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chantalvdreijden · 1 year

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The Mist... 😉 #goodmorning #goedemorgen #gutenmorgen #bonjour #bongiorno #buenosdias #mist #fountain #fontein #deer #rusty #roestig #hert #decoration #decoratie #lovephotography #photographer #photography #fotograferen #fotografie https://www.instagram.com/p/CmqgUYrjP2X/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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randombush3 · 26 days

Text

angel of small death & the codeine scene

jenni hermoso x reader

this was supposed to be a blurb but it's too long bc i got carried away so oh well (i also deeply hate this because i got bummed out by the toxicity and had to tone it down)

big thanks to @codiemarin for the idea and the song xx

brief summary: it's a very, very toxic relationship

Hard, unforgiving droplets of water lash down onto the very small window of your bedroom. The sky is grey, your brain is foggy, and you are wondering what decision you made last night that has led you to waking up naked. A muffled groan sounds from somewhere far too close to not be your bed, so you are not alone.

Hungover, naked, and – with an arm now slung over your bare hips – definitely not alone. What a way to wake up.

Your phone rings, jolting you upright as the familiar tone screeches at you to stop running from your future.

You take the bed sheets with you, conserving your modesty.

And, oh.

You have slept with a woman.

She doesn’t look very French, you decide quickly, eyes roaming over the sprawling tattoos decorating olive skin. “Salut,” you attempt, finally uncovering the shrieking device and switching it off – they can’t get you if you don’t give in. “Pas pour être impoli mais je...”

“Hello.”

Your words fall back down your throat and you gulp as if to keep them there. You are well aware that staring is rude, but how could you not?

Her voice is gruff and low and heavily accented. It ignites something that must have been blazing last night, setting the dying embers of your one-night-stand right back on fire, and you… You just look at her.

“Bonjour,” comes her next bullet, aimed right at the centre of you. Your legs weaken and, for once, you cannot possibly run away. “I need to go to, ehh, how you say? Entrenamiento.”

“Désolé, comment t'appelles-tu?”

“Ah.” You continue to wait for her answer, stuck in the rusty cogs of communication. “Eh… Jenni?”

“Is that a question?”

“You speak English?!”

Your nod sets Jenni off into a fit of giggles, amused by the ridiculousness of the situation. You, however, with very little memory of the previous night, are wondering how on Earth this woman ended up here if she doesn’t speak French and was unaware that you speak English. But, if you were to remember, you’d have known that the only words exchanged between you and this Jenni up until now had been your consent for her to do whatever she had wished to you, and her mumbled ‘buenas noches’ after you had finished.

Jenni had not confessed what her initial attraction to you consisted of. You hadn’t minded.

Again, your phone rings, but this time Jenni is awake and cognisant, prepared to detect your reluctance to answer (the only reason you’d gotten up had been to decline the call) and glad to welcome you into her arms.

The previous night, she had mirrored your behaviour, lurching like a stray into an open, uncaring embrace with someone who wasn’t Alexia and therefore not the mistress of her heartbreak. Not that it had dulled her pain, and not that whoever you were mattered.

“You speak good English,” Jenni says a moment later, breathing in the heady scent of dried sweat and desire. “Where are you from?”

The only answer you give her is your mouth unexpectedly taking over her own, lips soft but attacking her nonetheless; it’s almost a warning, it’s almost a… threat. She feels a little threatened, really, but she does not know why. You seem like an angel, a halo of sunlight piercing through the grey skies and shining brightly even if the rain is determined to make her miserable. You are sweet, sickeningly addictive, and, although Jenni needs to get herself to the PSG training ground, knowing football will take her mind off what she is striving hard not to think about, she suddenly realises that you, naked on top of her, are her cure instead.

There is a second time, a third, and then the drawing up of some form of arrangement that neither Jenni’s English nor French permit her to fully understand. You appear when you need her, usually in the café opposite her apartment building, and Jenni makes a point to position her furniture so that they face her windows. She teaches herself patience, but hopes that you are there – sipping your coffee, smoking your cigarette – almost every waking moment.

Jenni decides that sex with you makes her feel alive, so enlightened that her eyes are open when they are shut and she just knows things. It has never happened to her before, not with Alexia, and certainly not with anyone else. You bring her Heaven, and she begins to learn your body like it is the Bible. She is on her knees for you, praying. She chases her petite mort, which you benevolently extend to her like some winged saviour, with abandon and devotion.

Jenni might have started to chase you, though each and every one of her attempts is shrugged off and denied into non-existence, somewhere between the plane of her imagination and the real world. At times, she has to convince herself that she is not telling herself some self-soothing tale about sex with a woman who disappears seconds after the act is done.

You are burning hot liquid in her hands. She cups her palms together and she tries to catch you, but some of it slips through her fingers and she can only stare at what she has lost. But, even then, she is glad you have seared her skin and made her feel something, and is thankful for the scorch marks you have left on her.

She often verbalises her gratitude, accustomed to her partner needing to be praised to the ends of the Earth, but you simply laugh at her. It’s not too patronising – it never is – but if Jenni wanted to, she would hear the venom behind it. And, whenever your Spaniard pants out a gracias/thank you/merci, you hold back the lashing of your tongue, choosing to slice her body instead of her heart.

It’s not really Jenni’s heart that you care about, though.

Well, at least, the metaphorical, poetic understanding of the organ.

