#bath and body works country apple

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Bath and Body Works Country Apple Anti Bacterial Moisturizing Hand Lotion (note Session 9 on my TV, someone tell me you know and like this movie?? no one in my real life knows it except my mom )

2004

My personal picture of my collection

[heartland-sunrise]

🍎💓 Country Apple splash 💓🍎

[lovelytsunoda]

kiss me down by the broken treehouse // mick schumacher

summary: honeymoons in the midwest, heart shaped jacuzzis and scented bubble bath. this is how mick wants the rest of his life to be

pairing: mick schumacher x newlywed reader!

warnings: vague allusions to sex, two people being sickeningly in love, bathing together. nicolas cage should be a warning in itself

author's note: this is the last fic in the cozy collection and not gonna lie, it's making me very emotional. thank you for coming along for this cozy and warm, and sometimes scandalous adventure <3. i can't wait to share the christmas collection with you all.

the hotel suite was dim as she slipped the rose gold wedding band off her finger, dropping it on the dresser next to the almost identical one her husband wore.

mick was sitting by the window, lighting a tangle of scented candles as the heart-shaped jacuzzi tub filled with bubble bath.

"baby, what's all this?" she asked softly, leaning down to kiss him.

they had spent the day in town, visiting country stores and hiking trails, downing more apple cider than mick had ever thought possible. they were cold to the bone when they returned to the hotel, but that didn't stop mick from pulling his wife into bed and reminding her just how happy he was to spend the rest of their lives together.

"just another way to show how much i love you." mick hummed, reaching for the bottle of champagne he'd had room service deliver on their way back to the bed and breakfast. "i figured the best way to end the night was a nice bubble bath and a movie."

she smiled, giggling as she kissed the side of his head. "i knew there was a reason i married you."

she disentangled herself from mick, slender fingers making quick work of the belt holding her plush hotel robe together, fabric pooling over the floor and revealing her naked body to her lover.

blushing furiously, mick turned off the tap, quickly filling two champagne flutes before stripping out of his own hotel robe.

“after you, my darling wife.” he grinned, taking y/ns hand and helping her into the tub. he slipped under the bubbles after her, nuzzling into her back and pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade. “ich liebe dich.”

“I love you too, mickie.”

she settled on one of the built in tub seats, smiling at her husband before she looked dreamily out the frost covered window. the trees in the vermont woods next to the hotel were dyed shades of red-orange, the colors themselves beyond breathtaking.

“whatcha starin’ at, pretty girl?” mick pondered, kissing the top of her head as he settled in next to her.

“the trees. nature. it’s beautiful. how did you manage to get a room with such a great view?”

mick shrugged. “turns out, telling the hotel you’re on your honeymoon gets you special privileges. but that view isn’t as a great as the one I had earlier when I was on top of you. or the view I have every morning when I wake up with you in my arms.”

she giggled, playfully slapping his shoulder. "mickie!"

mick laughed, kissing the side of her head before reaching for the laptop next to the tub. "how do you feel about the nicolas cage dracula movie?"

"absolutley not! when i get nightmares, are you going to nurse me back to sleep?"

"yes." mick said solemnly, loading up amazon prime on his laptop. "one hundred percent."

y/n snickered, reaching for the champagne. once mick schumacher was alseep, not even a tornado could wake him up. "babe, we both know you'd sleep right through. you sleep like a goddamn rock."

"yeah, babe. you're right. but nicolas cage is in it, it wont be that scary."

“I’m not worried about it being scary; I’m worried about it being gory.” she rolled her eyes, taking a sip of champagne. “if I start watching ‘renfield’ through my fingertips, you’re on your own, mickie.”

mick giggled, hitting the play button before pulling his wife into his lap. “consider me warned. we can watch the original halloween afterwards.”

“you’ve got yourself a deal, husband.” she laughed, passing him a champagne flute.

the room was small and cozy, lit only by the blue glow from micks laptop and the candles around the bath, the air filled with the calming scents of vanilla, cinnamon and pumpkin. micks gentle fingers trailed up and down her thigh as they watched the movie together, sipping champagne and enjoying each others company.

every so often, mick filled the silence with a small praise, a gentle kiss against his wife’s skin. it was still so surreal to him that he would get to hold her in his arms, every day, for the rest of his life.

she rested her head on his shoulder, placing the empty glass back on the ledge outside the tub before she properly folded her body against his, fingertips mindlessly tracing shapes on his chest, the fine blonde hairs dotting his pecs matted to his skin by the water, a few errant bubbles still stark against his skin.

she loved him, truly madly and deeply.

it seemed like just yesterday they had met each other, although it had been almost four years. four great years of love and laughter and highs and lows. and in a blink of an eye, there she was, in her white dress, in micks arms as they danced to a bryan adams song.

four years of feelings she wasn’t sure she’d ever have the joy of feeling for another living, breathing person. and she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

when the movie was half over, candle wax dripping into hardwood and the bubbles all faded away from the lukewarm water, skin dried out and pruny, only then did the newlyweds emerge from the heart-shaped tub.

micks touch was gentle as he helped his wife dress in her long, pale nightdress, silk dusting the carpet as she pulled down the handmade quilt, ready to fold herself into bed next to her husband.

he slipped into bed next to her, laying the laptop down in front of them. his fingers played with her hair, twirling strands around her finger before he began to lazily braid a small section, the last half of the movie playing on the small screen.

“mick?”

“yeah?”

“I’m so excited to spend my future with you.”

“me too, Liebling.” he smiled, kissing her forehead. “we’ve got so much to look forward to.”

BONUS

y/nschumacher ❤️🍂

TAGS

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @lorarri @diorleclerc @userlando @thatsdemko @oconso @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: APPLE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, cannibalism mentions, murder mentions, violence, blood

Read after the cut

---

Samhain falls upon the house like the red tongue of night, the rooms hung with bones and branches and the glinting skulls of animals, a morbid elegance to the season's ode.

Hannibal allows you to stand at a partially open window to sniff at the dark musk of the air which like some skilled perfumer you split of its ingredients with a discerning nose: rain in the earth, still pools of gingery leaves, the wind that scuttles the panes in its mischief, and the brew of an oncoming storm, a scent like fire and thunder.

"When exactly am I allowed to go outside again?" you ask, hanging a woeful head as far from the window as Hannibal will allow.

