. Giant scrawl was all over the two boxes declaring it was your tree and the decorations that went with it. You guys really love Yulemas in this house.”
“Yeah we did,” she agreed, renewed nostalgia setting in. A heavy hand landed on her bouncing leg, giving her knee a brief, reassuring squeeze. Her blue eyes flicked over to Rowan’s, and he inclined his head towards the door, motioning for her to go.
She weaved out of the room and out the front dining room entrance, ending up at stairs closet to her room. Halfway up, a second set of footfalls joined in hers, and without turning, she knew it was Rowan. The outside tree and being present today, had been apology enough, but if he wanted to watch her agonize over perfect placement for her tree, then she’d let him.
The box on her bed was open, ratty cardboard flaps revealing some of her most prized possessions. Twenty-one years of her life could be found in this box. Every year, her father would present her mother and her with handpicked ornaments. It was tradition to open them on Yulemas Eve and then hang them on the tree at midnight.
Manon had set the tree to the right of her fireplace. It stood tall and naked in front of her bookshelf. Eagerly, she stuck her hand into the box of brightly colored tissue paper, pulling out a wrapped ball. Instant tears welled in her eyes as she unwrapped it. A flaming red heart sat nestled in her hand. It had been the last one her father had gotten for her and the most meaningful Yulemas gift she’d ever received. 
A silent tear rolled down her cheek, dripping onto the tissue paper, darkening it. Another one followed. She knew it was in here but hadn’t expected it to be the very first one out of the box. She could feel his presence heavy at her side, probably wondering she was looking at her hands like they held the world. 
She sniffed, her runny nose making very unlady like noises, “My dad got my mom and I handmade ones every year. We’d open them the night before Yulemas and hang them on the tree at midnight, signifying the start of our favorite day of the year. This one, it was the last one he got me before they died.”
“Aelin, it’s beautiful.” 
“It’s what they used to call me. Fireheart.” 
“Very fitting.” 
“Not anymore. I don’t even know that girl.”
“I do,” he said quietly before slipping it from her hands and hanging it on a branch towards the top. 
Aelin wanted to argue with him, to tell him that the girl she used to be was just as dead as her parents. She had been a force, burning brightly—unapologetically herself. There wasn’t a mountain she couldn’t conquer. She had been someone who never needed anyone, who didn’t cry at the drop of a hat, and had never doubted herself. 
Now, she was nothing but a field of ash, burned and unrecognizable. 
He held out his hand, waiting for her to hand him another, and she did methodically until the box was empty. It was stunning, each placed just right. The tree could have been in a magazine, reminding her of the days when Evalin had spent hours adorning the trees to the same standard. 
Rowan’s tall frame dropped to the floor, and he plugged in the tree, illuminating the room. The heart at the top had been strategically placed, backlit by a bulb, giving the illusion it was actually burning. He leaned into her legs, his head resting against her hip as they stared at the tree. 
“Sometimes, we all just need a little light.” The statement was weighted and required no elaboration, clearly a nod to her earlier confession. She dropped her hand to his head, idly running her fingers through the loose, silver strands. He had taken his hair out of its bun earlier, in anticipation of her braiding it, but they had never gotten around to it. It would have to be done at a later date; he would not get off scot-free. 
“Dinner!” a cacophony of loud voices rang out from somewhere beyond the walls of her bedroom. Hastily, the pair separated, several feet of distance now between them. Shame felt heavy in the pit of her stomach as she stared at Rowan, who was conveniently looking at books on the shelf nearest him.
It might not have been the embrace of lovers, but the moment had been just as intimate, if not more. He was spoken for, a father-in-the-making, and situations like this, shouldn’t be happening. Aelin was to Rowan as a moth was to a flame—inexplicably drawn, despite the promise of a tragic outcome. 
Moving forward, she would have to religiously remind herself that traipsing the fine line between friends and something more was not in the best interest of anyone involved. Too many cards were in play, and she did not yet possess a winning hand. With one last look, she strolled out of the room and rushed down the stairs, eagerly returning to her earlier seat.
Elide gave her a questioning look when she sat down alone. She shrugged her shoulders, reaching for whatever dish was closest to her. Later, one of her friends would corner her, demanding answers about her quality time spent with the silver-haired male. They were all a bunch of gossips, yet, if she shoe were on the other foot, she’d be acting the same. Secrets were the glue that helped bind friendships together. 
Con had out done himself. The table was laden with various dishes from one side to the other. There was no way she was going to be able to try it all. She plopped a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes on the white and gold plate in front her and then followed it with carved pieces of turkey. A basket of rolls was making its way around but was rudely intercepted by Rowan’s big hand as he swiped one before sitting down. 
“Looks like that was the last one, Aelin,” shared Dorian with a sympathetic look. He set the empty basket down and all she could do was stare at it, letting out a loud and dramatic sigh. 
“There’s another batch baking. The rolls always go first,” called Con from the opposite end. It didn’t make it better. She had wanted one now. Instant gratification and all.
“Here,” he said warmly, his tattooed hand placing half a roll onto her plate. Melted butter glistened on the top and her ire softened, just slightly, at his gesture. Her turquoise eyes followed his hand’s retreat, a tingling, heavy sensation forming low in her stomach when he licked the butter from his fingers. Her thighs clenched together, a poor attempt at quelling the wayward response her body was having to such an innocuous act.   
The gods were testing her. As if last night’s conversation or today’s Yulemas decorating had not been enough, now they were dangling a hot, hot man who she couldn’t touch right in front of her. Perhaps, she should attend Temple and pray to Kiva for atonement or to Lumas’, whose birthday was tomorrow… he was the God of Love afterall. 
“I think we should go around and say one thing we’re grateful for or that we hope happens in the next year. Seems more fun than the traditional grace said at Holidays,” suggested Vaughn. 
“Oh, I love this!” Dorian declared excitedly, dropping his napkin into his lap, and sitting up straight. His blue eyes were sparkling. “I’m grateful I’m spending this holiday with great friends.”
“That is so lame,” Manon declared dryly. Her unnaturally yellow eyes were pinned on Dorian, daring him refute her.
“It may be lame, but it’s true. I usually spend today and Yulemas with my family and Chaol. It’s nice to do something different with people who don’t tell me how much of a screw up I am. Or who don’t rant incessantly about mutual friends.” His gaze flicked to Aelin’s when he said the last part; apology was etched into his face.
“Well, we’re honored to be the better choice,” Fenrys said, raising his glass to Dorian before tipping it back. “I’m grateful for the beautiful life I get to live, and I hope this next year continues to bring good things to me and my.” Collective nods and smiles spread around the table. 
“I’m grateful that Vaughn finally asked me out,” declared Conall with a grin so wide, it crinkled his eyes so much they almost looked shut. Vaughn leaned over, placing a sweet but chaste kiss against his lips. 
“Me too, you’re the best part of my day.” 
“Can we save some of the sweet for dessert? My teeth are rotting out just looking at you two.” 