You like that it pumps her blood around her body and keeps her alive. You like that she is alive. You like that she uses her oxygenated fingers to fuck you beyond the knowledge of your ever-approaching future and that the muscle is efficient enough to keep her going until there are tears of ecstasy streaming down your face and you lay upon the precipice of euphoria and total obliteration, tiptoeing across the boundary.

You care about Jenni in the same way a dictator cares for his prized weapon; obsessive, hungry, and overpowered by the idea of having such a thing in his possession. It is callous, and you know that, but it is the necessary mechanism to cope.

They will come for you within the next year. Jenni will be gone by then, and the armies you have rallied will have been slaughtered.

You are running with the knowledge that your legs will give out, but there is a woman, an impeccably rebellious choice, who soothes your aches like a decent dose of codeine.

“Are you in danger?”

The question is misplaced in the situation, and you are surprised that Jenni is brave enough to ask.

“Non,” you reply, using the language she can’t speak to quite literally avoid whatever communicative conversation the footballer has dreamt up.

“You flinch when your phone rings,” she accuses, tattooed arm extended and tensed, index jutting out towards the device lying face-down on the surface of the table. “You hide, I think. You speak very well. I am… confused, and my brain can’t work you out.”

“Good thing you don’t need to work me out to fuck me senseless.”

She cringes at how crass you sound, wondering if the sentence has left a bitter taste in your mouth too. She finds herself glancing at your coffee and taking in the stub of your cigarette. You smoke an expensive brand, not that she is well-acquainted with the various types of cancer-sticks (she would play football forever if she could).

“Are you English?”

You blink at her, but that is all you give.

“Are you French?”

You pull on the sooty edge of the glass ashtray and drag it towards you, eyes fixed on the brunette as you put out your cigarette.

“Why are you in Paris?” Jenni asks desperately. “Why are you here? Why do I not even know your name? Why, if you hate me, do you not just leave me alone?”

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Your frown may not be genuine, but Jenni’s regret rushes in fast and strong, and she is barking out, “no! No, please!”. Her dignity loses sight of its owner and she would have been embarrassed once upon a time.

But that was before she met you.

When you stand, it is with precise and good posture, and it seems as though the entire world pauses to hear your next words. Jenni moves closer with a deft adjustment of the weighting in her hips, darting around the table and overwhelmed by the fear that this is the moment you are going to walk away.

Her fingers hook onto your flesh, the warmth of the skin a confirmation that you are human, and she lays her heart down to rest at your feet. It’s bloody and raw on the cobbled street, but it is throbbing for your attention and you are wearing a little smile that she has never seen before.

“Alright, Jenni,” you say, and she swallows her surprise that you have used her name, “I won’t.”

Jenni and you think, at the same time, of the omitted word: ‘yet’.

Her contract expires with PSG and you disappear. It happens at the same time, but Jenni is never granted another chat to determine whether the events are related.

The time that passes after her time in Paris does so in a way that makes Jenni want to both forget and remember her experience. Madrid is her home, but it feels dull.

Barcelona is worse. Alexia doesn’t… compare.

Of course, like Jenni and Alexia always do, they break up. Jenni is reminded of how you were running from something, and, inspired, she flees.

She tries to centre her focus elsewhere. Alexia, over the last three years, has grown frustrated with her constant distraction, claiming the forward to be trapped in her head as though it brought her bliss.

In truth, Jenni is experiencing leash-less confusion. She was a stray, she was fed, and now she has been released into the wilderness with no hint of your whereabouts and nothing to prove any of it was real. Apart from what is in her head; those memories.

A million unanswered questions weigh her down, though the Mexico sun is bright enough to help her see through the fog.

Is she better now, having survived?

Jenni does not know about the small hands that cling to your dress as you step onto the hot tarmac of the Mexican airport. Jenni is unaware that the newest share-holder of her new club, Tigres, is paying a visit, wanting to be introduced to his teams.

She is still relatively new – comfortable, but a stranger to the institution nonetheless. They push her to the back of the huddle of players, although she is tall enough to peer over their heads at their owner and his family.

He has two sons, she sees, and one is much more timid than the other. Neither react to the cooing of her teammates, nor do they seem to comprehend the conversation being had in Spanish.

“Dites ‘hola’, mes chéris.”

She knows that voice.

Your eyes are piercing and full of recognition. The quieter of the two boys follows your gaze, curious about the woman with drawings on her arms. Held by you now, he pokes your neck to get your attention and points at Jenni, leaning comfortably into your body to whisper something in your ear in a way that Jenni can only attribute to that of a son. You nod softly, and let him wave.

Jenni waves too, forcing her hand into motion and telling herself she is pathetic if she is unable to function at the sight of a married woman. (Had you always been married?! Is the older boy young enough to have been born after Paris?)

It works, briefly, and she begins to fumble through her French in her head to formulate a sentence so that she can talk to the little boy, but, too soon, you are waving at Jenni as well and your wedding ring is catching the sunlight and blinding the Spaniard before she can weave her way through the crowd.

The same ring falls to the floor hours later, rolling off the bedside table as your hand knocks the wood on your quest to find purchase somewhere. It hits the ground of Jenni’s bedroom with a clatter, but she barely registers the sound from her place between your legs.

Your back arches earlier than anticipated, but Jenni’s tongue is steady and practised. She is an addict with her drug in the palm of her hand, and when she kisses you, it is the heat of your breath in her mouth which makes her heart pound, keeping her alive.