"When I can trust you to stay at my side or return to me," he says, and he draws you gently in again and shuts the latch upon the world.

You gaze at him, wistful and resentful; never, then, you think, unless you have nowhere else to go.

Yet with Will's arrival suspended over you like the immutable certainty of execution you wonder if perhaps you may well leave this dwelling, if only as meat carried in the case of some guest's stomach.

Hannibal surely notices your pensive mood, yet he does not address it, considering it some shade of your illness behind you, perhaps, or else pouting reproach that he had turned you across his knee that morning for hiding a pancake in the sleeve of your pyjamas.

He’d struck you lightly, no more than four times, at that, merely enough to spur a smarting star at your sex in some primitive answer to your embarrassment.

"It appears that I've overexcited you," Hannibal had said, rather seriously. "What is to be done about that?"

He had brought you up into his lap, your back to his crimson velvet dressing gown, and had delivered the rule of his punishment until you ran with the white ink of it, beating your heels against his calves in a pointless drum of hatred.

How sweetly he had set you down, then, touching your sulking lip with his own mouth until you'd kissed him in return to be rid of him.

"I want a bath," you'd said, and he had chuckled.

"As do I."

He'd brought you atop him again in the tub, the slippery passage of his hands pleasant upon you, and you'd wished you’d had the strength to shove him low under the suds to drown him.

But then orgasm had humbled you in your ruminations of revenge, and you’d allowed him to towel you and pull a pinafore over your head with lowered eyes, defeated.

As you’d done so you’d considered if you’d prefer your fathers to raise you in savagery alone, followers of Dionysus tearing apart a grieving Orpheus; you’ve myth on the mind, and all of it at the junctures of dying.

But you are enamoured now by the luxuries of life and body they festoon about you, and to revoke them for the sake of hubris would be to spit yourself in the eye.

You will take their gifts, you decide, even the twist of forbidden climax until you’re away from the house.

This, at least, you deserve from them, a reward for a gruelling actor’s work.

Now you await Will's arrival in the living room, staring with a perpetual absence of inspiration at the bare leaves of your journal as Hannibal oversees this activity from a narrow distance.

You've been continually defended against his evils by Will's attachment to you, yet should he choose to turn on the monster you may go down with him, taken off over Hannibal’s shoulder to some unknown country, or else killed and so tossed to the wolves of the press for their fodder.

It had been a fool’s hope to think that Will would betray his friend and bring down the Bureau in a surge of his most righteous instincts. Still there may yet be some chance of it, for as he enters at the front door you interpret from the brusque landing of his footfalls the extent of his wounded temper.

A sick pass of cold raises the hairs on your arms, and Hannibal gets up from peeling an apple for you with a pretty little knife to drape a blanket about your shoulders.

“If you’d agree to gain some modest weight you wouldn’t suffer like this,” he says, then glances up, distracted, as Will clears his throat at the threshold.

He is severe, almost refined in an expensive black sweater and jeans, his hair—worn in a shorter cut—combed back from his forehead in a gelled wave. There is a new scent on him, not the ship-bottled spray of the norm but something deep and rich, reminiscent of libraries and dark, polished wood.

You’re so startled by the alteration in him that you release a nervy giggle, shielding your mouth behind a hand as Will’s eyes glide coolly over you.

"Hello, Will,” says Hannibal. “I'm glad that you could make the time to see us.”

Will nods shortly, his critical gaze panning the room.

"You decorated,” he says. “Do you celebrate Hallowe'en in Lithuania?"

"Traditionally, we do not. But I've always enjoyed the holiday's pagan roots, the themes of warding away spirits at a time the wall between two worlds is thin."

The younger man's mouth quirks into something not quite a smile.

"That, and you just wanted to spoil her, as usual."

Hannibal's head tilts at a slight angle as he surveys Will’s expression.

"Our Little One has struggled as of late,” he says neutrally. “If I might lift her mood in this small way then I'm only glad to be of service."

He touches your shoulder, and in a panicked awkwardness you comment, "I really wish the decorations were on display all year. Hi, Daddy, by the way."

You stand up to kiss Will on the mouth, which he coldly allows, his arms tense as a general’s at his sides. He doesn’t meet your eyes as you look, imploring, into his, only pushes you lightly back into your seat and glances towards the kitchen.

"Something's cooking."

"Yes,” says Hannibal. “I thought a seasonal stew would be pleasant for this time of year."

"A stew,” Will repeats, with a hard, false innocence. “What's in it, specifically? Any particular ingredients I should know about?"

You glimpse suspicion descend over Hannibal like a winter dawn, his nostrils flaring.

"Would I be correct in thinking that there are unspoken layers to that question?”

"Seemed appropriate considering the undisclosed intentions behind some of the meals we've shared together, Dr Lecter."

You cannot yet tell whether he refers to the matter of meat or the other contents, nor does Hannibal, for though his hand returns to the apple knife it is only to cut the fruit into slender arches on a plate.

"You suspect me of poisoning you in some manner, I presume," he says, at last.

"This is beyond suspicion,” snaps Will. “You guessed that I had encephalitis— knew that I did. Probably sniffed it out the same way you've picked up on cancer, and you pretended ignorance. Comforted me while serving up anything you could think of to trigger another episode for your own entertainment. Riveted by the rat in the maze."

Hannibal makes no attempt to deny the accusation, merely continuing to cut the apple with slow, artful strokes of the wrist.

"She implicated me, I presume."

"Don't make this about her. I want to know why you did it.”

Will takes a step across the room, seeming drawn into habitual closeness to Hannibal despite his anger with him.

“I've remembered other things,” he says. “Bright lights. Your voice in my ear. Your hands on me. Moments that were already starting to surface. All this time you've been pulling my strings and I could never quite see it.”

Horror at his words torments you like some dungeon machine. You begin to shake, only the soft fabric of the couch cushioning the sound of your distress.

"You're aware of how close I've come to thinking I was responsible for murders I didn't commit,” says Will. “That I've contaminated crime scenes. Woken up at the side of the road with no idea what happened to me, or if I'd hurt someone. Hurt her—"

At this he jerks his newly sleek head towards you.

"That you would never have done,” says Hannibal.

"Don't try to comfort me with your empty platitudes. You wanted me to go over the edge. To make me kill again under different circumstances. Tell me I'm wrong."