“She has to eat children for breakfast,” Dorian whispered, looking slightly frightened. 
“I heard that,” Manon replied drolly. She took a large sip of wine from her glass, keeping the raven-haired male pinned with her glare. Aelin found it too amusing how much the woman liked to torture Dorian. He always acted as though at any second he was going to be disemboweled by her hands. Honestly, that seemed a little messy… she seemed the type to just snap someone’s neck and step over the body, unbothered. 
“I’m grateful for the success of The Thirteenth.” 
Lys coughed pointedly. Manon sighed, “I’m grateful for my friends. I guess you all are pretty cool.” 
“Glad we rank somewhere in your life,” Lys laughed. “I’m grateful for Fleetfoot and I hope that by this time next year, I have something like Connall and Vaughn.” Despite being a top figure in the modeling world and successful in her own right, Lysandra had struggled in the romance department. It seemed to Aelin that most guys just saw a pretty face and became disinterested when they learned she actually had brains to accompany the beauty. 
“I’m not doing this,” Lorcan vowed stone-faced.
“Yes you are,” argued Elide. Her dark eyes fiercely meeting his. A silent conversation passed between the pair, ending with the large, brooding male’s shoulders sagging in defeat. 
“I’m grateful for my brothers and for ‘Lide.” He didn’t smile at his admission. In fact, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here at the dinner table.
Elide rested her head against Lorcan’s arm, smiling to herself. The appeal of their relationship was lost on Aelin. Lorcan seemed about as fun as running naked through thorn bushes or fighting a Ghost Leopard with only your bare hands. 
“I’m grateful I twisted my ankle. I’ve never been glad to be clumsy until this year.” 
There it was. Aelin had never actually asked Elide how she’d found Lorcan.  Obviously, there were more details, but it seemed the angry man had a penchant for damsels in distress. 
The table looked expectedly at her and Rowan, waiting for one of them to go. The food they’d plated was likely cold and the rolls were probably burning. It was worth it though, to hear all the sappy things that holidays brought to light. 
“I’m fortunate to have irreplaceable friends and a proclivity for quality literature.” He didn’t bother to look at anyone else, his stormy green gaze focused on her. The conviction of his admission sent her heart skittering. A pink flush colored her cheeks, partly because it felt like he was stripping her bare and because there was an audience to his veil remark. The aforementioned line was growing finer by the minute. 
Eager to redirect the focus of the table back to the task at hand, she didn’t acknowledge him. “I’m most grateful that I don’t have to sit alone at rock bottom. And for the grace you have all shown me as I try to find myself, again and again. Thank you for being the kindling that keeps my fire going.” 
“Here, here,” cheered Fenrys loudly, his smile infectious. Aelin felt an answering one spread wide across her face. “Now let’s eat because there’s a whole lot of lights waiting for us.” 
And eat they did; what started as a daunting amount of food, hardly seemed like it was going to be enough at the end. Aelin hadn’t kept company with men who could eat like that since her cousin and uncle. Every single one of them was fit, with hardly any body fat to their name, and likely their insatiable appetite stemmed from their active lifestyles. Dorian, for as high maintenance as he was, worked out several times a week. He blamed it on having an “image” to uphold. 
Aelin was so uncomfortable, bloated like a fat tick, that she did not even have room to eat the chocolate hazelnut croissants sitting in front of her. Connall had found the recipe starred with a note declaring “Aelin’s favorite”. She’d probably have a good cry later after everyone left whilst eating one in the dark. Maybe if she was feeling terribly masochistic, she’d open the book, and run her fingers over the words written down. Would she feel the echoes of a mother’s love in the indented script? Would there be greasy fingerprints staining the pages? Would she hear the laughing chastisement of her dad as reminded her she had to wait for them to cool? What ghosts would creep in the dead of night?
“If I don’t walk around and digest this food, I’m simply going to perish right here.” Dorian was splayed out in his chair, looking pitiful, eyes pinched shut.
“Then get up. Your decomposing corpse will stain my floors.”
“Rude. You’d just let me rot right there?” he asked exasperated now staring at the floor. 
Aelin shrugged, unabashed. “You’re too heavy for me to move.”
His eyes grew wide, hand flying to his chest in horror. “I know you did not just call me fat.” 
“If you weren’t so vain, you wouldn’t have taken it like that.”
“That’s rich, the pot calling the kettle black.” 
She laughed loudly, amusement sinking in. “I never said I wasn’t vain. Besides my dead body would be easier to move.”
“Again, with the fat jokes.”
“What cheerful Yulemas conversation: rotting bodies,” deadpanned Lorcan.  
“You two are such children,” Lysandra observed. It sounded like she was trying to reprimand them, but the entertained look on her face said otherwise. 
“He started it.”
“Aelin, stop,” Elide begged, dragging out the ‘p’ dramatically.
Huffing, she rolled her eyes, and closed her mouth, the rebuttal sadly dying on her tongue. 
“Well, it’s almost midnight, so we better hurry through, so we can make it outside to plug the tree in when it’s officially midnight. Let the tour commence,” Elide sing-songed, clapping her hands together. One at a time, they filed out of the living room, through the kitchen, and into the living room. Both Fleetfoot and Eliot were asleep under the large Christmas tree that occupied one corner. The tree was decorated in only white ornaments, the clear lights slowly fading in and out, casting a warm glow throughout the room. It was so cliché, but perfect, nonetheless.
The exited the living room and made it back to the back stairs, the banister wrapped in frosted pine garlands with red bows. A small Christmas tree was nestled between the bathroom and closet doors. They followed Elide up the stairs, poking their heads in the decorated upstairs rooms, enjoying how each tree had its own theme. 
Manon had decorated the front porch balcony, a beautiful tree in the middle, wreaths hung from the windows, and garlands with bright red, velvet bows decorated the columns. The downstairs porch carried the same décor, sans the tree. Both trees in the formal sitting room and piano room could be seen from the windows—perks of having 6ft windows in all the rooms. 
They headed down the front set of stairs and took a moment to look closer at the trees in the sitting and piano room. The fireplaces were decorated with pine garlands with candied fruit slices strung along them instead of bows. It smelled liked mulled cider with a citrusy note. Aelin couldn’t have asked for a better group of friends. She knew that Elide had been the mastermind behind the decorations and today. After all, she’d really been the only one around to know how it used to be, to know how much care Evalin had put into the whole craft. 
Her eyes burned with unsaid emotion. Today had been exactly what she had needed. These decorations, these friends, these new memories… they helped lessen the ache that had griped her heart mercilessly tight for almost a decade. Grief had been holding her head under water for so long, it was difficult to know how to come up for air. 
Her ribcage expanded as she pulled in a deep breath and then exhaling, enjoying how it didn’t quite feel so heavy anymore to do so. “Thank you. It seems so paltry a gesture compared to this—,” she gestured to their surroundings, “but it’s the best way I know how right now.”
“Seeing your eyes light up has been all the thanks I needed. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you look like that,” Lys replied, slipping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She relaxed her head against her friend, enjoying the peaceful silence that had befallen them. 