Years ago in Paris, Jenni named you her angel of her orgasm, of what made her feel better after leaving what had been her home and a devastating failure of a relationship. Now, Jenni is unsure whether the euphemism fits. She translates it, instinctively to English (you’re right here with her), and deems it to be better.

Her Angel of Small Death.

She bleeds and bleeds, sliced by the weapons you wield, but then you soothe her pain like the opiate you are and she is ready to go again.

It’s your phone ringing that ruins the post-orgasmic silence between you.

Jenni observes as you reach out to check it, still tentative, still running from something. “Were you married?” she asks, and you discover her interrogation skills haven’t changed. “Were you married all this time?”

“I was engaged.”

“When we…” she trails off because she isn’t certain how she should describe the ritualistic nights you’d spend together, “you were engaged?”

You have toyed with her, leading her somewhere between loved and abused.

And you…

You give her a little smile.

“Sorry, Jenni.”

#woso x reader #jenni hermoso #jenni hermoso x reader #woso imagines #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #alexia putellas

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howlingday · 9 months

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Jaune: Oh no... It's my sister.

Ruby: That's your sister? She's really good with her rapier. Is she a huntress?

Jaune: No, she's just a rapier instructor now, but she used to compete in fencing tournaments.

Weiss: Why did you say "Oh no"?

Jaune: Because she-

Arc Sister: Jaune~! Jaune~!

Jaune: Oh non...

Ruby: Huh?

Arc Sister: Bonjour, mon petit frère~!

Jaune: (Grinding his teeth) Bonjour, sœur.

Arc Sister: Comment est ton épée rouillée~?

Jaune: Il n'est pas rouillé!

Arc Sister: (Laughs in superior reach) Pouvez-vous le prouver~?

Weiss: What is going on?

Blake: It's a classic sibling rivalry.

Ruby: You can understand them?!

Blake: Mhm. (Points at Yang) Et ta sœur est une perverse.

Ruby: Huh?

Yang: (Drooling, Ogling Arc Asses)

Jaune: (Readies Crocea Mors) Je vais gagner cette fois!

Arc Sister: (Laughs in expensive tastes) Tu ne me frapperas même pas~.

Google Translate:

Oh no...

Hello, my little brother~!

Hello, sister.

How is your rusty sword~?

It is not rusty!

Can you prove that~?

And your sister is a pervert.

I'm going to win this time!

You won't even hit me~.

#rwby #centurii #jaune arc #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long

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thefandomdirtymind · 6 months

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Your first language is French, right? I’ve been entertaining the idea of writing stories with francophone!Sanji, but my own French is rusty from lack of use and very stiff, not flowing naturally. If you don’t already have a beta reader, I’d be happy to assist, because I very much like what I’ve read so far of your work. :3

Bonjour / Bonsoir !

First of all, thank you !

Yes my first language is French. It's A little different from France since I'm French Canadian but it's still French loll

I really appreciate the offer, However I already have the amazing @alienstardustwrites who's had the incredible patience to read my bits of stories and shut down my doubts and language struggles loll

But ! I absolutely encourage you to write your stories and if you're unsure of your french or somethings my DM will always be open ! I'm pretty sure that shortly we will share a lot of bits and ideas.

Let's be friend ❣

#ask #reader #one piece netflix #opla #opla sanji #opla!sanji x reader #sanji x reader #vinesmoke sanji x reader #one piece #one piece sanji #sanji x y/n #opla vinesmoke sanji x reader #Jutjusu Kaisen

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house-of-galathynius · 1 year

Text

The Long Road Home

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Eleven - Chapter Thirteen

Word Count: 4.7k

This has been a long time coming and I’m so sorry for the delay in posting! I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas and New Year (if you do celebrate), I am looking forward to another year with all you lovely people ❤️

Lyon, France. March 1859: Seventy-Eight Years Later

The trees had finally begun to show signs of new life. It had been another long and tortuous winter for Aelin, never being able to stop in one place for long. Always moving along, her life constantly disturbed. She could blame it on no-one but herself— she could have remained in Denmark, or Austria, or even Germany. But she always felt the unrest, the uncertainty. She was looking for him in every place she went to, and when she could not find him, it was time to move on.

France was never her first choice, she had been there before and had not felt even a hint of him. But in the last few weeks she felt the universe pushing her here. It had been luck that everything had lined up perfectly and it was too much of a coincidence for her not to pursue another attempt at a life here.

She had been on the German-French border living up in the mountains, renting a small room on a farm. The couple who owned it were old and needed help so Aelin had offered her assistance for the room. She had spent her summers working in the garden, picking vegetables and fruits, in the autumn she found herself preparing the farm for the cold, bitter winters, then when spring would arrive she would help the new lambs be born and sow new seeds ready for the summer again. It had been a peaceful life. In her spare time she would go for swims in the crystal clear water of the nearby lake and lie in the long grasses with a book, watching the clouds glide above her. It was tranquil and she could have been happy there for a long time.

Things changed though when a merchant had come by to purchase some goods from them and as they had been packing up his purchases he had explained his plans for the rest of his journey and how he needed some company. He had expressed interest in Aelin, and she had been tempted. He was a kind man, with a gentle manner and a smile that would make any woman fall to her knees in love. She trusted him from only one conversation. So she had agreed to go with him to Lyon, where she would work for a bookshop he was opening. There was a small apartment above the shop where she could live for free. It had been years since she had moved on anyway. She knew the old couple had started to become suspicious of her lack of ageing and so it was time for her to depart— even though it pained her to say goodbye.