The air in the room is all cinnamon and cyanide, the stench of lies dug up like a grave. Hannibal sets the plate of fruit before you and lifts his face to Will’s. When he speaks it is with the soft urgency of desperation, the equivalent of begging on his knees.

"I wanted to erode the barriers that prevent you from accessing your natural instincts. You've lived in seclusion, performing the dull actions of a self untrue to you merely to avoid facing and accepting that reality. I regret my methods, but my intentions were to nurture you into comprehending the remedy to your unhappiness.”

"You have pretty shoddy communication skills for a psychiatrist, Dr Lecter,” says Will, sharp with contempt.

"You believe that I should have asked you for your consent in this trial."

"Yes. Obviously."

You watch the two men with one hand clasped to your breastbone, feeling the lilt of your heart against your fingertips.

"I see,” says Hannibal. “Then why did you submit to waive that right in regards to our unhappy charge?”

"She needs this treatment to survive,” Will barks. “I survived for years without killing anyone. I don't need it."

"And what sort of existence was it to brood, tormented, into a lonely whiskey glass? Severed from love, community, and from the pastimes you craved? I'd argue the lust that haunts you is as necessary to your quality of life as food is to our darling girl."

Will utters a single laugh and turns on his heel as he replies.

"This may come as a shock to your ego, Dr Lecter, but that's not for you to decide."

As Will makes for the door you dart out of your seat after him.

"Wait!” you cry. “Where are you going?"

"To the bathroom,” says Will, “then to make myself another drink.”

"I'll come with you."

"No thanks. Now my encephalitis is on the way out I don't need a chaperone. I can hold it myself.”

He disappears around the corner, a rude breed of rejection.

As you turn back to Hannibal he stands up to meet you, his dominant hand clapping against your face with such velocity that you cannot quite believe what he has done.

You keel backwards, your very teeth seeming shaken in their bed of gums.

“You hit me,” you say, your voice trembling with awe. “But when Will did it you—”

“Will feared striking you in the face would cause you lasting injury,” says Hannibal. “I do not share his concerns. I’ve tolerated your disrespect with more patience than I’m accustomed to permitting without notable consequence. To insert yourself between Will and I with the intent of ending our friendship is unforgivable.”

The apple knife is in his other hand, you notice, though not yet raised to slice through to the red of your throat.

“Don’t hurt me,” you whimper. “Give me another chance.”

Hannibal considers like some poised herald of justice.

“You must rectify your mistake,” he says, finally.

A hysterical, indignant surge of courage comes over you.

“What can I do? He stays for you. This has always been about you. If Will didn’t think so much of you then he would have tattled to Jack, or Alana, or any of them already. He would have turned you in.”

“You’re lucky that he did not.”

“Well, I knew that he wouldn’t,” you insist. “I wanted him to, but I knew it was all totally pointless. And guess what, Daddy— the only reason I said anything about the food was to make him think you’d treat him the same way you treat me. I had no idea it was actually true. How could you? He’s supposed to be your friend. More than that. If he leaves you then it’s your fault, not mine.”

The truth of this crosses Hannibal’s features, and without a word he returns to place the knife back on the table.

In that instant you see that he had never desired to use it, that he’d only been so close to heartbreak that he would have made a regrettable error in the fog of it.

Emboldened, you approach him and put your sweating hand into his.

“You should just tell him you’re sorry,” you urge him. “Tell him how you really feel. I don’t get why you haven’t already. Don’t you think he probably feels the same way?”

You fall silent as Will opens the living room door again.

“Talking about me?” he asks, catching sight of your sombre faces greeting his. “What did I tell you about getting involved?”

This directed at you with a sharpness that you find insulting.

“I was only saying that I don’t want you to go,” you lie. “Not without me.”

Will sits down heavily in an armchair with an air of his old dislike.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? You’re selfish and self-absorbed. You’re needy enough to lap up any attention we give you, but you just love playing us against each other. Sure, you’re scared of where you’d end up if I walked out on you, but the minute you saw a disagreement brewing between us you just lapped it up. Nothing Dr Lecter could make for you could ever taste that sweet.”

Astonished by the attack, you begin, “Daddy, I—”

Will cuts in.

“Admit it. You’ve been looking for an opportunity to set this up for weeks. And Dr Lecter is far from off the hook, but he’s right. You’ve been sticking the knife in so deep it’s struck the bone.

“It’s not just because you hate us, either. It’s because you know that we’re the only ones that can stop you from starving yourself to death. If Hannibal hadn’t taken care of you this week you’d be right back where you were on that first day.”

Bewildered, you study his clenched jaw, the white hand worked about one of Hannibal’s wine glasses, and wonder if he’s become inexplicably drunk for you to emerge as the fresh target of his resentment.

“None of this is about me,” you say, and Will chuckles shortly.

“Of course it is. The night of the seizure— when I thought about it long enough I realised that Hannibal triggered it knowing that no matter how much you despised me you’d still reach out to help me. You’re soft that way; he saw that in you.

“If he hadn’t done it we would have kept on wanting to kill one another, and I wouldn’t feel anything for you but obligation. Trapped by your existence.”

“And how do you feel towards her now?” asks Hannibal with the caution of knowing he is still the enemy.

“At the moment, frustrated.”

“But in general?”

Will looks at you, and some of the rage alights from him in a visible loosening of his frame.

“I’d kill for her,” he admits. “And I don’t say that lightly. Whenever I step back and examine that urge in myself I find it repulsive. But I know what I’d do to protect her. Even from you.”

Unsure whether to embrace him or to recoil in terror of his aggression you gasp aloud.

“You’ll never need to concern yourself about me in that regard, Will,” says Hannibal. “As close as our daughter may attempt to drive me to that end, I will not go to it.”

Unimpressed, Will samples his wine, the red on his lips like the quickening of blood.

“Maybe not, but you’ll stand right on the edge. Damaging the people you’re close to is a symptom of caring for them, apparently.”

Amused by the jab, Hannibal says, “Is it not yours as well? Perhaps I should anticipate a retaliatory action, then.”

Their bickering is intimate in a way that you doubt Will is quite aware of, yet that irrefutably exists; why else would he remain in the sphere of a man that has thrust such an assault upon his mind?

Feeling out of place amidst such dangerous chemistry you sidestep towards the door.

Will catches you by the arm as you pass him.

“Wait. We should make the effort to spend time together as a family. Shouldn’t we?”

He glances at Hannibal, a subtle attempt to dominate the room.