“Hate to ruin the moment, but its 11:58, and there’s a tree that needs lighting.” Thank the gods Connall was paying attention. 
Hastily, they bounded out the front door, off the porch, and out into the yard. The unlit tree towered high into the night, the top barely visible. They stood together, merriment and anticipation freely flowing. The tree flickered to life with an audible buzzing sound. Aelin squinted, her eyes attempting to adjust to the bright radiance. Her and Rowan had done an amazing job. The ornaments were visible, some almost looking like they were lit themselves, the bulbs glowing against them.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed or even if it was. Truthfully, it felt like time was standing still—the moment felt infinite as they stood there, heads craned back, eyes wide with wonder. Yulemas, was a god’s birthday, but it was also a day of celebration and togetherness. A day for unbridled joy. An unspoken agreement with the universe that worries and troubles didn’t matter. No bad things could happen because just for one day, the gods hit pause on it all.
“Happy Yulemas.” 
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Aelin was wrapped in her favorite blanket, sitting on the porch, still basking in the tree’s light. She had missed its presence more than she had known and now that it was up, the idea of leaving it to sleep, caused an ache in her chest. All of her friends, except one, had left hours ago. She didn’t know the exact time, but it late, the horizon staring to lighten just barely, signaling dawn wasn’t too far off. 
It was supposed to snow, but the sky was clear, not a whisp of clouds in the sky. The air was heavy and still though, the smell of frost tickling her nose. Having a white Yulemas would be wonderous, especially with the house done up in spectacular fashion. It had been years since Orynth had been graced by snow on Lumas’ birthday.
“I have something for you.” His sleepy voice startled her. When she had last looked at him, he had been sleeping peacefully, Elliot curled into his side on the wooden bench. 
Her gaze flicked over to him, noting that while she had been staring off, wishing for snow, he had sat up, folded his blanket, and pulled back his hair into a bun. She really needed to work on her observation skills, if only for self-preservation. 
“It’s in the truck,” he said as he stood and extended a hand to her. 
As content as she was wrapped up like a burrito, she uncurled herself, and slipped her hand into his. It was warm and calloused and much larger than her own. He didn’t let go even when she was to her feet and Aelin knew she should pull her hand back, but she didn’t. For just five minutes, it would be okay to pretend that there was nothing wrong with holding his hand. No lines were being blurred or crossed or ignored. He was just a guy and she was just a girl.
Elliot faithfully trotted behind them, stuck to Rowan like glue. Her own dog, had refused to come outside, choosing to lay in front of the fire. Fleetfoot was spoiled and it showed. They did say people often picked dogs like themselves. 
Rowan opened the driver side door and dug around, only dropping her hand when he had to lean further across the bench seat. He stepped out of the door, allowing for Elliot to jump up into the truck—which caused her to deflate a little inside because it meant he was leaving. She wasn’t sure if she was dreading finally being alone or dreading him leaving. 
He shut the door and leaned back against it. Holding is hand up between them, a small brown box with a gold bow sat on his open palm. When she didn’t immediately grab it, he stepped closer, their bodies almost touching. If she took even half a step, angled her head just so, their lips would be flush, and that was the only thing running through her brain. 
When he spoke, his breath warmed her lips, “Are you going to open it, or do you have x-ray vision and haven’t told me?”
Embarrassment and shame coursed through her veins. Kissing him was the absolute last thing she should be contemplating. Her hand quickly relieved him of the package, and she took a step back, opening it. Reaching in, she hooked a green ribbon with her finger and pulled up. 
Fleetfoot. A dog had been carved out of wood, collar, and everything, and stained to appear just like her own. 
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed quietly. A tear streaked down her right cheek. 
Before she even registered him move, his hand was cupping her jaw, and he was swiping away the tear with his thumb. A small amount of pressure applied forced her to look at him. He stared intently at her, and she suddenly didn’t know how to breathe.  
“I carved it from a piece of wood I cut that day you were at my house. I almost took my thumb off a few times. It was hard to get her just right.”
“It seems like it would be hard to whittle something with so much detail.”
Rowan opened his mouth a few times but said nothing. He seemed to be struggling internally with himself, his brow furrowing quite noticeably for it being so dark and hard to see features in any great detail. Frustrated with his silence, she huffed, “What?”
“When you told me about your Yulemas tradition earlier in your bedroom, I thought to myself how fortuitous it was that I had spent weeks on this thing for you. Out of all the things, I’d carved you something to be hung on a tree.” His hand slowly down her neck, his words barely above a whisper. The drag of his hot hand against her cooled flesh sent shivers down her spine, straight to core.  Aelin’s self-control was fraying like a worn rope, soon too many fibers would break, and it would snap all together, ending with her doing something incredibly rash. 
Sucking in a ragged breath, she dropped her gaze, and counted to ten, a pitiful attempt to ground her thoughts. His hand remained against her neck, the tip of his thumb grazing the straight plane of her jawbone. She wondered if he could feel her pulse racing or the flushed heat of her skin against his open palm. 
“I love my gift, Ro. I’ll hang it on my tree when I go inside.” 
He suddenly pulled her close without hesitation, the end of her promise muffled by his muscled chest. Pine and snow deliciously filled her nose she tucked her face in a little tighter. She could feel his hands playing with the tips of her hair and the unmistakable press of lips against the crown of her head. 
“Happy Yulemas, Fireheart.” 
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Tag list:
@lunadorned @theresyourfireandblood @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories @morganofthewildfire @rowaelinismyotp @jorjy-jo @theresyourfireandblood @numbers-colors-fashion @swankii-art-teacher @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart  @stardelia @astra-ad-mare
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lynnsthoughts · 3 days
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Idk what it is about this re-read of Throne of Glass that I’m doing, but everything is making me emotional!
Sam Cortland gets mentioned? Crying
Nehemia? I’m gone
Abraxos and Manon? Don’t look at me
The Thirteen? Sobbing
Dorian’s POV? He needs a hug!! He just wants his friends back dammit
Aedion? Send me down the Avery
I’m like… halfway through Heir of Fire and it only gets worse 😃👍
I deadass just thought about Connall and I started tearing up, no joke…
100000/10 series you should totally check it out if you’re considering reading the series
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jayktoralldaylong · 2 months
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The Six Cadre/Never Love An Anchor - Crane Wives.
Connall
On some level, I think I always understood. That a ship could never really love an anchor.
(Watching Fenrys shine leap and dance like the shining golden sun yet still held down by the chain that passes through Connall's chest to Maeve)
So, I did the only thing that I could
(Connall grips the chain)
and severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbor.
(Fenrys' howl of despair)
Fenrys
On some level, I think I always understood. That these hands of mine were clumsy, not clever.
(Always getting scolded by everyone for being too reckless, but Fenrys' low-key admiring Connall for always being levelheaded.)
And I tried to do the best that I could.
(Giving his all to protect Connall)
But try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to hold you.
