WARNINGS: NON-CON, loss of virginity, kidnapping
➥ banner by @maysdigitalarts | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics
summary: your engagement to Laenor Velaryon is abruptly cut short when Daemon Targaryen steals you away.
HERE’S THE THING THOUGH
I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click
And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”
So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is
“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”
I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:
“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”
I accidentally called the director of the FBI.
My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.
This is my new favourite story.
When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.
There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.
The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.
During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”
So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.
I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.
So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…
“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”
It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.
There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.
The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.
Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before.
But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started.
Seriously, this is legit.
In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline. Here’s the ad they posted.
Only problem is, they misprinted the number. And the number they printed? It went straight through to fucking NORAD. This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay. NORAD was the front line.
And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD. Oh no no no.
Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says.
“This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says.
The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ”
His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying.
“And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.”
“It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says.
And then, it got better.
“The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says.
“And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says.
“Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says.
For real.
“And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.”
“Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.”
So yeah. I think that might be the best wrong number of all time.
No okay THAT is adorable and I’m queueing this for next December.
What might have happened had Rowan not panicked when Aelin first came onto him in QoS.
CW: NSFW, smut
~3300 words
A/N: This is my first ever one-shot! Hopefully, it goes without saying, but credit to SJM for the first chunk and the lines of dialogue I used toward the end. Enjoy!!
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The rain lightened to a soft sprinkle, and Aelin stirred from where Rowan held her. From where she’d been standing, soaking up his strength, thinking.
She twisted slightly to take in the strong lines of his face, his cheekbones gilded with the rain and the light from the street. Across the city, in a room she knew too well, Arobynn was hopefully bleeding out. Hopefully dead.
A hollow thought–but also the clicking of a lock finally opened.
BABES WILL THERE BE A PART TWO TO YOUR WITCHER FIC?? 😢
I originally thought there was going to be - I’ve even got it half written just got stuck and couldn’t figure out where to go next. So maybe? One day 🤷♀️ don’t think this helps 😂
The herbs were light in your pocket, wrapped tightly in a simple linen cloth and tied with twine taken from the kitchen. It would be a quick trip to the tents, a trip that would have to be made in haste, in and out, and back again to celebrate the days’ event.
There was already a clear lead, the omegas alongside you, who had gotten a better idea at which alphas would be walking out of the village with an omega by their sides.
The event had just started, and yet there was a clear distinction between the alphas who were willing to be brutal, to be as feral as possible, to win their omega.
The mother is infuriating! I can’t wait to see where this goes. A tag would be great, if tumblr allows?
Inspired by this prompt x.
Find part I here ⟡ Read on AO3
I don't know how many parts this story will have, but I expect there will be a fair few!
Oh Rhys is so sweet with her! Can I get a tag if tumblr allows?
Inspired by this prompt x by @writing-prompts-re
I'm supposed to be working on a 10 page report for uni but I just couldn't get the thoughts out of my head, guys. Enjoy this short one-shot, I will definitely be revisiting it for more chapters once I finish my uni project.
Word count: 1,374
Oh I love this!
Snakes & Daggers – Chapter 38: The Duel
Today’s update! Also available to read on AO3
My take on what would have happened between Rowan and Aelin had the Valg been dealt with properly and TOG hadn’t happened.
~ 5400 words
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AN: Only two more chapters + the epilogue to go! I’m so sad that S&D is almost over. But thank you all so much for the support!! I hope everyone likes the ending, and I can’t wait to discuss it with you guys!
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As he had warned, it was indeed very dark at midnight. Aelin’s flames lit the way for their party as they rode down into the Oakwald, seeking out the clearing where Chaol would be waiting. Not that Rowan needed the boost to his eyesight, given how bright the moon was shining tonight, but he appreciated the flames nonetheless.
He and Aelin were riding in with Aedion and Lysandra, the latter stalking beside them in her ghost leopard form. Even now, Aedion cast her the occasional worried glance–as if he needed to be sure she hadn’t wandered off and been replaced by an actual ghost leopard. And Rowan could have sworn that with every one of those glances, Lysandra responded with an amused, feline smile.