“We should,” says Hannibal. “Sit down, Little One.”

You hover, still stunned by the slap, by Will’s avowal of passion, and by his decision to stand by a creature of such evil.

Your younger captor gestures to the arm of his chair, and without a word you sit, starting at his touch at your back. He strokes you lightly, affection and possessiveness in every joint of his hand.

Helpless before such love you lean against him, and Hannibal looks upon you both with what you interpret as longing.

“I realised something about the Lover,” says Will. “I’ve gotten a greater understanding of him over the past few days. Guess you can pat yourself on the back for clearing my head.”

“I take no credit,” says Hannibal. “Your revelations are entirely your own. What are they exactly?”

Will savours a mouthful of wine for a long second before he answers.

“The Lover isn’t a local. That’s why he deposits his victims by or in rivers; they lead back home, or remind him of it, anyway. He’s taking them there like newlyweds the way he hopes to return with his muse.

“Our killer has travelled. Likely he’s changed his name. We’ll find similar murders in other states. They will have been committed when he was a young man. Inexperienced. Hadn’t honed his methods yet.”

Hannibal—who is acquainted with the Lover, could solve this case with the mere utterance of syllables—dons an expression of believable interest.

“You’re implying that he had a previous muse.”

“Yes. The murders follow a very specific timeline. The Lover’s latest paramour probably wasn’t even born yet when he first started killing.”

“She died,” you say suddenly. “His first ‘real’ doll. He killed her?”

“Not on purpose,” says Will, and his hand rises to your waist, drawing you closer to him. “Or only as a last resort. The Lover craves total control over his bride. If she didn’t fall into line, or if his fantasy was somehow shattered then she had to die like the others. This time he’s sure it’s true love.”

*

The evening continues in its implacable tension, and when at last you’re allowed to go up to bed you feel relieved to have escaped it.

You stare at a Clive Barker novel as the storm gnaws at the crust of night, your vision adhered to the same handful of words until they become absent of definition.

Hannibal’s slap is a bruise on the brain, seeping in between each thought until you throw your book aside with a groan.

It’s a new thing to fear that you’ve glimpsed in him, how in a crisis he may, like his friend, be quite rash.

The closer they become even in argument the more their behaviours overlap and interchange— yet Hannibal’s strike was unlike Will’s, you noticed, quick, and clean, and practiced. It is how he must slash a throat or break the neck of any victim, and though you’ve felt death in such proximity you are wet between the legs from the sick exhilaration of having given it the slip another day.

Discomforted, you turn on your side and attempt to commit yourself to slumber. Only by the help of the pills at your bedside do you induce that state, a servant to your captor’s care even in so natural a transition as this.

*

In the night you wake to realise that Will has been watching you sleep, standing back-lit in the doorway as thunder runs like gravel over the house.

You lie tangled in a cirque of sheets, your hair static with fear, and from the storm. The wind breaks its fists against the window panes, and you see the shape of Will's reflection there, a malevolent wisp in the glass.

"You're still here?" you ask, softly, and Will starts, having not known that you’d awoken. "Are you... staying the night?"

"No," says Will, after a strange pause. "I can't. I'm teaching tomorrow. Can't skip it."

He looks damp and pasty in the dim light, a grub dug up from the earth. You sit up in bed, oddly moved and rather alarmed by his appearance.

"You're still sick," you say. “Aren’t you?”

Will shakes his head slowly, coils of dark hair like a coronet on his brow.

"No," he says. “I just remembered something. A dream I had during one of my fevers. About you."

The words send such a chill through you that you draw yourself flat against the headboard, away from him.

"What was the dream?" you ask, although you don't want to know.

Glancing downwards in his own avoidance, Will reads some shape in the dark.

“I don't know if I should tell you.”

Against your better judgement, you enquire, "Why not?"

"Feels like it'd be speaking it into being, somehow."

You wrap arms of ice around your kneecaps.

"I thought you didn't believe in that stuff."

Will swallows audibly, clenching a hand on one side of the door.

"I... don't. But this dream is different."

You feel how he craves to come to you, to hold you, and to be held in turn, both of you vulnerable and pathetic. You know how he itches to run away and to hide in his house, that fortress of solitude.

Still he remains in the doorway, the threshold between these two needs.

"Wait," you say, suddenly. "I don't have to know."

But Will wets his lips and sways like a drunk, and then he says, “In the dream you escape from here. You run away. It's mid-autumn; the trees are dripping with so many orange leaves it's like I'm chasing you through a field of fire. My blood is up at the sight of you like you've triggered some instinctual urge to hunt."

Will closes his eyes in recollection, and you see them flicker below the lids as though he is slumbering, still.

"It's raining," he says. "Just like tonight. It's raining, and your dress is wet against you, and you're dirty, and your hair is full of leaves, and I'm angry because even in that dream I know that you belong with me and Hannibal."

"Don't," you mumble, but Will doesn't seem to hear you, returning to the red place of sleep.

"I catch you from behind," he murmurs. "My arms around your waist, pulling you down into the leaves with me. You're screaming, begging me to let me go, but you don't use my name. You call me 'Daddy', and that's a mistake, because it reminds me of exactly how mad I am that you dared to run away from me. The thrill of chasing you, and all that rage—

"I hit you. I kiss you. I stuff your mouth with dirty leaves like some kind of scarecrow, and I tear your stupid little dress off your body, and I thrust inside you as the rain falls down onto us."

Halting, Will mops his face with an erratic hand.

"Then I enter you in a second way, because I have a knife, and when I stab you it is— beautiful.

You moan aloud in horror, and Will stares past you as though he's forgotten that you're in the room.

"I stab you as I move inside you, and in that moment I can't decide which sensation is more pleasurable. There's warmth both ways, the feeling of taking what I want, of having complete power over you, and it's overwhelming. I woke up from that dream sick to my stomach, but I wasn't as horrified as I should have been."

Stiff and frail as an invalid child you wrap yourself into your sheets as though they might protect you from him.

"I was right," you rasp. "Deep down you want to kill me."

"No!"

This, spoken with an urgency that startles you.

"No," Will repeats, in a softer voice. "I don't. But if you ever try to run away I can't say for sure that it wouldn't end like that dream. It was potent, and it felt... real."

Thunder roars like the pain of a goliath beyond your bedroom window, and you reach up to draw the curtains shut.

"I'll never run away," you say, in a pinched voice. "Hannibal's too smart to let me do that."