Rowan
(Rowan watching Aelin but thinking of Lyria)
It's a secret I keep tucked inside my chest, with this heart of mine that's guilty, not remorseful.
There is love that doesn't have a place to rest.
(Aelin smiles at him and he turns away, ignoring the heartbreak in her eyes).
But it would have buried you if it had settled on your shoulders.
Gavriel
(Gavriel watching Aedion with pride)
There are times when I still wonder about you. You are someone I have loved, but never known.
(Aedion glares so Gavriel turns away sadly)
And you'll never see the reasons I had.
(Gavriel leaves dragging the chains of Maeve far away from Aedion).
For keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you.
Lorcan
I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel.
(Elide's eyes widen as she registers Lorcan sitting before her covered in blood)
I am all the things they might have said to you.
Do you ever think of me and my two hands?
(Lorcan's strong scarred hands of a killer)
And wonder why they never soothed your fevers?
(Lorcan still doing everything possible to protect Elide in the ways he can, carrying her, being her crutch, providing cycle pads)
And wonder why they never tied your shoes? And wonder why they never held you gently?
Vaughan
And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?
(Vaughan, flies away into the horizon....free)
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lady-sunbeam · 1 day
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Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Fenrys Moonbeam/Original Character(s), Fenrys Moonbeam/Original Female Character(s), Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn, Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre Characters: Fenrys Moonbeam, Original Female Character(s), Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve (Throne of Glass), Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien, Gavriel (Throne of Glass), Lorcan Salvaterre, Elide Lochan, Dorian Havilliard, Vaughan (Throne of Glass), Connall Moonbeam Additional Tags: Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Angst
Summary:
Cerise Whitethorn, bloodsworn to Queen Maeve and sister to Rowan Whitethorn, doesn't understand her place in the world.
Maeve controls her every move, leaving Cerise with no options - locked perpetually in Doranelle, managed carefully by Lorcan Salvaterre, there seems no logical reason to have made her a member of the infamous cabal.
Cerise must carve a path for herself, all the while balancing feelings for a male she can never have.
 Originally, this was called Maeve's Prize, My Mate. I published this on Wattpad several years ago under the name Lady Moonbeam, then on A03, before taking it down. Writing it from scratch, I want to build on the first thing I ever posted online.
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scriptonite · 1 year
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In desperate need of Tog x reader fics 😩
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sydneymack · 1 year
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Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Main Characters of Throne of Glass
Artist: @/jemlin_c for @prettygalpins
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raintherainywriter · 1 year
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The cadre, basically:
Fenrys: lmao sucks to be you
Rowan: *smacks Fenrys*
Gavriel, reading a book: Don't.
Connall: Do it again
Vaughan: LMAO
Lorcan: *smacks Vaughan*
Fenrys and Vaughan: *team up against Lorcan*
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highqueenofelfhame · 1 year
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i don't know who i think i am updating so many times this week, but here we are. enjoy it while it lasts, kiddos. and happiest of birthdays to @shyvioletcat who is the reason i even wrote this fic in the first place. love u bb 💚
rowaelin // 7k words // masterlist
The pillow beside him still smelled faintly of her perfume, yet when he reached for the warm body that should have been next to him, he found nothing but cool, rumpled sheets. Rowan let out a low groan of disappointment and rolled halfway off the bed to feel for his jeans. When he finally found his phone in the back pocket and checked the time he knew she hadn’t been gone for too long. It was only six-thirty in the morning, and he was almost positive she had been pressed against him the majority of the night. 
Gods, last night. Rowan hadn’t had sex in months, and the woman Connall had pushed toward him like an offering had been his perfect match. Everything he gave her, she had given back. She took as much as he did, and he couldn’t help himself when he sent her tumbling over the edge until she was a shaking, sweaty mess. It was, by far, the sexiest thing he had ever seen. The sounds of her breathy moans, the feeling of her cherry red nails dragging sharply up his back and over his shoulder blades, or of the way she’d pressed her fingertips into his lower back to urge him closer… Those were things he would not soon forget. He was pretty sure if he looked in the mirror, he would have the reminder of her hands etched on his skin until at least tomorrow. 
He was desperate to do it all over again with her.
It took him a moment, but he managed to find another pair of sweatpants and an old college t-shirt in the back of the closet. As the door leading to the apartment closed behind him, a heavy sigh sank from his chest. Connall had a smirk that said he knew way more than he should. The bastard. He spent so many late nights at the bar, it wouldn’t surprise Rowan if he had been there all night and heard every sound he pulled from Aelin’s soft, perfect lips. 
“Terrasen won last night.” Connall was standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen, drying a clean glass as he took in his friend. 
“I know,” Rowan grumbled, adjusting his clothes from the night before in his hands. Several of his missed text-messages had been about their victory. Apparently, it had been a close game that went into overtime. But it seemed that Orynth grew football players in the mountains, fertilizing them with the gods only knew what. 
Through the window the sky was already full of fluffy white clouds. It made it hard to be too glum. Soon the sun would be shining brightly over Varese. It was a new day, Monday was a new week, and there was still time for someone to knock Terrasen out of the winning streak that had been going on for the last two years before Rowan had to face them in a few months.
“Your girl left about an hour ago, if you were wondering.” He was, but instead of saying so he just grunted a response and headed out the door. 
The following week was his normal routine. Rowan returned to Doranelle after spending the rare off-weekend down in Varese. More than once he had tried to pry details from Connall about if Aelin had been back to the bar or not. Apparently she hadn’t, but his friend swore to let him know if she did. It had been five days and she hadn’t been seen. Was it pathetic the way he wished he had a way to contact her? Definitely. But there was something about her that he couldn’t shake, that he refused to let fade into the recesses of his mind. 
On the sixth day since meeting her, not that he was counting, he’d carried his laundry hamper downstairs to throw in the wash. Out of habit, he patted down the pockets of all his pants. Rowan had learned the hard way a few years ago that not doing so resulted in very expensive headphones being ruined in the wash. Could he afford another pair? Of course he could, but it was a waste of money when he could simply not wash them and not have to spend two hundred dollars for no reason.
There was a soft crinkling in the pocket of his jeans, one that he barely noticed. They were already halfway into the washer when Rowan fished out the folded piece of paper. Merely a receipt from any of the establishments he visited last weekend, he tossed it on top of the dryer while he finished loading the rest of the clothes and tossed in the detergent. He swiped it up again to throw away on his way out. For reasons unbeknownst to him, he decided to look at it before trashing it. Just to make sure it wasn’t from anything he might need to return later. 
When he unfolded it and saw the  writing over the top of a faded credit card transaction, his heart stopped beating. It wasn’t a receipt. Well, it was, but nothing that he had purchased. It was a note written in blue pen, words a little smudged from being folded up before the ink had fully dried. Each letter was in swooping, sloping, cursive letters with a little heart underneath. 