Oh thank god it went that way I was worried for a moment. Now I just want to find out what chaol has done now!
Here’s some Rowaelin x Lorcan moments… I’m never seeing heaven but I’m glad to be entertaining all of you!
I had thought of other people for this one (Lysandra or Dorian) so tell me if it’s something you’d be interested to see?
Aelin choked on her drink, spitting half of it out onto her skirt. "You did what?”
Lorcan, whose hair was tied in a low bun, turned his head toward Rowan, an eyebrow raised, “You never told your wife?” He sounded amused, playful.
Rowan groaned, throwing his head back in the way he did whenever he wanted to escape a conversation, but Aelin wouldn’t let him. She needed more details. “No, I didn’t. Have you?”
azriel (acotar) x reader
Summary: takes place during acofas, you and Azriel are mates but he doesn’t know it yet, angst, fluff, and everything in between
*Also this is my first imagine ever so I’m sorry if it sucks lol! There will be a part 2 to this, but I am still working on it!!
word count: 3927
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The winter solstice was in a few days and you weren’t sure what to get some of the inner circle. You walked briskly down the streets of the Rainbow, chilled to the bone due to the wind. You had made the dumb mistake of rushing out of the townhouse - to avoid any questions of where you were going - without taking your scarf. Your current outfit, which was a chunky knit blue sweater with leggings and boots, wasn’t enough to keep the chill away. But the cold wasn’t the most important thing on your mind. You had already bought presents for Rhys, Feyre, Amren, and Elain, but that left Cassian, Mor, and Azriel. Mor and Cass would be pretty easy to buy for, but you put it off knowing they would look through your room trying to find their solstice gift. But Azriel, that would be much harder.
Every waking hour, the shadowsinger haunted your thoughts. Something you had come to conclude was unrequited.
You had realized the mating bond between you two before he did.
It had clicked a few months ago while on a diplomatic mission. The aftermath of Hybern had left things chaotic, and if you were being honest, it still was. Rhys decided to send Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and you to travel to some of the other courts to bring back reports on the recovery after the war. However, traveling did have some dangers. While you were on your way back to Velaris from the Winter Court, your group was ambushed by a group of Hybern soldiers who had been hiding out in the mountains. Had it not been for Azriel’s wings shielding you from the initial arrows, you would’ve surely been dead, and that’s when it clicked for you. But like an idiot, you didn’t say anything.
You had thought if the bond had clicked for you, it would’ve clicked for Azriel too. You realized your mistake when Azriel hadn’t acknowledged any change between you two. You hoped that he would figure it out in the coming weeks, but he didn’t. You knew the same sort of situation happened with feyre and rhys so you still held out some hope. But as the months went by, and you realized the bond still hadn’t clicked for Azriel and it felt too late to tell him.
At least that was the excuse you made up. Truly, you were also afraid of the rejection that could have followed. You weren’t a fool, you knew him and Elain had some sort of connection, and that shattered your dreams even more. The possibility that he wouldn’t accept the mating bond to be with the fair skinned, doe eyed fae. Everytime Azriel was in the same room as Elain, she was the only thing he would pay attention to. During gatherings, you would plaster on a smile and act as if you were happy, but Cassian and Mor, your best friends, could sense your discomfort. They tried to ask you about it, but seeing as you would shut down anything they said, they decided not to pry too much. Amren ended up figuring out the source of your discomfort had to do with Azriel, but kept your secret until you would be ready to share it.
You came to the conclusion that distancing yourself from him would be the best option, so that’s what you did.
I loved this but I have to find out what happens in part 2!!!!