At this Will looks at you with eyes of such blue darkness that it's like gazing into the endless graves of the sea.

"He might let you try, some day," he says. "Just to see what I’ll do."

[windblume-wishes]

For more TWST Shenanigans please join the Discord Server!

𝕃𝕖𝕥’𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝕀 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖…

Epel Felmier - Apple Child (Head Canons)

Epel has had more than his fair share of trips to the nurses office due to being rough and rowdy in PE- the amount of times he’s scratched up his elbows and knees or bloodied his little nose is enough to give Vil grey hair and a heart attack.

Despite being a rough and tough country boy, he is genuinely very gentle at heart and befriends animals easily.

He has a special affinity for bunnies, they are practically drawn to him.

Sometimes when he’s all alone he hums a small song from home, his grandmother taught him “I’m Wishing” and he hums it whenever he misses his MeeMaw.

He sleeps looking like a baby, both of his fists are loose by his face with one clutching his poison apple pillow. Do NOT say he looks cute- like a kitten he will bite!

Epel = Spicy Kitten with extra ferocious murder mittens.

The quilt on his bed was made by his grandmum for him when he was younger and he has not parted with it since.

Much like Riddle, he has been called every short person nickname there is.

He is very much like a bunny, he will get all thumpy when he is angry.

Very, and I mean very squishy face!!

He has called Vil “mum” more than once and is absolutely embarrassed by the fact he’s done it without thinking. (Vil takes that as a compliment)

After what happened at STYX, Epel was quite honestly traumatized and never wanted to part from Vil’s side for at least a week or two after the situation. Vil even caught Epel outside his door one morning fast asleep, he could not help but awe at the sight and feel his heart break a bit at the sight knowing how Epel felt.

Epel secretly admires the Fairest Princess (Snow White) and adores how she, like his MeeMaw, can bake amazing pies.

Flexes his muscles in front of the mirror every morning just to see if he got stronger.

Measures himself constantly to see if he’s gotten a growth spurt.

Once he ate so much meat that he got a major stomach ache, he learned his lesson- only for a little while…

Epel has come back to Pomefiore looking like an absolute mess because he decided to be a little rough on his broom and ended up taking a mud bath. Vil was furious with him for that.

Epel calls his grandmother and family before bedtime just so he can hear their voices.

Epel gets along well with Silver, he’s even asked Silver for help in learning to use a sword because he wants to become stronger and manlier. Silver just is happy to have a new training partner.

He is Vil’s favourite whether he likes it or not.

He has accidentally called Rook “dad”.

Epel has a really hard time falling asleep again if he has a nightmare and will suffer eye bags and exhaustion because of it.

His worst nightmare ever was from when he was a child and he ate a poison apple in his dream, that nightmare comes back to haunt him on occasion.

Despite hating his adorableness, Epel is a master of the “puppy eyes” and uses them from time to time if he really, really wants something.

Sometimes he hums a tune when he cleans or does chores.

Ticklish on his feet and underarms. Tickle him and you will hear the wildest laughter in all of Twisted Wonderland.

His Bath and Body Works scent is either Whiskey Reserve or Champagne Apple & Honey (or anything in the fall collection)

He has a candy and beef jerky stash under his bed.

[yesimwriting]

What would you say is best friend reader’s signature scent? The perfumes she’d commonly buy and soap brand she bathes with

anon i am absolutely obsessed with this question and you for asking it, it's so creative and i think perfume/soap choices say sm about a person

i see best friend reader as leaning into the warmer "spunkier" side of classics, so ig what i'm saying is she's a little avant-garde in the way she presents herself/wants to come across

i got a little excited breaking down my reasoning and describing scents,, so i'm putting the straight forward answer here and my logic below the cut:

perfume: juicy couture eau de parfum and/or dior j'adore

body wash: bath and body works' warm vanilla sugar and/or country apple and mango mandarin

in perfumes/scents i think the vibe i described above translates into a vanilla base and floral notes but in a fun way and while i don't see best friend reader following every trend, she's still very much an embracer of early-to-mid 2000's culture

combining all of that, i think her signature scent could be the juicy couture eau de parfum!! this perfume is rooted in a vanilla and woods base with notes of fruity white floral (specifically green apple and mandarin) (fun fact, i have its sister scent "viva la juicy" and love it,, but the stronger floral/fruity notes of the og make it feel more best friend reader)

i can also see best friend reader regularly using dior j'adore, it's more fruity and floral than vanilla but still very that girl and classic while still being fun

i couldn't find too much online about early 2000's soaps/body washes so i'm not sure how accurate this will be but i can see best friend reader being into bath and bodyworks,, specifically warm vanilla sugar body wash, and maybe country apple or mango mandarin body wash/lotion during the summer when she's feeling a little more nature-based

[nancypullen]

Geez

It's the 19th of May and I haven't posted since late April. That's a sad state of affairs on this ol' blog. Since my last post we have celebrated Jamie's birthday and Mother's Day, two noteworthy occasions. In the near future we have Tyler's birthday, Father's Day, and Matt's upcoming trip to Ireland. Plenty to look forward to and celebrate, June should be a delight. On Saturday the library hosted a celebration of our renovations and re-opening (even though they been open since January). There was a ribbon cutting, food and drink, and a good crowd. I spent five hours in the children's area applying glitter tattoos to lots of small hands and arms.

This little guy was thrilled with his glittery blue Batman emblem. He stole my heart.

I actually put lots of books into those little hands as well, so mission accomplished. After working all week and then surviving enjoying a busy Saturday I didn't do much of anything on Sunday. We browsed the auction house. Do I need this globe?

Probably not. I'll bet the countries are outdated and if it doesn't open up and become a James Bond style liquor cabinet, what good is it? I'm 100% sure that I don't need this gal around giving me body issues.