Just in case you need to release some more tension. I know I do. - A
The short message was followed by a series of numbers, and Rowan had never in his entire life scrambled so hard to put a contact into his phone. A tattooed finger traced over the numbers, lips mouthing the numbers in an attempt to double check himself. Without giving himself a single heartbeat to change his mind or chicken out, he pressed call. 
By now she could have forgotten about him entirely. Maybe she wasn’t interested anymore, or perhaps it had taken him too long to reach out. He did have a good reason for the latter, but she might not see it that way. There was hope that she would, though. Everything about her had seemed easy going and he doubted she would be mad that she sent him on a scavenger hunt with no directions. Maybe if he wore normal clothes instead of athletic shorts or sweats more often he would have found it sooner. It was too late to change that now, though. Impatient fingers drummed atop the counter while it rang, and rang, and rang.
Her voice chirped through the speaker, but when he opened his mouth to speak he realized it was just the recording of her voicemail. Her accent, so different from his but lovely all the same said in a teasing tone, “While it is your absolute utmost misfortune to have missed me, leave a message and I’ll call you back. Unless it’s about work. Call my work phone and we’ll talk about it.” 
 Rowan had never wished so badly to have someone’s business line in his life, but he still patiently waited for the beep. His heart was a stampede of wild horses while he waited for the beep. As soon as it sounded, he cleared his throat and immediately grimaced at himself. Idiot. Why didn’t he do that before it started recording?
“Aelin, it’s Rowan. I’m sorry it took me so long to call, but someone hid her phone number in the back pocket of my jeans and I just got around to doing laundry. I’m not in Varese this week, I’m actually in Doranelle for work. But I should be back in town soon, maybe next week, I–” The voicemail beeped, declaring the message was fully recorded and he swore colorfully as he ended the call. 
With a mind of their own, his fingers opened a new text thread and shot off a message: My voicemail got cut off, but I’d love to see you again. Let me know if you’re up for it. xx  
After pressing send, he cringed. Since when did he sign off a text message with an x? Much less two of them? He’d spent one night with the woman and now he could barely figure out which way was up and which was down. 
 Sure, he had been out of the dating game for quite some time, but he didn’t have to sound like he was. The last time he flirted intentionally had been years ago. Every other encounter had been random hookups in random cities across the world where he didn’t have to worry about following up.
Except that this time, he wanted to. There had been so much ease when he talked to her, the flirting had come naturally. It hadn’t even been wholly intentional to begin with. Rowan had never used talking about soccer as a seduction technique, but it had clearly worked on her somehow. The banter they’d shared back and forth displayed a unique type of chemistry he hadn’t experienced in a long time, if ever. He could only hope that she felt the same way and still wanted to do it all over again, too.
~*~
“I really like everything you have here, but–”
“It’s not great,” Luca interrupted, his shoulders sagging while he waited for the sharp edge of disappointment. Aelin’s lips pursed as she looked at the young man. Luca was fresh out of college as a graphic designer, and working for the Fireheart Art Foundation was his first real world job post-graduation. It made her simultaneously want to berate the insecurity out of him and comfort him by how traumatized he was from difficult professors in college. 
“I was just going to say that I want this header font to be white.” She gave him a look that portrayed exactly how she felt about how hard he tended to be on himself. “I wouldn’t have hired you to work in this office if I thought you needed to be micromanaged.” 
Luca let out a breath, nodding and sinking into one of the chairs across from her desk. Nervous hands ran up and down his thighs like he was shaking out the nerves. She understood. The feeling of mountains of pressure on you and like you had no room for error was a familiar one. Helas below, she felt like that right now. Aelin was in her mid-twenties and running a charity and she refused to let it fail. 
“I just want to do a good job.”
“And you are, my friend. I chose you and your portfolio of work out of a lineup of seasoned professionals. You bring something new, young, and fresh to the table. Your lack of experience doesn’t mean that you’re incapable of doing a good job. It just means that you’re still learning, and I want to help you with that. You don’t need to be nervous to show me something that you’ve created. If something needs to be tweaked, obviously I’m going to tell you. But you understand the brand I’m building and the image I’m putting out almost as well as I do. Be more kind to yourself,” she said gently, a soft smile pulling at her lips. 
“You are nothing like what my professors said future bosses would be like.” Aelin laughed at the same time her personal phone started buzzing on her desk. She didn’t recognize the number and it was silenced as she handed the tablet back over to Luca. 
“I sure hope not. While I have a specific vision of things, I want you to use your creativity and have fun with it. I’m never going to give you a list of a hundred specifications. I’ll tell you what needs to be included and let you take your knowledge of our company plus your creativity so you create something you’re proud of. When you eventually move on from Fireheart, I don’t want you to have a stack of things you made for us that you aren’t proud of to show off. Okay?” Aelin’s phone pinged with a new voicemail from whoever had been calling and sighed. “Email me the file after you change the header.”
Luca gave a mock salute and flipped the tablet case closed, walking toward the door and shutting it behind him. Aelin let out a content sigh in the silence, leaning her head against the back of her hair while she gazed out the window at the city below her. She let it sink in, the work she was beginning in a new country on a different continent, an ocean away from home. 
It was easy to allow herself to feel pride in the foundation, an idea she brought to her parents a few years ago. The Fireheart Foundation began three years ago when she was twenty-two. What started as an idea to work with local underprivileged youth in Orynth soon blossomed into two, then three, then four offices scattered over Terrasen. Her home country had always taken huge pride in the arts– Orynth itself was huge on the importance of it for its young citizens. The rest of the world shared those sentiments because by its second year they were receiving global recognition. Now, on the eve of its third birthday, Aelin was expanding to Wendlyn: her mother’s home country. 
She had plenty of family in Varese. Most of Evalin’s family still lived here, Aelin’s grandparents included. Ever the proud grandfather, Ciaran Ashryver had been beyond excited to help her find an apartment until the end of November, locate appropriate office space, and had started putting out a few feelers for potential employees almost as soon as she mentioned the idea. By the time she stepped off her plane, she was all set with somewhere to live and a floor in a building downtown to begin working. 
A handful of employees from the other locations in Terrasen had arrived this morning to be hands on in helping train some of the Varese staff. New members to this office were taking positions that needed little actual training and something more like direct guidance from Aelin. Like Luca and his graphic design. He didn’t need to be trained how to do his job, just needed the push to grow into his full potential. 
Aelin’s thoughts were tugged back to reality when another small vibration from her phone had her reaching for it. Ah, right. The missed call, voicemail, and now text message from the number she didn’t know. It was a local area code– probably a new employee getting her their contact information like she’d requested. 
As soon as she saw the message preview, though, she was quick to unlock the screen. With arms braced on her desk, she scanned the message with a growing smile on her face. Rowan. He had finally found the note, it seemed. No time was wasted in saving his number to her contacts and tapping furiously to get to the voicemail. 