You write fenrys so well 🥺
Can I request something for him falling in love with a lady who works in a library and is friends with aelin and he keeps finding excuses to visit the library and one day they realize they’re mates ? Can you plz include alot of longing looks & touched and his friends noticing ?
pairing: Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)
warnings: drinking, small argument, mainly fluff
a/n: kay so it's been a hot MINUTE since I've posted and I am sorry my loves, also I comepletely modified this but I hope you still like it, comment and shiz pls it really helps with writers block lol <33
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Oh I love Fenrys!
hi! I was wondering if you could do an azriel x reader where you both are best friends but the mating bond between you both snaps into place after he falls in love with elain? You can take it ahead from there, make it super angsty or with a happy ending, it’s up to you!
pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)
warnings: really fucking angsty but a kinda happy ending, eating disorders and depression and self harm so big TW
a/n: i made this archeron!reader cause i’ve had this idea for ages and as a youngest sibling it kinda speaks to me lol, also it’s very long cause I have no chill so I hope you enjoy!! <33
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Thank god there was a happy ending but damn I’m a sucker for angst! Loved this !
Request: “angst to smut and then fluff” - Reader is a healer working for the Inner Circle, convinced that Azriel doesn’t like her.
Tags: @lillysugarsxx
Warnings: smut!!!! don’t read if you aren’t 18! also angst
Word Count: 6,000 (sorry)
A/N: Here’s another Azriel one! Sorry it took me about a week to write, I’m not amazing at writing smut and didn’t want it to be horrendous. I have a few more Azriel fics to write that people have requested, as well as one about Cassian! Feel free to request other stuff, but know it might take me a little longer to write it. I hope you enjoy! :)
Your father worked as an apothecary in Velaris, running a small shop to sell medicines and offer treatment when needed. You’d helped him ever since you were little - stocking supplies and bandaging small injuries. Over time, you developed a genuine interest in medicine and the chemistry behind it, working with your father as he developed new treatments for the common illnesses and ailments in the City of Starlight.
One night while your father was out on a house call, the High Lord of the Night Court himself had winnowed into your house after a mission had gone awry. He’d been seeking your father’s medical attention, of course, but he wouldn’t be home for hours, leaving you to tend to Rhysand’s wounds as he collapsed on your kitchen floor. While cleaning out a large cut on his arm you’d realized he’d been poisoned somehow, his skin far too pale for the minimal amount of blood he’d lost, his veins a startling shade of green. Despite your panic you’d been able to find a suitable antidote to the poison, calming down only when his complexion returned to normal. You wrapped his wounds, dragged him onto your couch, and called it a night.
In the morning, he’d been shocked that you’d been able to heal him, explaining he’d been struck by a poisoned arrow in a remote part of the Night Court. Apparently the poison was quite obscure, and Rhysand had praised you for what he deemed was “superior medical knowledge.”
You’d chalked it all up to a lucky guess, and after a once-over from your father you sent the High Lord on his merry way. A week later, he returned and offered you a job as a healer in the House of Wind.
You’d been hesitant to accept - you didn’t want to leave your father to run the shop alone - but at the end of the day, Rhys paid you more, allowing you to buy more supplies and medicines for your father to use. Plus, the library in the House of Wind was humongous, and you’d be able to learn more about medicine and healing there.
In the end, you’d taken the job, getting a better paycheck and the best friends in the whole world at the same time.
A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy!
I think I need to change the blurb of this fic as Maeve is kinda getting in the way a tiny bit 😅 This is the last update for today, I’m working on the next chapter as we speak but I have a busy weekend so there may not be an update until Monday.
@jesstargaryenqueen @sailorsassley @sjmships @tomtenadia @endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @fredweasleyhasadhd @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu @swankii-art-teacher @superspiritfestival @becarefuloflove @tanvee1231 @viajandosinalas
Chapter Twenty ~ Chapter Twenty-Two
Oh poor Aelin! Can’t wait for the next part!
A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy!
Once again I want to say how sorry I am for how long it has been since I have updated! My family came to stay and I hadn’t seen them in almost 2 years and then life just got away with me and I didn’t have time or the energy to write. Either way, I am so sorry, and hope that you enjoy this chapter and I can promise it won’t be as long to wait for the next one!
@jesstargaryenqueen @sailorsassley @sjmships @tomtenadia @endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @fredweasleyhasadhd @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu @swankii-art-teacher @superspiritfestival @becarefuloflove @tanvee1231 @viajandosinalas
Chapter Seventeen ~ Chapter Nineteen
I just caught up on this and oh it had to end with angst! 😭 but I loved it!