Is it just me, or does she kind of look like Caitlin Jenner? I talked the mister into cruising into the Starbucks drive-thru while we were out. I'd had a headache for two days, and darned if an iced caramel macchiato didn't cure it. I guess there's something to be said for caffeine and sugar. I enjoyed every drop. Once home, Mickey went to his office to work on photos and I puttered. I checked out the gardens and gave everything a pep talk. The mister has been murdering moles so I have high hopes that the grass will fill in and flourish. At this point I'm willing to spray paint the dirt green. I ended up on the porch, which is looking so pretty. I'll have to snap some pics and share them. I don't know why a pretty porch makes me so happy, but it does. For dinner I cut up some chicken thighs and made bourbon chicken in a skillet - no actual bourbon involved. It's basically that yummy food court chicken. The recipe is apple juice, apple cider vinegar, low sodium soy sauce, ginger, garlic, pepper, and brown sugar. After the chicken cooked I thickened the sauce with a little cornstarch slurry and served it over rice. I topped it with a little diced green onion and sesame seeds to make it pretty. Normally I'd have tossed in some broccoli florets but I didn't have any. There was a crunchy cucumber in the frig so I sliced that up for our veggie. I probably should have made a salad, but I'm just so dang tired. I've started questioning my Oregon Trail viability. That was always how I judged my health/fitness - whether or not I'd survive walking beside a wagon for four or five months. I knew I could do it, even enjoy some of it. Now I know I'd be jumping off at the first trading post. I'd be selling maps in Missouri at the jumping off point. I don't feel good, I don't look good, and I'd just be dead weight in the wagon. Leave me, save yourselves. All of that to say that I've become a bit of a bore. I work most days and get home after six (sometimes eight) and my routine is the same - eat dinner, watch Jeopardy, take a hot bath, read in bed. Ho hum. Where's the fun? I've lost my magic. I really need to find my way back to playing with words and paint and paper. I miss it. I feel like a hypocrite saying that. Before taking the position at the library, I was lonely, isolated, longing for friends, and looking for a purpose in this dull town. Now I get to talk and laugh with nice people at work, I certainly have a lot to do, there aren't enough hours in the work day to finish everything (I have a deadline hanging over my head right now that is stressing me out!), and I actually do feel a little appreciated. The paycheck is a nice bonus. So I suppose I got what I wished for, I just didn't want it nine hours a day. I don't have a life. Right now the library is very short staffed, and I think everyone is stretched thin. Most people have no idea of how much work is involved in keeping a public library not just open, but relevant. The programs that we offer, the community outreach, the technology that we have to stay on top of, the daily tasks of keeping track of a large inventory, fielding reference questions from patrons and finding the resources and answers they need, processing materials that come and go in large tubs, the list goes on and on and that doesn't even include just the regular check-ins and outs. My calendar also includes a lot of children's programs - tomorrow I'm working with Petite Picassos, another day I'll be making bee hotels with a group of twenty, don't even ask about Bubblepalooza (guaranteed bad hair day). I've actually managed to get a month ahead in gathering materials and planning for displays. I have some birds to paint, but otherwise I'm ready. Getting ahead on some things means putting others at a lower priority - which is why I have an online training class for Beanstack, the software we'll use for all of our summer reading programs, still on my to-do list. I'm supposed to have it completed by the 22nd. Maybe if I don't get it done they'll fire me.

I just want my life back. Not even all of it, maybe just half. I wanted to be a volunteer. Help.

Okay, I've whined enough. It's past time to get my clothes ready for the morning, pack a little lunch, and pray that the building burns down overnight. Just kidding. Kind of. Sorry for this mess of a post, I just wanted to keep this blog alive. It tells the story of my life since 2007 and I'd hate to let it fade away now. I suppose everything runs its course, but I'm not ready yet. Thanks for staying this long and reading this far. Sending out lots of love tonight. I hope it finds you. I also hope that joy finds you - we can all use a healthy dose of that. It's most often homemade. I'll be back during the weekend. Until then, stay safe, stay well, stay hopeful. XOXO, Nancy

[y2k-radio-cannibal]

What We Smelled Like in Y2K

(Circa 1994 - 2004)

Adidas

Eau de Toilette

Bath & Body Works

Country Apple Body Spray

Cucumber Melon Body Spray

The Body Shop

White Musk

Vanilla Perfume Oil

Calgon

Hawaiian Ginger Body Mist

Calvin Klein

Eternity

Obsession

One

Candie's

For Her

Clinique

Happy

Coty

Exclamation

Davidoff

Cool Water

Debbie Gibson

Electric Youth

Drakkar

Noir

Elizabeth Arden

Sunflowers

Estee Lauder

Pleasures

Gap

Dream

Heaven

Giorgio Armani

Acqua di Gioia

Jean Paul Gaultier

Classique

Juice Bar

Body Spray

Gucci

Envy

Rush

Liz Claiborne

Curve

Love's

Baby Soft

Mugler

Angel

Ralph Lauren

Ralph

Revlon

Charlie Red

Spice Girls

Impulse Body Spray

Tommy Hilfiger

Tommy Girl

Versace

Red Jeans

[bullet-prooflove]

Bathwater - Mike Duarte x OC

Tagging my beautiful and wonderful friend @the-hinky-panda who is having a shitty day.

Meredith is her OC who features in 'The North Star' in our Bronx Universe.

The bathwater felt luxurious across Mike aching flesh as he sank down into the depths of the gloriously hot water. The sensual bath oil that Meredith owned washed over his skin, working its magic on his exhausted form. He was more of a shower guy but there was definitely something to be said for baths.

It had been a sham of a day and he was tired, angry and pissed off. He could feel the Carrillo slipping through his fingers, the longer it went on. He thought he had a lead on a fence who worked out of a gallery called dot-art but it was taking too long. The Carrillo would be moved out the country soon and that infuriated him.

Mike closed his eyes against those thoughts. Now was the time to switch off from work and focus on his home life. He needed to relax otherwise he would allow this case to take over and he couldn't afford to let that happen to him again. The stress of it could lead to another seizure, and he didn’t want that, he had something to live for these days, someone.

He soaked for what seemed like hours before he found the strength to haul himself out of the bathtub. He grasped the towel on the silver rail beside it, drying his body before wrapping it around his waist and securing it.

The bedside lamp lit up his side of the bed. He frowned as his gaze shifted to Meredith who was already tucked under the covers. Her head was propped up on her hand as she watched him enter the room. His damp hair was jutting out in all directions from the heat of his bath, the white plush towel was hanging low on his hips. A thrill of heat pulsed through her at the sight of his almost nude body. The scars, the tattoos, they made up Mike’s story and Meredith loved every single one of them.

Mike knew exactly what he was doing to her, that wicked smile of his curving across his handsome features as Meredith smoothed over the sheets. She slinked across the bed towards him on her hands and knees. She was wearing that silky night dress that he adored so much. It draped across her skin, hugging her curves as she rose up on her knees in front of him. Her head tilted upwards as Mike peered down at her. Her dark red hair fell across her slender shoulders as Mike's hand cupped the apple of her cheek affectionately.