When Rowan was cut off mid-sentence, she laughed out loud. It was really more of a school girl’s giggle than anything, relief that he had not just texted, but called, too. It made warmth flood from her toes to her fingertips. There had just been something about him, about their matching wit and seductive teasing that left her craving more. For the first time in an extremely long time, it hadn’t felt like it was just about sex. Despite how she had kept everyone at arm’s length and refused to let them get close since her relationship with Sam had ended so poorly, things with Rowan had been different since the moment he sat beside her at that bar. It didn’t mean it would go anywhere besides a fun fling, but a kernel of hope still flickered in her chest.
She tried to think about what Lysandra would tell her to do: how long she should wait to text him back, what the rules were. It had already been nearly a week, though. Hadn’t there been enough waiting on both parts? His voicemail had sounded rushed enough that it was like he was impatient to talk to her again, too. The follow up text practically proved it. No, she wouldn’t follow silly hard-to-get dating rules. Maybe she didn’t want to be hard to get. Besides, she was only here for a few more months. It likely wouldn’t lead to anything serious, and there was no harm in having fun while she was here.
That is what Lys would want for her. Something fun and easy that she didn’t have to think too much about. That would give her release from the insanity of running an international foundation with little outside help. Having made up her mind, she tapped his contact and hit the call button. 
“Aelin?” Her name was breathless on his tongue when he picked up after the third ring. With a brow furrowed in curiosity and a small smile resting on her lips, she leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to ignore the somersault her stomach lurched into when he said her name.
“Rowan,” Aelin drawled, entirely positive that he sighed with what sounded like relief. “Did I catch you at a bad time? You sound–”
“No, I was just– no. This is good. Perfect time, actually.”
“Are you sure?” She heard rustling on the other end, like maybe he was adjusting himself where he sat. 
“Is it embarrassing and off-putting if I tell you I lunged for my phone when I heard it ringing? I was in my bedroom and jumped onto the couch to get it before it stopped.” 
“What if it hadn’t been me calling back? Did you even check the caller ID?” The laughter that bubbled out of her was entirely involuntary. Having a man that excited to talk to her was so sweet it made her teeth ache. When had anyone ever been so forthcoming with any level of affection for her? Dorian, probably, but that was a relationship based solely on fun and most of the time he was teasing.
“No,” he grumbled. “I would have disconnected the call as soon as I got a denial it wasn’t you.” 
“That is the most adorable thing a man has ever said to me,” she vowed, her hand resting on her stomach to calm the swarm of butterflies within. 
“I’m not doing an absolute shite job, then?” There was a timidness to his voice that made her heart squeeze. What on earth did he have to be nervous about? 
“I called you back, didn’t I?” She teased, but when he didn’t answer and seemed to be waiting for a genuine response, she assured him that he was doing absolutely perfect. 
~*~
“Who the fuck has you smiling, Whitethorn?” Lorcan Salvaterre whipped his towel out to smack Rowan directly in the stomach. He immediately frowned, locked his phone, and rubbed the spot above his belly button the corner of the towel had popped. Lorcan tossed the weapon over his shoulder, sitting down on the bench in front of his cubby. The wet, dark curtain of hair hung around his face as he bent down to start shoving his match gear into the bag at his feet.
“Nobody.”
“That’s a lie,” Fenrys quipped from behind them. Rowan glared over his shoulder, knowing full well that the blonde was in complete cahoots with his twin brother. Evidently Connall had told him everything. How Fen had managed to keep his mouth shut about it all week was entirely beyond him. If it hadn’t been about his personal life, Rowan might have been impressed with his self control. “He met a girl.”
Lorcan’s head swung around, eyebrows raised high as he said, “Did we not learn our lesson from the last jersey chaser?” 
With a scowl pulling his entire face into a frown, Rowan shook his head. “It’s not like that. She doesn’t even know who I am. To be entirely honest, I don’t think she would have talked to me if I hadn’t saved her from one of Con’s mystery cocktails.”
At that, Lorcan winced. Just like he’d told Aelin, they were all too familiar with those special drinks. It didn’t matter how impressive one’s alcohol tolerance was, no one was safe. Rowan distinctly remembered a time several years back when he had to tie Lorcan’s black hair out of his face to avoid it getting in the toilet. Everyone was pretty sure he had alcohol poisoning that night, but it wasn’t totally Connall’s fault, either. Lorcan had said he could handle it. The joke was on him at the end of the night, though. Nobody could handle them as delicious as they might be. Those fuckers were dangerous. 
“Met her at the pub then?” Lorcan’s eyes were full of hesitancy and skepticism as he spoke. It seemed like he was choosing his words carefully. That topic was a tedious tightrope to walk, one that had ended in Rowan shutting down completely more than once. 
“She gave me a lot of shit about ‘soccer.’ We talked through most of the Orynth and Red Desert game.”
“And then Rowan took her upstairs and–” A sweaty pair of shorts hit Fenrys directly in the face, cutting him off with a violent gag. Always the drama king. “I just showered.”
“That’s enough out of you, boyo,” Rowan said in a tone that meant shut up or it will be my fist next time.  A few of their other teammates filtered from the showers, several of them claiming they needed full body massages STAT. Rowan was inclined to agree, but he had better things to do tonight. They had won their match against Adarlan and he was feeling lucky all around.
“You’re not… worried?” Lorcan was pulling on a fresh pair of socks as Rowan sat on the bench beside him, jaw tight. This was not something he wanted to think about right now. Aelin gave no indications that she knew who he was, and most of the girls that fawned after them for being professional athletes couldn’t make it through a whole conversation without expressing what huge fans they were. As if their obsession with his body would make him more likely to sleep with them. It was a trick that worked when he was young and stupid, but now that he was older it was just… violating. 
No, he wasn’t skeptical. It had been two weeks and soccer had only come up in the form of jokes between conversations that ranged from casual to toeing the deep-and-personal line. Their texts were as constant through the day as they could be with them both working. At night when they were both available and Rowan wasn’t completely wiped out from practice, they would have hours-long phone calls. Last night Aelin had fallen asleep mid-sentence, like she couldn’t stand to say goodnight to him even though she needed to sleep. When he realized she had dozed off, nothing but the soft huffs of her breathing coming through his speaker, he’d quietly wished sweet dreams upon her before hanging up.
Her apologies had been profuse throughout the day, but they weren’t needed. It had been a long while since anyone had taken the time to get to know him for him and not one of the world’s best center-forwards. With her, he was just Rowan. No grass-stained jerseys and golden trophies attached. Just the version of himself that he was over ninety percent of the time. 
“I’m not worried about that with her. She’s not… like that. I’m going to tell her what I do soon,  but for now she thinks I coach at the high school.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He and Lorcan did put on football camps at their old high school in Doranelle over the summer. Tirelessly, they would host two separate camps that lasted for two weeks in June and July. It was part of his job… just not his actual job right this second.
“What does she do?” Fenrys asked, shooting Rowan’s dirty shorts back over to him. He dropped them into his bag and zipped it up, slipping his feet into his slides. Vaughan came out of the showers then, bumping his fist as he passed and muttering that Rowan played well, to which he gave his friend a nod in return. 