Lyon was beautiful too though. The cobbled streets and the grand buildings. The theatre that Aelin would surely spend a lot of her time at. The people who were still as friendly to her as when she’d been in the country all those years ago.

She also enjoyed speaking French again; and although her words may have been a little rusty, she found it easy to slip into everyday life there.

The sun shone there more often than not, and she was enamoured with the way it would bask her apartment in golden light, the way it would warm her softly and slow. On her days off she could follow it around her apartment, curled in various chairs as she would read, or sew, or just nap.

The bookshop below her was just as lovely. Tall light coloured shelves towered over her, reaching to the ceilings. Each shelf holding mountains of books from across the world: Dickens, Wordsworth, Tennyson, and all the other great authors of the time. At the front of the shop were huge glass windows that looked out onto the busy street. Aelin could people watch all day, always looking out for that one face she craved to see.

“Bonjour.” A woman said as she entered, a young boy in tow. Aelin replied politely and waited patiently as the woman and child look around, then left without buying anything.

It had been like this for a few days now. But after such a busy beginning of the year it was nice to have a slower pace. So she didn’t mind so much if people preferred just to browse.

When there was no one browsing, Aelin wandered around the shop, tucking books back into their places and wiping dust off the ones that had been there for a long time. She continued with her tidying sweep until she heard the familiar sound of the door opening and she poked her head around the shelves to offer her assistance.

For a moment she could not see anyone. But then a tall figure moved out from behind another aisle of books. She wiped the dust from the front of her skirt and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she then carefully set the books she was carrying down on a nearby stool and walked to where the customer was standing.

“Bonjour Monsieur.” Aelin said cheerfully. Her next words caught in her throat.

The male turned around to reveal the face she had dreamed of for so long. The white hair that was shorter than the last time she had seen him— in Amsterdam. The unmistakable green eyes.

It had been fifty years since the last time she had seen him. She was still unsure of how this was happening. Of why she was the way she was, why Rowan appeared and then disappeared. There was no pattern to it. Fifty years was a long time to wait, and she would admit that on a few occasions she had thought about giving up. But he was here.

Alive and smiling.

“I am just browsing.” He said in French.

Aelin nodded. Not sure that she would be able to find the words to say, or keep her voice steady. Though fifty years had passed, it was like it had been a mere day. She felt every ounce of love, every touch of their skin, the feel of his mouth. It was hard for her not to stare as he strode down each row of books, picking them up and inspecting them before returning them to the shelf.

She was constantly diving into the nearest aisle, trying her hardest to not let him see her following him around. But there was nothing she could do to help herself. She had been hoping for fifty years to see him again— and now here he was— there was no way she was going to let the opportunity to be near him slip through her fingers.

Moments later Rowan was striding towards the desk which she had hurriedly moved to, sitting on the stool pretending to be fascinated by the pile of books she had stacked in front of her. She feigned surprise when he came to a stop in front of her. She put on her friendliest smile, willing herself to not reveal her nervous manner.

“I am looking for a book for my mother. It is her birthday tomorrow and I wish to give her something special.” He said calmly. There was no recognition in his stare, nothing in his mannerisms that would suggest he knew Aelin. But she could not help but smile brightly at him, acting like he was in fact a close friend.

“Do you know what genre she is interested in?”

Rowan laughed quietly and shrugged. “My mother is not very forthcoming with information. But I imagine she would be happy with anything— perhaps a romantic novel?”

Aelin stood from the stool, “does she have any particular interests? If so I could try to find something to match them.”

Rowan thought for a moment, his tongue brushing over his lip as he did. “She enjoys riding, she is often at the theatre listening to the orchestra. Although I am not sure that is all that helpful for you.” He chuckled.

Aelin was struck silent. The sound of his laugh awakening something inside her. So she could only gesture for him to follow her as she led him to one of the shelves. “Here are some books on music, some might be overly technical…” she handed him a couple to look at, “but they are interesting if you love music.”

“What other options do you think I have?”

Aelin held a finger up and moved to another section and pulled off another few books. “These are a mixture of romantic and more adventure based novels. I’ve read them myself and can highly recommend them.”

Rowan balanced the books in his hands. “I can take them all.”

Surprise flashed across her face. It was rare that anyone would come in to buy so many books, and when they did it was usually to stock their own private libraries or for schools. However, she would not complain as she totalled up the cost and wrapped each book in cloth, tying it with string.

“Will you be able to carry these?” Aelin asked casually, helping to place the books into his hands once again. “I can help you if you need it.” If not just an excuse to be near him for longer.

Rowan shook his head. “The carriage is right outside. I appreciate your offer though.”

She wanted him to stay longer. But there was nothing she could think of that could delay his departure any longer, not as she opened the front door and loitered there as he packed the books away into a trunk on the back of the carriage, and then waved politely at her before climbing up into it, closing his door.

Aelin remained on the steps of the shop for a minute or two. Watching as his carriage rode away into the distance and then out of sight. It was still sinking in that he was here again. That she was not imagining him or dreaming him. He was alive and here. She wished she could talk to Elena— to ask her how to do this, ask her why this was happening and how long she would have Rowan for. Except Elena was gone and all Aelin had was a vague letter and her own wild ideas.

She thought about him for the next few days. Looking out for him on every corner and in every shop. She prayed to every God that he would return to her again. She started to dream of him too; every night she would dream of their time together in Brighton, of their sleepless nights of making love, their walks along the beach, their mornings by the fire reading or swapping stories of their childhoods. Then she would dream of their son. Of the life they should have had, and Aelin would wake with tears on her cheeks.