Rain falls steadily during a cool, autumn evening, washing away the last tendrils of summer sun. Leaves have begun their annual migration, greeting wet cobblestone pavement with glee as the temperature becomes more bearable.
Inside a small brick house at the end of a small neighbourhood, a young child sings along to the silly songs playing on the television that hangs on the lounge wall. The child, no more than three or four, dances around in a too-large princess dress, her almost icy hair dancing alongside her in haphazardly tied pigtails. A large, golden-haired dog doses happily beside her on the couch, the loud noises and movements all-too familiar to her.
Standing in the kitchen, her mother pauses her slicing as she watches with amused fondness, chest warm at the sight of the silly dancing and singing. Never did she believe she would be capable of experiencing love so strong, so pure. A love that comes without cost and burden.
Shaking her head at a song that has been played in their household on repeat as of recently, she turns away, resuming her task at hand. The dreary weather outside their large windows has inspired only the warmest of meals, and seeing as her little girl has decided to only ingest liquids for the foreseeable future, she has been trying her hand at many soups.
“Only a few more songs, Ev,” she calls over to where her daughter continues to dance in their platformed lounge, her small body bobbing as she leans on the coffee table and bounces. She is spared a quick glance in acknowledgement, and reprimands herself for conceiving and birthing a child that seems to exhibit her exact brand of stubborn. Mala spare them.
Rolling her eyes, she rubs at her swollen stomach, praying to the Gods above that this next daughter takes after her father, a far more compliant person than she will ever be.
Brushing the residual scraps off her hand, she squats down to open a cabinet, beginning the search for her largest pot. Finding and grabbing the handles, she straightens at the sound of a heavy knock at their front door, a quick glance at the oven clock telling her Rowan is at least an hour away, based on his latest message. Besides, who uses their own front door when they get home? Standing up gingerly, she places the pot onto the countertop and heads towards the knocking that has picked up its intensity. Sparing a smile for her otherwise oblivious daughter, she opens the front door, eyebrows raising high at the sight before her.
Dripping wet and shivering cold, Lorcan Salvaterre stands before her, his thick, long locks plastered to his face and shoulders as his hand freezes, extended as if to knock once again.
“Lorcan,” she deadpans, simply staring at the towering man, whose expression is one caught between embarrassment and frustration, his shoulders tense. “What’s going on?”
His expression darkens, and it is obvious to her that she was not who he was here to see.
Her thoughts are confirmed instantly. “Aelin. Is Rowan home?”
Head leaning slightly to the side, Aelin looks over at their driveway where only her car is parked, before her eyes trail back to the soaked man before her. “No.”
“Right, well,” he mutters, his gaze having followed hers towards to the lone car in the driveway, “I’ll give him a ring then.”
Without so much of a goodbye, he turns, his shoulders hunched in that same tense pose as he makes his way back to his car, only too aware of Aelin’s passive gaze on his back as she watches him from the doorway.
“I’m making soup,” she calls suddenly, feeling only slightly pleased when he halts. The rain continues to pelt him, but he does not turn. “Come inside.”
It’s less of a dinner invitation and more of an order that Aelin Ashryver Galathynius Whitethorn extends to Lorcan, and he’s very much aware of that. He turns quickly, hand tight on the handle of his car door. Aelin simply stands back and extends her arm outward, gesturing to inside the warm house.
“You never make a pregnant woman wait,” she says, chin lifted as Lorcan quickly and resolutely walks back up towards the small porch, highly aware of the way his clothes drip, and the mess he will surely make. But Aelin only steps back to give him room to step into the foyer, a small smile playing on her lips as she shuts the door behind him, no indication she is annoyed by the small pond that is being constructed on her hardwood floors.
Leaving him standing rather awkwardly in her front hallway, Aelin disappears into a small room off the entryway, returning with a real smile and warm towels, of which she extends towards him wordlessly. He accepts them with a nod, and can only watch as she walks down the other end of the hallway towards where he knows her kitchen and lounge area are. Toeing off his shoes, he quickly towel dries his clothes, suddenly uncomfortable in a home he has spent more than enough time in, but never alone with her.