His thumb traced over the outline of her lips as he met your mischievous gaze. Her fingers reached for his towel, unhooking it with her fingers and allowing the material to fall to the floor.

"Opps." Meredith uttered.

Mike tipped his head down towards her, his lips brushed hers gently as he cupped her face between his calloused hands. Meredith's hands settled upon his hips to steady herself as Mike explored the heated, wet confines of her mouth. Her nipples were already hardening through the soft material as he guided Meredith back until she lay flat on her back underneath him.

Her kisses were like sunshine chasing away the dark cloud that hung over his head like a storm. Her caress was blistering as her teasing fingertips traced swirls all over his skin. He was hard, throbbing and wanting, he pressed against her moist core through the silk, gasping at the sensation of the luxurious material across his erection.

Mike's hands were smoothing up and down Meredith's thighs, his fingertips slipping under the fabric of her nightdress. Meredith's nails raked down his back igniting his nerves with fiery pleasure as he gripped her ass shifting her into the position he wanted.

"Now." Meredith whispered against his lips. "I want you inside me now."

"Patience." Mike tutted as he drew the nightdress even higher. "No panties?"

"I wanted you too much." Meredith confessed through ragged breaths.

Meredith's palms skated Mike’s blistering hot skin. Mike was dragging that silky nightdress over her head, tossing it completely from the bed as her thighs locked around his waist. His head dipped, capturing her left nipple between his lips and sucking it gently into his mouth before running his fervent tongue over the erect nub. Mike lavished Meredith's right breast with the same amount of attention before he arched his hips.

His aching erection was nudging against Meredith's moist core. Mike smothered her groan of ecstasy, kissing her pert pink mouth as he sunk into her tight wetness. Her hands were already sliding down the shape of his back until she cupped his ass, drawing him even deeper as she moved. Her teeth grazed his lower lip as he rocked against her in slow deliberate thrusts hitting that just the right spot.

Meredith's whimpers cascaded through the air, beneath his demanding lips. He kissed the corner of her mouth, the line of her jaw and the hollow of her throat before he covered her lips once more with his. Her whimpers were ringing in his ears as she moved to the rhythm of his thrusts. Being inside her always felt so fucking good and this woman was stealing away his heart all over again as they made sweet, passionate love.

[historian-in-pearls]

Bath & Body Works is releasing some of its classic scents again, so I’ve been collecting vintage bottles from the 90s (on left, much cuter packaging) and refilling them with the new stuff. I regret nothing and can’t wait for Country Apple, Sun Ripened Raspberry, and Cucumber Melon to arrive 🎉

CC @bbwheartland

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Bath and Body Works Pleasures Country Apple Body Cream

2002-2008

My personal picture from my collection. I sadly cut the top of this when I was cutting it out of the packaging, but it smells amazing! I can't believe 20 year old lotion smells good, but it does!

[katebeckets]

🐰💕🎂🍯

🐰 - do you believe in soul mates? I do in the sense of "whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same." Not necessarily romantic soul mates, but I do believe in soul mates!

💕 - are you crushing on someone? all the people you see me blogging about lmaoooo

🎂 - if you had three wishes, what would they be?

for covid to be over/not have happened

fix the things causing suffering (world peace, in a sense)

enough money to not have to work so I could afford to do things that currently wouldn't earn enough to pay rent

🍯 - describe your favorite smell My favorite bath & body works scents are country apple and nectarine mint! both discontinued I think 😭

send me an emoji!

[thewhiskersonkittens]

Does anyone know a very specific aesthetic that's kinda like what shows like Dawson's Creek and Deana Carter's "Strawberry Wine" music video had? Like what do you call this? Is there a specific name for it? The vibe is very mid to late 90s, or very early '00s. It's a very cozy, warm vibe. It's like afternoon spring/summer sunshine peeking through a screen door. The sound of a mourning dove as you wake up on a Saturday morning. A house filled with wood furniture and the only phones are landlines and/or rotary. The Internet is still dial-up. You still make most of your social connections in person. You smell like old school Bath and Body Works like Cucumber Melon or Juniper Breeze or Country Apple. A childhood friend who gradually becomes to mean so much more. The newness of a first love, first kiss, first everything. Your parents are still relatively young and it hasn't really dawned on you yet that they won't be around forever. Time seems to stand still. You think things will always be the same. You can't wait to grow up but it also completely terrifies you.

Maybe it's not an "aesthetic " but just plain nostalgia for my childhood/teen years. 😭

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday.

37% of the web is porn.

Sex burns 360 calories per hour.

Baths kill more people than terrorists.

Earth has lost 50% of its wildlife in the past 40 years.

The big bang was quieter than a Motorhead concert.

Men are biologically hardwired to fall asleep after sex.

100,000 Japanese people disappear without trace every year.

The brain naturally craves four things: food, sex, water and sleep.

A blue whale can swallow half a million calories in a single mouthful.

The literal meaning of “Once in a blue moon” is once every 2.7 years.

The number of emails is expected to reach 376 billion daily by 2025.

In North Korea, the sentence for getting caught watching porn is death.

Being alone weakens your body. Having friends strengthens your body.

British people inserting things up their bums costs the NHS £350,000 a year.

The Peter Principle holds that people are always promoted beyond their ability.

Studies show that the average man exaggerates the length of his penis by 20%.

In 1997, Bill Gates invested $150 million in Apple to save it from going bankrupt.

According to a 2014 study, shorter men report that they have more sex. (No comment.)

On average people are 2 inches shorter and 20% poorer than they claim to be online.

Friendship has more influence on longevity than exercise, diet, heart problems and smoking.

In 1973, China had an excess of females and offered the U.S. 10 million Chinese women.

In 2011, a lorry crashed on the M1 spilling enough Marmite to cover 24 million slices of toast.

Eminem wrote and recorded ‘The Real Slim Shady’ three hours before his album was due.

To test what happens when someone sits on their phone, Samsung has a robot shaped like a bottom.

India used to be the richest country in the world until the British invasion in the early 17th Century.

In 2006, Liechtenstein accidentally found 0.3% more of their country when they remeasured their borders.

The more you hide your feelings, the more they show. The more you deny your feelings, the more they grow.