Nine days passed before she saw him again. She had been taking inventory and had barely heard him come up behind her, jumping out of her skin when he tapped her on the shoulder.

“I am sorry for startling you.” He said sheepishly.

“Oh! No, you’re fine.”

Rowan cleared his throat and smoothed down his coat, standing straighter. “I wanted to thank you for your help the other day. My mother was thrilled with the books.”

Aelin grinned. “I am so glad! It can be hard to find a good book these days.”

Rowan nodded in agreement, his shoulders relaxing. “She has finished three of them already and demanded I return at once to get more.”

“Well I am here to help you, should you need it.” She wanted him to need it. She needed any excuse to get him to stay here longer.

“Well that is actually why I came here… You were so wonderful last time, I just had to return and ask for your services again.” Rowan ran a hand through his hair, Aelin trying her hardest not to stare. “Of course, I will pay you extra for your time.”

Aelin shook her head, “there is no need to pay me more. I receive a sufficient salary.” And she had money from Arobynn that she had been squirrelling away for when she needed it, as well as money from previous work she had completed. But she needn’t tell Rowan that.

The two of them stood in the silence of the books before Aelin came to the startling realisation that she had not introduced herself to him. She didn’t even know if Rowan was his name this time.

“I’m Aelin,” she stretched out her hand and Rowan shook it firmly in his. And it was just the same as every time before. His hands soft but hard— firm from all the years of work she assumed he had done. But they still fit together just as perfectly.

“Henri.” He said.

She couldn’t lie, her heart sank a little at the name. Not that the name mattered— he was still everything she loved. Even now, after fifty years, she still felt that undeniable pressure in her chest, the beating of her heart as she beheld him.

“Aelin is not a French name.” Rowan, or rather Henri, said hesitantly.

“No. I was not born here.”

Henri’s eyes widened slightly and he looked pleasantly surprised. “You speak very good French. For someone who was not born here.”

Aelin shrugged and brushed the dust from her skirt. “I have had a long time to practice.”

“Have you been here long?”

“In Lyon?” She shook her head, “I arrived here a few months ago. I recently moved from the mountains on the border.”

Rowan… Henri, actually looked like he was genuinely interested in what she was saying. And she wondered whether he could feel it too— this pull. Like they were magnets, where he was she would follow. But then he stepped back from her; like he had been jolted awake from a dream.

“Do you have any other recommendations?” He changed the subject quickly.

Aelin didn’t show her disappointment, but quickly collected up some of her favourite books and stacked them on the front table before going to retrieve some more. Rowan (she could never seem to think of him as anything other than that name), happily perched on a nearby chair and surveyed her as she went back and forth between shelves. Eventually the stack was over ten books tall and she looked to Rowan sheepishly.

“I have a lot of recommendations…” She laughed. And she could have sworn there was a flash of surprise— or maybe it was delight— cross over his expression. It was gone in an instant though, his face back to normal.

“My father is never going to be able to pry my mother away from the library now.”

Aelin grinned. “Well, I can think of worse places for her to be.”

“Today was maybe not such a good day to have walked here.” He said, studying the mountain of books.

Aelin glanced outside and the sun was shining high in the sky, the wind gently rustling the leaves, the river glistening in the afternoon light. It was a beautiful day; and if she did not have to work she would have been outside lounging by the water with a good book too. There weren’t many people milling outside though, and she looked around her shop, noting the empty spaces where customers should have been and then to the clock on the desk— it was near enough late afternoon and she was certain there would be no other customers.

“I could help you carry them back if you would like,” she cleared her throat, “free of charge of course.”

Rowan chuckled and nodded. “The help would be wonderful.”

So they packed up the books together and Aelin hastily shut up the shop before skipping down the steps and coming to Rowan’s side.

“Do you live far?” She asked curiously.

“About ten minutes,” he looked straight ahead, then turned to her, “I am not in the habit of using my carriage for such short distances— but I was in a bit of a rush last time.”

“I wasn’t judging you for that.” She replied. She remembered when she had lived with her parents, or even with Arobynn. Their carriage usage had been high too.

They meandered through the streets, eventually coming to cross the bridge over the river. It had quickly become one of Aelin’s favourite places. She loved to watch the water flow through the city and under her, sometimes looking at the ducks that would lazily glide down it. On some occasions she had even watched as people swam down it too. Rowan was a few steps ahead of her when he stopped and turned to make sure she was still with him.

And it stopped her short. It was such a small act, but it had been something that Rowan had done multiple times when they had been together before. So though his name was different, even though they were in a different city, speaking a different language… he was still the same. The same Rowan she had fallen so deeply in love with.

“Everything okay?”

Aelin nodded quickly and sped up her pace to catch up with him. “Just distracted.”

For some reason Rowan had found their time together to be pleasant. He had called in on her almost everyday after they had delivered the books to his mother— who had been thrilled to meet her too, even offering for her to stay for supper.

Sometimes when he came to visit her he would arrive with freshly baked goods from the bakery down the road; sometimes he would come with a newspaper and he would just sit and read it, occasionally looking up to watch Aelin work. The two of them sharing a smile and then going back to whatever they were doing.