“Charity work. She teaches piano and dance class at different art programs. For the next few months she’s doing after school lessons in Varese.” Rowan hefted the duffel up onto his shoulder, wincing as he stood. Nothing was hurt, but he wasn’t quite as young as he used to be. While he should probably spend some time in an ice bath to help his muscles recover, it was honestly the last thing on his mind. All he could think about was getting in his car and speeding down the highway to Varese.
“Please tell me you’re not about to get in your car and drive two hours to see a girl you just met immediately after a game,” Lorcan said flatly. Try as he might, it was impossible not to grin. Just a little. 
“Hate to disappoint you. Maybe you’ll understand one day when you stop being such a coldhearted dick.” It was a joke, but there was some truth to it. Lorcan had a strict policy about women during game season, and kind of in general. There would be absolutely no distractions for him during the season. He might let off some steam and have random hookups here and there, but the possibility of any sort of real relationship was off the table. During the off-season, he claimed it was time to have fun. Everyone was thoroughly convinced he would never settle down, or that it would take an absolute badass of a woman to turn him into a house-broken man. Rowan wasn’t sure that was possible. 
Lorcan grumbled mostly to himself while the rest of their lingering teammates gave Rowan encouraging slaps on the back. While he hated that it was out to his teammates and friends already, he knew it was genuine support. A few years ago he had been through absolute hell and ever since there had been a stormy cloud hovering over his head because of it.  Rowan knew Lorcan came from a good place. Everything with Lyria had ended… extremely poorly. Things with Aelin wouldn’t be like that, though. This was different. She was different. 
It had been two and a half weeks  since the first night, and their budding relationship had been strictly through text messages, phone calls, and the occasional video chat. Rowan hadn’t been able to get back to Varese because of practice, games, and her work schedule. The one night he would have been able to make it into the city, she had called him an hour before he was due to head out and explained that something came up at work that she had to deal with. It had been disappointing, but he understood. If they had lost their game today he wasn’t so sure he would be driving anywhere but home to sulk. 
With a shiny new win under his belt, he was eager as he snapped his seatbelt into place and began the two hour drive up to Verese. It would be after ten by the time he finally got there, but Aelin had insisted– was still assuring him– that it was entirely okay. Evidently she would have dinner ready for them when he arrived. His growling stomach could hardly wait. 
~*~
Rowan’s muscles throbbed dully when he pulled himself from his car a couple hours later. Thankfully he would have the rest of the night and all day tomorrow to recover before practice. He made a mental note to head in early for a little physical therapy on Monday morning.
The plan was that they would hang out for a little while before Rowan headed to his apartment in the city. While he lived primarily in Doranelle, he liked that he could be a little more low-key in Varese most of the time. It had become his second home, and a few years ago it made sense to get an apartment nearby to avoid having to crash in Connall or Fenrys’s guest room every time he was in town. Tomorrow, Rowan had vowed to show Aelin his favorite spots downtown and a few that he just had an inkling she would like. 
Based on their conversations, Aelin had quite the sweet tooth. There was a bakery on 4th avenue that was more than capable of satisfying her cravings. Less than a five minute walk from her office was his favorite coffee shop, and the heart of the city was stuffed to the brim of delicious restaurants and alluring confectionary shops she would love. The weather tomorrow would be absolutely beautiful– the perfect day to stroll downtown before the beginning of another hectic week for Rowan. For her, too, it seemed because she had days where she felt like she was putting out little fires everywhere. 
Double checking the apartment floor and number Aelin had sent over earlier that afternoon, Rowan began his climb up the stairs. It was an older building with the elevator apparently in a constant out-of-order state since she had moved in. She had both complained and apologized about it in advance, but Rowan was used to running up and down the stands during practice that it didn’t really matter.
Despite being a century old, the building had character and hadn’t slipped from its former glory. The floors were black and white marble, the wood of the staircase a deep mahogany. Gold accents were littered throughout in vases, frames, and wall sconces. Just inside the front door a glittering chandelier reflected small rainbows along the walls and floor through the crystals that dangled from its arms. Even if Rowan hadn’t known its historic significance, it was easy to imagine how it looked just after it opened. It was still a luxury apartment building, regardless of age.
His thighs ached with the ascent, feeling every stride he had taken on the field a few hours ago. Thankfully he only had to get to the second floor and a few doors down according to Aelin. Gods, he was exhausted. There was little time in a match when Rowan wasn’t on the field and throwing his all into every step he took, every kick that sent the ball flying into the goal with ease. After most games he would soak in an ice bath or get stretched out by one of the trainers, but he’d been entirely too eager to get to Varese to waste any time. Tomorrow he might regret it a little, but he would have regretted not making the drive even more.
It wasn’t until he was standing in front of her door that he started to have a small, momentary bout of  panic. How was he supposed to greet her? Did he hug her? Kiss her? They hadn’t discussed it, but then again who plans out a greeting? Rowan wanted to bang his head against the door at the knots this woman twisted his stomach into. He was being ridiculous. Rowan Whitethorn was a thirty-one year old grown man, for wyrd’s sake. Surely he could handle not fucking up as soon as she opened the door. 
As it turned out, he didn’t need to worry. Seconds after knocking, Aelin opened the door and pulled him inside by his fingers, rocking up on her toes and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as soon as the door was closed before saying, “Hi.”
“Hi,” he replied, letting her pull him deeper into the apartment. 
Rowan had seen the space in the background of their video chats, but it became abundantly clear that Aelin had a taste for opulence. Various pieces of art were framed all over the walls, fresh flowers rested on the table tops. Several jewel-toned rugs lay upon the restored wooden floors and her couch was deep green made of plush velvet. The dining and end tables were golden and topped with marble. Even the blankets over the back of the couch were fluffy fabrics that no doubt felt like being covered with a cloud. 
A handful of boxes were still stacked in the corner of the living room, easily visible because of the open floor plan the space offered. To the left, the kitchen boasted marble countertops with golden hardware. Yes, this apartment building was still very much in its golden age, or maybe Aelin was just that skilled with decorating.
Rowan’s was a modern apartment building closer to the business district, but this one honestly blew it out of the water. In the short time she had been there, only a few weeks she had told him, Aelin had managed to make this into a home. It felt lived in and loved, like she had always been here. Despite being able to smell the slightly-musty age of the building, it was buried under layers of jasmine, lemon verbena, and the dinner she had simmering on the stove. 
“Ignore the boxes, I’m still waiting for some shelving to come in for my books and things,” she explained with the wave of her hand. As if the stack of boxes could ever take away from the magical oasis she had transformed the apartment into. Compared to this, the house in Doranelle that he had lived in for the last six years was bare and nowhere near a home. 
“Are you sure you’ve only been staying here for a few weeks?” Aelin’s laughter was bright as she walked into the kitchen and began mixing the contents of a large pan with a wooden spoon. Aelin’s legs were bare, seemingly nothing beneath the t-shirt that hung to the tops of her thighs. 