Finally dry enough to move without too much self awareness, Lorcan follows the sounds and smells of a family home, entering the open plan kitchen to see Aelin at the stove, pouring an array of ingredients into a large clay pot, her daughter dancing away to some children’s program on the television.
Evalin Galathynius Whitethorn is the spitting image of her father, but Lorcan knows exactly who’s personality she has inherited of her parents. He can still remember the first time he met the small babe, merely hours after she had been born. She’d been dwarfed in her fathers arms, and Lorcan could only stare as she mewled small noises he had never heard before, tucked away gently in warm blankets. Elide had moved around his frozen body, her own shaking with excitement as she took the baby in, arms immediately extending to hold her. Rowan had transferred his daughter over with an anxious expression and tender hands, tugging Elide over to where Aelin sat up in her hospital bed so he could be near both of his girls.
“Lorcan,” Elide had breathed out in wonder, her eyes alight with adoration already. “Come look.”
He’d moved forward towards the bed, sparing a quick smile for Aelin, who had smiled back serenely and nodded — it was perhaps their most positive interaction. Elide held out her arms, showing off the bundle in her arms. And Lorcan could understand her adoration as he took Rowan and Aelin’s daughter in, surprised at how…human the small babe had look. Weren’t most babies supposed to look like squished aliens?
“Oh no, not me,” Lorcan had exclaimed as Elide held the baby out towards him, and as if realising who she was being handed off to, Evalin had let out a wail that could rival her mothers own high pitched voice, and Lorcan knew without looking Aelin would be wearing a smug smile.
Rowan had more than happily taken his daughter back.
“In exchange for dinner, I’ll assign you to Evalin duty,” Aelin finally says, dragging him from his thoughts as she turns from the stove to see Lorcan staring at her daughter, an amused smile on her face. “I need that television to stop playing those songs immediately.”
Lorcan only nods, and heads towards his pseudo-niece, stepping up into the platformed lounge. She finally spares him a glance, and squeals with delight as she takes in the large man, though Lorcan knows Evalin is generally happy to see anyone. The television is immediately disregarded, and suddenly shuts off, and he smiles for the first time as Aelin casually lowers a remote from in the kitchen.
“Blocks! Now, Lorcan, please!”
Before he knows it, he is on his knees and helping the small girl build blocks into small houses that she has dumped from a bucket by the couch. It always shocks the young man how quickly small children move, though he is not one that has much experience with them. Aelin and Rowan are the first of their collective group of friends to have introduced children, and though he has had time to adjust to her, Evalin still surprises him.
He plays quietly with the little girl for a few minutes, the only sounds in the open area the falling rain outside large windows and Aelin moving around the cluttered kitchen, humming away as she cooks.
Aelin pauses as she has nothing left to add to her pot, and braces her hands on the counter, glancing over at Lorcan. Biting the inside of her lip, she considers him, such a dark and quiet soul who really only brightens for Elide, one of her dearest friends. She chooses to start there, usually the safe ground for any and all of their conversations.
“How’s Elide? She told me the other day she was loving her new job.” Aelin finally speaks, watching her daughter and her pseudo-uncle play together, both intensely focused on the blocks before them.
He tenses immediately, glancing towards her.
“Yeah, no, she likes it a lot, I think. She just…she’s been asking about…future things, I guess,” he confesses, balancing a block between nimble fingers. Aelin simply waits, still braced against the counter, stretching out her back as she allows him to process his thoughts. Though they are by no means close, after several years of friendship forged through Rowan, Aelin has figured out some of the intricacies of Lorcan Salvaterre, including his absolute inability to express himself fully. Especially to her.
“I don’t know, I said some stupid stuff about being better alone and not wanting to be too serious too fast and we’re both working our jobs and we enjoy them and we’re still young so what’s the point and who knows she might fall in love with someone else someday. We haven’t spoken in a couple days, but I can’t lose her. I didn’t mean that I wanted to be break up or be done, you know,” he rambles, blocks completely forgotten about.