Aelin knew that it was dangerous doing this. Dangerous getting close to him, letting him come into her life and allow herself to fall in love with him even further. But she couldn’t help it. He was just the same as she remembered and her heart was leading her astray, ignoring her head that was blaring sirens and warning her that this could only end in disaster, just as it had before. But she had no proof, nothing to go on to know how this would end. Elena was long gone and had left Aelin with no explanation, no clues to what was happening.

So Aelin let herself fall for him again, and let Rowan fall for her too.

And it was magical and invigorating and lovely. She did not let herself think of the possibilities of their fates— not as she basked in this new lease of love that she had been granted.

“I think we should get married.” Rowan had said to her one day. They had been lying in the garden of his parents’ home, enjoying the July sun.

She turned to Rowan who was still watching the sky, his eyes focused on the birds soaring above. “You do?”

He turned to her then too, a small smile on his lips, his eyes bright. “When you find the person who you can bare your soul to, I find that you want to keep them for as long as possible.”

His words were sweeter than honey, more precious than rubies or diamonds. His love for her settling around her heart, encasing it forever.

“I know I cannot ask your father for approval like I should… but I would hope he would not mind me asking for your hand.” He sat up and rummaged in his pocket before revealing a little box, “this isn’t much, but I would like to give this to you to confirm my intentions to marry you.”

Aelin was almost crying. How many years had she dreamed of being able to live this life with him? How many years had she cried over what they lost? She looked at the little band of gold the circular diamond nestled in the middle and wished she had the words to tell Rowan how right this was— how she wanted to scream to the world that she was getting her happily ever after.

But all she could manage was a nod. Her smile big enough that her cheeks began to ache.

“You will?” Rowan asked.

She nodded again, “yes.” Her voice barely a whisper as Rowan slid the ring onto her finger and kissed it softly.

“You can tell me no and that I am being insane… but how about next week?”

“Get married next week?” Aelin asked, still reeling from it all.

“I know it’s fast. But when you have chosen what you want in life… you want to start living it.” Rowan kissed her hand again and smiled warmly at her. “I love you, Aelin. I have been lost for so long. Never knowing what I wanted, not knowing who I wanted. But the moment I met you it was like everything fell into place. It is cliche, I know. But there is something about you… something so familiar. I cannot possibly let you go.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She could not find the words— she would never be able to tell him just how deep her love ran. How he is the origin of all her dreams. All she could do was lean over to him and capture his lips with her own in a scorching kiss.

They were in fact married one week later just like Rowan had suggested. It had been a small intimate ceremony, only Rowan’s family and a couple of his friends attending. Afterwards they had returned to his parents’ home and they had enjoyed a dinner with copious amounts of champagne and dancing and laughter. It was nothing like how it had been with Arobynn and she was happier than she had been in almost eighty years.

She did not think about the consequences of this. She did not think about the fact that she was not ageing and at some point she might have to explain to Rowan. All she cared about was being with him right now, letting him hold her close as they swayed to the music. His hand gripping her waist, his other holding her own hand tightly; her head resting on his chest— listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“I will never have the words to tell you how grateful I am that you said yes.” Rowan whispered into her hair. “I will love you until the end of time, Aelin. I promise you that.”

She glanced up at him. He was smiling gently, his eyes shining in the candlelight. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever beheld, and she would thank Elena, or whatever Gods had granted her this time with him. For however long they allow.

“Do you promise?” She managed to whisper back.

Rowan huffed a laugh. “I will find you in every life, in every world. I would go into hell itself to be with you. I cannot see how we are anything but inevitable.”

She buried her head into his shoulder and sniffed. These were the words that she had wanted to hear for so long, the words that were like music to her ears. And she would find him too— no matter where she roamed, no matter how many years had passed— she would find him.

“A toast to the happy couple! May their lives be happy and long.” Rowan’s father lifted his glass, and suddenly Aelin was holding her own flute of champagne and toasting along with their friends, smiling wide. “Welcome to the family, Aelin.”

There had been a day when Aelin had dared to hope a little more than before. A day where her and Rowan had been strolling along the river hand in hand, the autumn leaves falling around them. Rowan had been deep in thought before he turned to her with a curious expression.

“Do you ever get the feeling you’ve done something before?”

She furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

Rowan stopped them and leant on the stone wall. “I dreamt of you the other night. It was so vivid and felt so real.”

Aelin laughed nervously. “It’s not unusual for you to dream of your wife.”

Rowan shook his head, still serious. “We were in London. Which is strange because I’ve never been to London with you. But we were walking through a park and it was winter. You were storming ahead of me and I can’t remember what we were saying…” he trailed off, staring ahead.

Aelin was silent too. She didn’t dare hope, because hope led to disappointment— and she’d had plenty of that.

“It felt like a memory.” He finally said. “I must be going crazy. Obviously it was not a memory, I was probably just mixing books and dreams and real life.”

Aelin tried to laugh, it coming out as more of a choke. “Dreams can be funny like that.”

Rowan chuckled too, his face brighter. He took her hand again and continued on their walk. They were both silent though. Aelin unsure of what to say. Should she tell him it wasn’t a dream? That the vision he had had was a real life event, something the two of them had shared together almost one hundred years ago. She knew she would not tell him, but even so, she tried to take some comfort in knowing that maybe one day he would remember.

Lyon, France. August 1860

He didn’t remember.

And she shouldn’t have been surprised.

Not when throughout her life she had only been handed bad luck. The Gods simply not letting her be happy for any amount of time. And Aelin should have been used to it by now. After all, she had lost Rowan twice, and her son and had to live with everyone dying around her as she remained unchanging.

