Stay With Me Entirely, Dearest,

Letters I write to myself from fictional characters part 2, Rowan Whitethorn Galythenius, TOG

Ash, 

       I don’t know why Aelin wanted me to write you this letter since you’ll be home soon, but here we go. 

       I love you. So much. In a brotherly way, of course, or Aelin would kill both of us. Just know i would destroy the word for you. And I would do it over and over again to get you back if you were taken from us. Whether that be death or just stolen away. I would destroy the world over and over again to get you back, no matter how long it took. We all would. Aelin, Aedion, Lysandra, the Cadre, the witches. Even Dorian and Chaol. We’d do anything to get you back if you were taken. Anything at all. 

      But you wont be taken, so you don't need to worry about that. We wont let you be taken, none of us will. 

       We miss you here in Terrasan. When you get back from your mission, Aelin wants to make chocolate cake and go for a picnic in the mountains with you. Aedion says you should rest, and frankly I agree, but you know how Aelin gets when she wants something, especially when it comes to you and chocolate cake. Let’s just hope you two don’t destroy the kitchen like you did last time

          I apologize that I couldn't send someone with you, but I know and acknowledge , that you like working, and work better by yourself. So yes, Aelin and Lysandra may have been mad at me for a bit, but i let you go alone. Just...please be safe on your mission. We’re all waiting for you to come back. 

                         -Rowan Whitethorn Galythenius 

                                   King of Terresan

5 years he's been in hiding.

5 miserable years he's had to go by a different name, wear different clothes and tell a different story to everyone he meets. He's been James, Frank, he thinks he even went by Dustin at one point. He's had long hair, short hair, he's been bald. He had a beard for a while and taught music in a small music store, but he shaved it off after a week because all he saw in the mirror was Wayne, his uncle, his family, the man he abandoned.

For 5 years, he's been everyone but Eddie Munson.

The government told him he couldn't be Eddie anymore.

"Eddie Munson is dead." They told him; they even had the death certificate to prove it. "Don't come back to Hawkins. Keep moving. There are still people looking for you." Was the last thing they said to him before dropping him off with a wad of cash in some town he's never been to before.

He'd asked for the date at the front desk of a motel, and they'd told him April 20th. Eddie had crumbled down to his knees and cried, he'd cried so hard the motel clerk asked if she should call someone, asked if he was alright.

"I'm fine." Was his broken reply. He'd taken the key for his room, curled up on the uncomfortable bed, and didn’t move for days. He wasn't alright. He'd been in a government hospital for what he thought was a few days but was actually over a month and then released into the world like some rehabilitated animal. He didn't get to say goodbye to anyone. Fuck, he didn't even know if they all made it out of the upside down. All he knew was that he was alone. And that he couldn't go home. Ever.

He'd eventually gotten over himself and made some kind of life for himself.

It took him a few tries to find something that stuck, something that felt sort of like himself. Every few months, an ungodly amount of money appears in his bank account. The formal bank statement says it's from an estranged relative. Eddie knows it's not. He knows it's the government's way of buying his silence. His expensive rent and struggle to find a job is the only reason he doesn't send it all back to them.

He's lived in his current place for a year now, which is a new record for him, but he's got no friends. Well, he has acquaintances, people he can laugh with every now and then and go out for drinks with, but no one who knows him. No one who knows why he wakes every night screaming, no one who understands why he flinches when the lights in the bar flicker, why he hates the sound of people cracking their knuckles and why his hands shake whenever anyone mentions the scar on his face.

It's late at night when he's covered in sweat and his throat is raw from screaming awake from a nightmare, that he really misses his friends, his family, the people that he went through hell with. He's not allowed to call them, not allowed to send them letters or visit. He's not even allowed to know how Wayne is doing. It hurts. It hurts so much. He can't even look at himself in the mirror anymore because he's aged, and he's slowly starting to look more and more like his uncle.

But his friends are a little harder to escape, it's like parts of them have found him and are trying to haunt him, trying to remind him that he can't be a part of their lives.

Just last week, he walked by a book store and saw a brand new fantasy graphic novel on display in the window, 'written by Mike Wheeler & illustrated by Will Byers' was displayed on the bottom of the cover in gold letters. He's never bought a book so fast in his life. He's read it front to back 3 times already.

He can't even watch the news in peace because they were doing a news story about a small town basketball player who's made it to the big leagues and is winning everyone's hearts with his skills and bright personality. Eddie had cried and wished he'd been there to congratulate Lucas, wished he could have been there to tell him how proud he was.