Aelin desperately wants to snort at that — too serious too fast, her ass. From the moment Aelin had brought Elide to the bar they all liked to hang out in, Lorcan had been a goner, even if he had been an absolute shit in expressing his feelings and getting Elide to trust him. Instead, she bites the inside of her cheek, again waiting for him to finish his thoughts.
“Maybe you could talk to her for me,” Lorcan finally murmurs, his gaze focused on the tower before him, unwilling to look Aelin in the eyes. She is silent for a long while, and finally he has to look up in embarrassment, bracing himself for her trademark look she seems to wear whenever they are around each other, one he knows is rooted in slight dislike.
But the look Aelin gives him does not border on unkind or even judgemental. It’s not even sympathetic. It’s a gentle look, and a look that indicates that perhaps she is truly seeing Lorcan for the first time.
“I can, if you’d like,” she replies slowly and softly, and he does his best to mask his surprise at her agreement. “But what would I say? What would you want me to say?”
He considers her. “Tell her…I don’t know. Shit, tell her that it’s natural for men to feel that way and that all the future stuff will happen, I’m just trying to get my head around it all. Maybe tell her I love her?”
Aelin laughs at his response and he frowns, putting down his blocks and standing up to move towards where she is standing at the kitchen island, and sits heavily at a bar stool. Evalin is ignorant of the two adults, continuing to play with her coloured blocks, Fleetfoot now lying down next to her, chewing on a red block.
“What’s funny about that,” he demands, eyebrows knit together in an intense version of confusion. Aelin laughs again, moving towards the fridge as she pulls out a beer and slides it towards him. He frowns down at it for a moment before shaking his head, glancing at her swollen stomach, and readies to give it back to her.
“Don’t,” she laughs, pushing the cold beer further towards him, and grabs a tonic water from the fridge for herself. “I’m not ashamed to admit I accidentally got Rowan a little drunk once or twice when I was pregnant with Ev because I needed to live through him drinking.”
Lorcan cracks a smile at that, snorting at the thought of drunk Rowan, which hasn’t changed much since they were teenagers. Often emotional and clingy, he was always worse when he was drunk around his wife, who happily lapped up the attention.
“Where is he, anyways? I thought he had Friday evenings off.”
Aelin nods in confirmation, reaching down to scratch lightly at Fleetfoots head, who has made her way into the kitchen at the enticing smells now drifting from the stove. She hands Lorcan a bottle opener. “He’s at the hospital filling in for another doctor who had a family commitment,” she replies, before sobering again. “Look, Lorcan, I could say those things to Elide for you, but I find that I personally appreciate Rowan telling me he loves me and hearing his thoughts, no matter how panicked, rather than hearing them from one of his friends.”
Lorcan can only stare at the bottle and bottle opener, blinking as small hands reach forward to pop the cap off the top of the bottle and thust the drink into his hands. He smirks, finally taking a swig from the bottle.
“I do love her,” he mutters, meeting Aelin’s gaze, which is still soft. He almost wishes she’d judge the hell out of him and kick his ass into gear. “I do.”
“I think you’re overthinking this. Elide knows you love her, she knows you’re committed to her, but she also knows you can be a piece of shit,” Aelin finishes with a smug smile. He rolls his eyes. “She’ll appreciate you doing your best to communicate with her your worries and anxieties about not being ready for marriage rather than telling her that she might fall in love with another person or that you shouldn’t be together. You tell her you love her and you want a future with her.”
“What do those things mean if I tell her?” He asks, unsure of what the future even meant. “What am I confirming for her if I tell her those things?”
“It just means you love her, Lorcan, and you want to be with her. You don’t have to marry Elide today, or even tomorrow,” Aelin confirms, taking a sip from her bottle. “I think she wants to know you’re dedicated to a future with her, whatever that looks like. She just wants you, you know that, she doesn’t need all that other stuff. She’s independent and strong; she does’t need you. She wants you.”
Lorcan’s chest warms at Aelin’s confirmation, perhaps one of the only other people who knows Elide as well as he does. The small woman had surprised him in how independent and stubborn she was, quiet and unsure as she can be.