Although, she should correct that last statement. She had lost Rowan three times.

Her hands were clasped tightly around the handkerchief in her lap. The church bell chiming solemnly in the background as people shuffled from the church, murmuring their apologies as they passed her. She could barely hear them over the roaring in her head.

Her eyes were blurry from the tears, her gaze set straight ahead, staring at the white stone wall of the church. The air was cold even though it was the middle of August and the temperature was soaring, the sun burning hot. But she could feel nothing.

“Aelin,” a voice said behind her. “We should be leaving.”

She blinked and hastily wiped the teardrop from her cheek before turning to the voice. Rowan’s mother stood there in all black, her eyes puffy from crying and cheeks stained red. Aelin was not the only one mourning today.

“I’ll be out in a moment.” She replied.

Rowan’s mother nodded and traipsed outside alongside his father who had not publicly shed a tear— yet she had heard him quietly sobbing in his study only yesterday.

Aelin finally stood, smoothing out her own black dress and looked to the empty altar, where only a year earlier she had been stood with Rowan, saying vows, promising themselves to each other. And now she was standing there alone, Rowan gone. Taken from her like everything else had been.

She had cried for days after his death. The sadness consuming her wholly. But day by day that sadness shifted into anger.

Anger at fate, at the Gods, and with the world.

She hadn’t asked for this life. Aelin had not asked to be constantly searching for him— for a life with him. She did not ask to be stuck forever as the same person. But no matter how she begged it was never enough. No matter how much she prayed or cried to Elena, to any God who might listen, none did. She woke each morning feeling nothing, her body and mind and face the same as before.

Elena had told her that love would conquer all. She had told Aelin that as long as she had love in her heart she would weather any storm, survive any battle. But this was a battle Aelin didn’t know she wanted to win. She didn’t even know what she was fighting against.

Someone called her name from the back of the church and she wiped her face once more. Sending off one last prayer to anyone who might listen.

Her heart was empty once again.

Tag List:

@morganofthewildfire @tomtenadia @fredweasleyhasadhd @luckyrunawaycheesecake @live-the-fangirl-life @fireheart-violet @charlizeed @scarblx @xo-fangirl-xo @wordsafterhours @jesstargaryenqueen @sailorsassley @sjmships @endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu @swankii-art-teacher @superspiritfestival @becarefuloflove @tanvee1231 @viajandosinalas @backtobl4ck @emily-gsh @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @becarefuloflove @goddess-aelin @thegreyj @leiawritesstories @nerdperson524 @rowanaelinn

#the long road home #rowaelin #rowan #aelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #tog au #tog fanfic #fanfic #the long road home fanfic #house of galathynius

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dolliecworpse · 9 months

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bonjour, la lady in red !

may la malice-ridden one please request titles related to being a cute girl, however actually being very off-putting

for example, a girl who has a gun ! la grim reaper may deny this request if she wishes

🌐 ⌕ off-putting cutie themed titles ｡｡｡

the one of bows, lace, and vanishing without a trace , the one who wields glitter-covered weapons , the one of cute skirts and bloodshed , (pronoun) whose body is adorned in blood-stained lace , (pronoun) who curtesies as (pronoun) holds a knife to your throat , the cutesy villainess , (pronoun) who is covered in pink and sparkly blood

🎀 ⌕ note ｡｡｡ i’m not sure if i captured this too well TwT also sorri that there aren’t too many, but for more titles with a similar theme, may i introduce you to this list of pastel gore themed titles? et merci à la malice-ridden one pour being so kind (my french is a bit rusti, tehee, can you tell? /silli)

#— ˗ˋ ୨ pronouns & titles ୧ ˊ˗ —#potentially triggering #general tw #general cw #tw violence #cw violence #titles #title list #title suggestions #cute #off putting #cutesy

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loveyourlovelysoul · 2 years

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Bonjour! What should have been langblr reactivation challenge day 7. So, why did you start learning languages? Do you have a favourite langauge that you lean towards the most? How do you find learning languages with different alphabets to your native language? - shootingforgold

Hi @shootingforgold! I'm now not sure in which language to answer you lol but... I'll go with English :) - I started learning languages in school, as everyone probably, but then it turned into a passion: I'd love to be able to understand and communicate with people from different parts of the wolrd using the language they find more comfortable (native languages are always able to convey very specific shades of meanings to our words which I find very mesmerizing) - I think I lean towards English the most: I'm used to write in English and even if I'm not perfect, it is the language I'm most comfortable with as for now (my French is kinda rusty atm)... I feel I can express myself almost as in my native language - I love learning languages that have different alphabets. I loved learning different types of cyrillic and I'm loving learning Korean as well. I tried with Arabic but I had to give up tbh, maybe one day I'll try again. And I want to try Japanese too.

Merci beaucoup pour ton message!

#languages #french #langblr reactivation challenge #will send my ask/s in a few days I hope #I am doing the challenge but actually not so accurately

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thereturnofsidsid03 · 3 months

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tbr, 2024 Vol.1

I have previously archived, via tumblr, lengthy portions of my even lengthier tbr, but for ease of (my own) mind I am simplifying.