Even Nancy is haunting him. Her news articles get delivered to his front door every day in the paper and most of the time the articles aren't even sad, but he cries at his small dining table alone, his breakfast cold and his coffee filled with his tears.

He misses his friends. He misses them so much and it's eating him alive. It feels like he's lying on the ground of the upside down all over again, tiny little mouths ripping away at his flesh except this time it's happening from the inside. Each time he's reminded how far away he is from his friends, a small piece of him is eaten away.

He doesn't know how much more he can take.

And then something odd happens. He gets a postcard and it's addressed to him, the real him; Eddie Munson.

The handwriting is hard to read and some words have been crossed out but the name signed at the bottom of the card pulls a sob from Eddie's throat and has him almost crumbling on his doorstep.

I'm sorry I took so long. I'll see you soon.

From Steve Harrington.

I've spent a life chasing stories to tell when I'm old

Todd watched Neil, his face soft and his eyes closed, asleep, peaceful, lovely. He reached down and brushed Neil’s hair out of his face. Neil shifted closer. Todd wondered how it was possible to love one person so much, but here he was.

It was late in the evening, most of the students had already retired. Neil had been working on some extra homework while Todd had sat on his bed, reading. At some point Neil had finished up and had climbed next to Todd. He’d looked tired but hesitant but Todd had been dating him long enough to know exactly what he wanted. Neil hadn’t grown up in an environment where he could seek comfort (though admittedly, neither had Todd (but Todd had Neil constantly proving that he could ask for what he wanted even before they’d started dating and that had made a world of difference)). Sometimes he’d want Todd but wouldn’t know how to phrase it. Todd had learned to pick up the cues. So he moved his book back and held his arms out and Neil didn’t hesitate further, simply sank into his embrace. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, he head resting on Todd’s chest, Todd’s hand playing with his hair.

Neil and Todd hadn’t exchanged ‘I love you’s yet. They were always there, at the tip of Todd’s tongue. Sometimes when Neil looked at him, Todd thought they might be there, too, at the tip of Neil’s tongue. Todd knew he loved him, had known for a while. But they hadn’t been dating long so he held those words back. He didn’t think he’d hold out much longer, though, not when Neil was so lovable, so breathtakingly beautiful and sweet, so easy to want, so perfectly fit in his arms. Todd loved him so much he didn’t know what to do with himself half of the time.

Neil shifted again and Todd leaned down to press a kiss at the edge of his eyebrow.

'I love you’.

No it's not that I don't appreciate the flirting, I just wish you wouldn't do it while I'm in the middle of vivisecting you. Yes I know that it's really hot when I'm covered in your blood elbow deep in your chest cavity that's why I keep vivisecting you. But I keep getting flustered and dropping your liver and its really slippery so I keep dropping it over and over again leading to very comedic slapstick comedy where I slip on your blood and fall over really funny

This fanfic has been the only thing I've been able to focus on all day. Holy shit. It's so good and I cant wait for the next chapter, it's honestly a master peice.

Easier Than Lying: Masterlist

Summary: When a fire-wielding vigilante starts tearing her way through Orynth, Detective Rowan Whitethorn is tasked with putting her behind bars. He doesn’t know who she is, what she looks like, or what she wants.

But the one thing he does know?

She’s his mate.

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Illustrated Map of ETL's Orynth Playlist

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Fun lovely things by people I love

Playlist by @rowanaelinn

Playlist by @aelinchocolatelover

Moodboard 1 and Moodboard 2 by @themoonthestarsthesuriel

Moodboard by @morganofthewildfire

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Rating: E for smut, language, and canon-typical violence

Prologue Chapter 1: The Meeting Chapter 2: The Bond Chapter 3: The Swap Chapter 4: The Boy Chapter 5: The Name Chapter 6: The Gift Chapter 7: The Reporter Chapter 8: The Truce Chapter 9: The Source Chapter 10: The Video Chapter 11: The Funeral Chapter 12: The Manifest Chapter 13: The Rescue Chapter 14: The Chase Chapter 15: The Talk Chapter 16: The Bargain Chapter 17: The Date Chapter 18: The List Chapter 19: The SurvivorsChapter 20: The Party Chapter 21: The Truth Chapter 22: The Fire Chapter 23: The Fight

/ ~40

Girls don't need love they need the trilogy in cardan's pov

“imagine caring so much about fiction” imagine being so lame that you scoff at the timeless human practice of falling in love with art and stories

reading this paper called the erotics of the axillary pose (aka the arm-up-pit-exposed-facing-the-world pose) and feeling so seen rn