“How do you know all this? How do you even figure it out?”
“It’s the art of getting by, Lorcan Salvaterre,” Aelin declares, holding her tonic up to knock against his beer bottle. Lorcan laughs as she grins.
A sound from the corner of the kitchen interrupts their moment, and Fleetfoot begins barking.
“Daddy!” Evalin screeches as her father steps into the kitchen from the garage door, his almost-white hair glistening with rain. He has a grin on his face as his toddler abandons her blocks and runs for him, his expression turning to confusion as he takes in who is in his kitchen. He barely catches Evalin as she launches herself at him and straightens.
“Lorcan,” Rowan says, staring at his best friend and wife sharing a drink over the kitchen island. He can’t quite believe it.
“Rowan,” Aelin deadpans, rolling her eyes.
“Sorry for being here when you weren’t,” Lorcan says sheepishly. Rowan shrugs, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot as he acknowledges his just as excitable dog.
“You’re not barred from my house when I’m not home,” Rowan simply replies, squirming toddler held tightly in his arms, as he rounds the island to kiss his wife in greeting, eyes seeing only her. “Smells good,” he comments, placing Evalin back on the ground to begin pulling bowls out of a cupboard. He glances back at his best friend. “Staying for dinner?”
Lorcan considers, and looks at Aelin, who simply smiles at him. He shakes his head, standing and handing his empty beer bottle to Aelin, whose smile widens. “Nah, I’ve gotta go see Elide.”
Rowan looks between his wife and best friend, who usually are not so smiley and comfortable around each other, before settling on the dark-haired man who is now moving towards their front door, putting his shoes on.
“Thanks for the beer,” he says, before disappearing back out into the rain.
“Anytime,” Aelin calls to the closing door, a satisfied expression on her face as she watches him out the window as he hurries to his car, quickly driving away.
She means it.
“Did he seem weird to you?” Rowan questions, also watching Lorcan drive away. “He seemed…I don’t know, resolute? Stable? Why was he here? What happened? Is he okay?”
Aelin laughs and ignores his questions, taking the bowls from his hands as she begins to set the table.
“It’s simply the art of getting by, Rowan Whitethorn.”
Aelin Lorcan BroTP for the win!!
Aww I love this!!
I love fics like this!
My take on what would have happened between Rowan and Aelin had the Valg been dealt with properly and TOG hadn’t happened.
Rating: Mature for smut and some canon-typical violence
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“The whole journey here, all I heard from you was Fenrys, don’t cause an international incident and Fenrys, you’re not to sleep with the princess and Fenrys, don’t let a female get in the way of the mission. And then we’re here for not five minutes–five minutes before you get into a magic fight with her mother and nearly run off with the princess. Who was unconscious for all of this, I might add.”
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Chapter 1: Welcome to Terrasen Chapter 2: First Glances Chapter 3: The Throne Room Chapter 4: Debriefing Chapter 5: What Was His Name? Chapter 6: Late Night Chats Chapter 7: Breakfast Chapter 8: The Westfalls Chapter 9: The Dinner Party Chapter 10: Training Chapter 11: Lunch Chapter 12: Cloak-and-Dagger Chapter 13: Boundaries Chapter 14: Celaena Chapter 15: Awkward Conversations Chapter 16: Fussing Chapter 17: The Tavern Chapter 18: A Dangerous Time Chapter 19: The Ball Chapter 20: Eavesdropping Chapter 21: Reminiscing Chapter 22: The Wolf Hunt Chapter 23: The Tunic Chapter 24: Remelle Chapter 25: Lawn Bowling Chapter 26: Commitment Chapter 27: Date Night Chapter 28: Trespassing Chapter 29: The Solstice Part 1 Chapter 30: The Solstice Part 2 Chapter 31: The Morning After Chapter 32: Declarations Chapter 33: Moping Chapter 34: Get Up Chapter 35: The Peace Ball Chapter 36: The Ruffian Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Epilogue
This series is amazing! Up to chapter 36 has been posted on ao3 so you should def check it out!