My Current Read;

Bonjour Tristesse by Françoise Sagan

"What is the moral sense? Where does it come from? Is it intrinsic? If not, does that discredit morality itself? These are the questions that lie at the heart of Sagan’s brief and disturbing novel." -Rachel Cusk for The New Yorker

My Looming tbr;

And A Voice To Sing With by Joan Baez

"An extraordinary woman who has led an eventful life, Baez’s memoir is as honest, unpretentious, and courageous as she is."- Simon and Schuster's Blurb Guy

Daydream and Drunkenness of a Young Lady by Clarice Lispector

"Daydreams and Drunkenness of a Young Lady is both emotive and absorbing, and is filled with intelligent nuances. Lispector's voice is searching and perceptive."- Says Kirsty on Goodreads

Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby Jr.

Allen Ginsberg once predicted that this book would "explode like a rusty hellish bombshell over America and still be eagerly read in a hundred years.".

#francoise sagan #joan baez #bonjour tristesse #clarice lispector #last exit to brooklyn #hubert selby jr #rachel cusk #allen ginsberg #books

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chronic-claire-universe · 1 year

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Bonjour et Bonne nuit

Comment vas- tu claire?

I’m rusty had to use translator 😂😅

It's ok, you wrote it perfectly! I'm good studying and enjoying the sun at the moment 💜

#what about you?#lovely moots 💕

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nakunakunomi · 2 years

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Hi Hazel! You don't ever have to apologize for replying late! Life happens. I hope everything is going well with work!

Yay! Congratulations on pulling Jamil! Leona is being stubborn for no reason 😤. Maybe he'll finally come home once he sees you spoiling all the other characters.

LOL Ruggie most definitely for leopard print on purpose to mess with Leona. He has to enjoy the little things in life haha. I'm manifesting more Leona cards for us!

Also, I read "Fireworks" and I love it so much! It's so cute and fluffy! Kissing Leona under fireworks, nothing gets better than that haha. Thank you so much for writing it and sharing it with us!

Reminder to take breaks! Sending you love! - berry anon

Bonjour Berry anon!

(started saying bonjour ironically cause of Rook and trying to brush up on my French for parent-teacher conferences and now I cannot stop (;;;*_*) )

Thank you, I am super glad you liked the little writing. I have been desperate to write some more, but work has been kicking my ass in all the worst possible ways. Now whenever I see my laptop (which is both my work and personal laptop at the moment) I just want to sleep or put it away.

Bday Jack came home too, so honestly, I will be banking on getting Leona jealous for now hahah!

I absolutely LOVED the Halloween story and it honestly inspired me a lot, so I am dragging myself to the autumn break by my elbows and hopefully get to write a little halloweeny thing still.

How have you been? I know it's been an eternity, and I am very very rusty at the moment. D:

Sending love, Hazel

#personal #berry anon #hazel and frenz

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quanjewelry · 2 years

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Super Tips About Buying Jewelry The Right Way

Jewelry can be a wonderful gift to show someone how you feel. It can also be the perfect memento to mark a special occasion. Some people consider it an investment but the true value in jewelry is how it makes the wearer feel. This article can help you when trying to pick out jewelry for someone you love.

Make sure to regularly polish your metal jewelry. Over time it begins to collect dirt, oil and dust and that affects its sheen and overall appearance. This makes the jewelry look worn and old. Go ahead and refresh those pieces using some simple polish to make them look brand new again.

Try keeping up with jewelry trends. Like with fashion, jewelry also follows seasonal trends and you can find a style and color combination that is right for you. You can even find specialty items that go with clothing pieces in your own personal wardrobe. The possibilities and combinations are endless.

When jewelry shopping, you need to be prepared to carefully look, and inspect anything that you may want to buy. You need to get a loupe. This is a small pocket-sized magnifier that can show you what kind of quality you will be getting. It magnifies the jewelry so that you can inspect it to see if you are getting something of bad quality or good quality.

Before you go to buy jewelry, it is important to view your options before you decide on exactly the style you want. If you make a rash decision, you may regret getting that certain piece in the long run. It is necessary for you to feel connected to the jewelry before you buy it, as it is a reflection of you!

When buying jewelry on eBay, it helps to know exactly what you're looking for. There can be thousands of listings for a single type of jewelry. Avoid frustration by knowing the style and color you want before you begin looking. Unlike a brick and mortar store, it can take hours to browse through everything online.

If you want to maintain the look of your jewelry, you should prevent it from becoming tarnished. Avoid wearing your jewelry near water. Many types of metal will become dulled, tarnished, or rusty when exposed to it. If you are looking to protect your jewelry from the ill effects of water, try applying clear nail polish, just a thin layer, on the piece itself.

When buying vintage jewelry, become familiar with the different time periods associated with each piece. A Victorian era piece may interest you more than one of a different era, so knowing the differences will help you be able to quickly spot the pieces you are most interested in purchasing, rather than spending lots of time browsing.

As stated in the first paragraph, the true value of jewelry is sentimental value. It is not about how much it cost but how it makes the person wearing it feel. It is about expressing your feelings in something that can be cherished forever. By taking the pointers in this article you can pick out jewelry that someone is sure to cherish forever.

Quan Jewelry - Bonjour! Experience Paris with this Eiffel Tower destination necklace.

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chantalvdreijden · 2 years

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🎼I'll bring you 💐 in the pouring 🌧🎶 #goodmorning #goedemorgen #gutenmorgen #bonjour #bongiorno #buenosdias #song #music #muziek #silhouette #girl #flowergirl #cortenstaal #steel #rusty #portrait #portret #decoration #decoratie #lovephotography #photographer #photography #fotografie #fotograferen https://www.instagram.com/p/CeiSIZ1jSdV/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=