“I’m a creature of luxury. Besides, I’ll be splitting my time between here and Orynth with work.” It was admirable how much she seemed to love the kids she taught, how passionate she was about her work. Piano and dance lessons couldn’t afford an apartment like this, though. Not when she so proudly supported underprivileged areas of major cities. Rowan was sure her parents had the money to help her out, not that it mattered. That was a conversation for another day, especially when she started plating their dinner. “I hope you like pasta.” 
“Are there people that don’t?” He asked, taking both plates from her. Aelin walked past him with a bottle of wine and two glasses, heading for the couch instead of the table. 
“It should be a felony, but I’m sure some bizarre creature or a human exists out there, hating pasta with every fiber of their being.” Rowan snorted in response, handing her the plates after she sat down and folded her legs like a pretzel in front of her. The tiniest pair of shorts that he’d ever seen peaked out from beneath the hem of her shirt. 
Sitting beside her and taking his plate, he had to fight back a groan when he took the first bite. Aside from his mother, he couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked for him that didn’t involve a waitress as a go-between. It was nice to feel cared for, he realized. Even if they both knew tonight would end in her bed. 
A documentary played while they ate, conversation ebbing and flowing with ease throughout. He managed to get her talking a little more about work, how a coworker named Luca was having a hard time with confidence in what he produced but he didn’t need to be. According to Aelin, he was a brilliant young graphic designer and she hoped that with some nurturing under her wing, he would bloom to his full potential. 
When he asked about siblings, she shrugged, “I have a cousin that’s really more like my brother. We’ve been inseparable since the day I was born. Besides him, I’m an only child.” 
“So am I, but I have a hoard of cousins. I’m closest to Sellene and Endymion. Sellene would like you.” 
“What’s not to like?” She teased, eyes full of mirth as she looked at him over the top of her wine glass. The heat in her eyes gave him a vivid memory of  what she had looked like writhing beneath him. 
Gods above, he needed to get a grip.
Aelin listened intently while he talked about his mom and dad, Sellene and Endymion. Her laugh was like a tinkling bell when he recounted memories from his childhood and chimed in with her own. Both of them may have been only children, but agreed they’d never felt lonely or alone for the most part.
“There was a period when my cousin went off to college—” she paused for another sip of wine and to place her empty bowl on the coffee table. Rowan did the same. “That was the only time I felt lonely. He’s four years older than me, so it was hard to go through my entire high school experience with him not quite as close. He actually went to college in Doranelle and could only really come home for holidays. He surprised me for my 16th birthday and it was the best one I’ve ever had.” 
There was a small smile on her lips before she continued, “My parents had a limo for me and my friends to ride to the venue it was at, and I got in the car and the partition was lowered. The driver was wearing a hat and aviators, straight out of a movie. And then he said I hear we have a birthday girl in our midst and I knew it was him. I completely lost it. Best present ever.” Rowan found himself grinning along with her, her joy at the memory contagious to his core. 
“You’re lucky you didn’t have cousins that terrorized you until you were big enough to fight back.” That had been the general tone of his upbringing, but once he went through puberty and grew well over six feet tall, the teasing had calmed down a bit. Probably because Rowan could easily throw Enda over his shoulder by the point.
“Oh, gods. Believe me, we have been through it. There were times when he was annoyed that I wanted to do everything he did, and times when I was annoyed that he tried to embarrass me in front of my friends or boys that I liked. He used to sit on me and tickle me until I cried and we were constantly trying to flick each other until we were bruised like peaches. Typical sibling stuff.”
Rowan laughed, nodding as he recalled having very similar memories with Enda specifically. He could relate to the ones based in annoyance— Sellene had been a hellion. 
“Sellene used to embarrass me in front of pretty girls, too. Not that I needed help in that department. I do fine enough on my own to this day, but seventeen year old Rowan didn’t know how to talk to women at all.” 
“You’ve done alright with me.” Aelin’s small hand reached for his, lacing their fingers like she had done it a million times. Her nose wrinkled as she grinned, and he had to fight the urge to kiss her. Godsdamn, this woman. 
“I wouldn’t be so lucky if we were in high school.” At that, she laughed, making a teasing quip about his rushed voicemail and stilted text message. At the end, she reassured him it was charming and that he wouldn’t be here if she didn’t think so. 
“Some people struggle digitally. I won’t hold it to you, old man.” Rowan flicked her knee at the moniker, but couldn’t repress the smile on his lips all the same. 
~*~ 
“Rowan,” Aelin said softly, rubbing her eyes and sitting up on the couch. The man behind her released a low groan as his arm tried to pull her back down. 
After talking for what must have been hours, they settled on watching New Girl and had, apparently, fallen asleep not too long after it started. A wide yawn escaped her as she patted his thigh a few times to rouse him awake. 
“Shit, what time is it?” Rowan forced himself to sit up behind her, knocking his elbow into her shoulder in the process. Instead of cowering in pain, she started to giggle through the sleepy fog. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” 
“It’s okay, it didn’t hurt,” she promised, tapping the screen of her phone. “It’s almost five.”
“I can go. I didn’t mean to fall—”
“I’m not waking you up to kick you out. I’m waking you up to come to bed with me.” Aelin stood, holding out her hand. Once she had both of his hands in hers she began to tug, taking steps backward while he pretended to protest by going nearly entirely limp against the couch. “You can sleep by yourself out here, it’s fine.” 
Dropping both of his hands she turned and made her way toward her bedroom. Aelin had only made it a handful of feet away before strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Rowan pressed soft kisses against her neck at the same time he lifted her entirely off the floor. Stomach flipping, she squealed while he padded toward her bedroom, finally placing her down on the bed. 
She was quick to crawl under the blankets, flipping them back so he could get in with her. He followed dutifully, slinging his shirt off and tossing it onto a little chair in the corner of her room as he sank down until his head rested against the pillow. 
Despite how easy it would be for either of them to roll onto the other and make the other unravel at the seams, she gently pecked his lips a few times. Each one lingered a little more than the last until she finally pulled away and rested her head against his chest. With his hand rubbing soothing lines up and down her back, it was easy to melt into him, eyes drifting shut as she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that smelled like home. @elentiyawhitethornorn @autumnbabylonylon @fancysludgeshoelampelamp  @wordsafterhours @live-the-fangirl-lifee @the-hospitality-of-knivesf-knives @tangledraysofsunshine @readandlisten @westofmoon @rowanaelinn  @morganofthewildfire @writtenonreceipts @feynightlight @emster1622-blog @scarblx @secondstartorightand @thefaetrove @loveyatopluto @actuallybarb @peppermint-fae @the-devils-own @scottmcgivemeacall @livingmylifeforme  @wordsafterhours @foreverfallingforthestars @llyncooljones @emily-gsh @loosesimplicity @emilyrose111294  @charlizeed @aelinchocolatelover @cretaceous-therapod @sayosdreams @fireheart-violet @the-regal-warrior
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highladyofterrasen7 · 3 months
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Welcome back to the cadre escapades
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bookwxrmish · 5 months
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Who in the Cadre™ has the biggest ass?
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