A study has found that friends-with-benefits relationships are just as sexually satisfying as marital relationships.

Marrying your best friend eliminates the risk of divorce by over 70%. These marriages are more likely to last a lifetime.

According to new research, your cat will happily take treats from your enemies. Your dog, however, will not.

At the 1968 Olympics, Bob Beamon broke the long jump record by so much they had to find another tape measure.

Emotional pain lasts for 10 to 20 minutes, anything longer is actually self-inflicted by over thinking, making things worse.

In 1900, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle caught fire during a cricket match at Lord's. The ball hit a box of matches in his pocket.

You may gain 20% more muscle strength by working out in the afternoon instead of the morning, according to a study.

According to the World Health Organization (WHO), an estimated 619,000 people die each year due to heat stroke.

‘The Shawshank Redemption’ has been rated the best movie of all time according to IMDb, with a rating of 9.2/10.

There are 67.1 million tracks sitting on music streaming services that, in the 2022 calendar year, attracted 10 or fewer streams.

Alfred Hitchcock, the master of suspense, who terrified audiences with movies like ‘Psycho’ and ‘The Birds’ was frightened of eggs.

The most expensive movie ever made is ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides’ (2011) with a budget of $378.5 million.

When pirate Jean Lafitte (c. 1780 – c. 1823) saw that the governor of Louisiana had offered $500 for his successful capture, Lafitte put up flyers offering $1500 for the capture of the governor.

A ‘binfluencer’ is a person on a street who takes the lead in putting out the correct waste and recycling bins on the correct day, thus prompting neighbours to follow suit. (My next door neighbour is one!)

Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.

[definitionsfading]

I'm really intrigued about that bedding poll (or your tags that is) because I know bedding culture varies so much even between european countries (I had an exchange student from Italy once and because I had been to Italy first and had been rather overwhelmed with how to use the bed there, I was aware enough to ask if she knew how "the bed worked" when we were about to go to bed at night and she just looked at me helplessly and said "no" lol) - anyway I have two questions:

1) that flat sheet (which I have never heard of before in my entire life): do you lie between the fitted sheet and the flat sheet or between the flat sheet and the duvet?

2) did the duvets in England have no duvet covers?!

in America if you buy a set of sheets at the store, every single standard set comes with two pillowcases, a fitted sheet that goes around the mattress, and then a flat sheet that goes between the fitted sheet and the duvet lol. this is without exception! the flat sheet gets tucked under the corners of the mattress at the foot of the bed so it stays put while you sleep, but you can still pull it back and get into bed as needed up at the head of the bed. 1) we lie between the fitted sheet and the flat sheet, and the duvet or blanket goes on top of the flat sheet. lying between them prevents body oils and other things (heavy lotions, etc) from getting directly on the duvet or the blanket. it's just general consensus here for most people that two cotton sheets are easier to wash and deal with than wrestling a duvet or duvet cover every week. much of the American South also deals with horrifically hot summers, even at night, so some people tend to sweat in their sleep and don't even need a duvet for half of the year. it's nice to have the breathable flat sheet on your body without the heaviness of a blanket or duvet. 2) the duvets in England DID have duvet covers, but at the airbnb we stayed at especially, it was clear the duvet cover had not been washed ahead of our visit 💀 it had some kind of smudge/stain on it and when we first arrived to drop off our luggage, only the fitted sheet and the pillowcases were in the wash at the time (the duvet was just sitting on the bare mattress). I'm sure some airbnb hosts probably wash their duvet covers but ours DID NOT lmao and I was so jet lagged and exhausted and without any other options so I just....did what I had to do and went to sleep. but it bothered me immensely while I was there 😂 later when we were in a hotel, there wasn't a flat sheet either, nor anything to bathe with!? the beds were horrific and from the 1980s at least though so I have no idea if they washed the duvet covers or not, but with the poor quality of service provided I'm guessing they didn't wash them between every guest and stay. I probably just had two bad apples while I was there, I'm not holding it against the entire country...but I do think in high traffic places like hotels that a flat sheet would be a more sanitary option.

[animanganerd]

Everything Annoys Me And I’m (Too) Hot - Chapter 4

The Untamed / Mo Dao Zu Shi Fanfic

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47881336/chapters/121639273

Special Thanks to @a-force-dyad-in-space for beta reading ✨

All chapters: here x

Chapter 4 ❖ Routine of teaching and teasing

The initial plan of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji hadn’t changed – they still roamed the country, wandering from place to place and exploring new territories. Raising Lan Xiaoli just came on top of it.

It was already twilight when Lan Xiaoli, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were walking on a path that divided a large field of rice paddies. Lil’ Apple ambled beside them with its reins in Lan Wangji’s hand. The reddish sky of the setting sun was reflected in the water of the fields, bathing the surroundings in a mellow atmosphere.

Lan Xiaoli had spotted something on the roadside and squatted down to pick it up, while the other two continued to stroll ahead.

“Daddy, wait!”

Wei Wuxian paused in his steps and turned around. With a grass stalk languidly hanging from his lips, he grinned at Lan Xiaoli. Staying where he was, he extended a hand to Lan Xiaoli, who promptly ran over. When Wei Wuxian lifted Lan Xiaoli into his arms, the boy giggled and gave him a peck on the cheek.

This had become a habit by now. The first time it had happened, Wei Wuxian was caught off guard, but didn’t mind at all. On the contrary, he loved these small signs of affection, so whenever he felt like getting a smooch he’d purposely pick up Lan Xiaoli who’d place a little kiss on the man’s face.

“What did you find?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“A locust!” Lan Xiaoli replied, showing it to Wei Wuxian.

“Oh, it’s huge!”

Lan Wangji waited for them a few steps ahead. “Let him walk,” he reprimanded.

“Aww, come one. He’s still small enough for me to carry. Let me indulge a little.”

Lan Wangji let out an imperceptible sigh, but said nothing further.

Wei Wuxian carried Lan Xiaoli all the way into the next town where they would spend the night.

During their travels, they usually stayed at inns, guest houses, or sometimes abandoned huts as well. Wherever they could find some room to rest, they would.

By the time they arrived at a promising guest house, Lan Xiaoli was already half-asleep. The weight of his entire body leaned against Wei Wuxian, his legs dangling limply from Wei Wuxian’s arm. Lan Xiaoli’s eyes were half closed, and drool trickled down his chin in a thin line.

After they’d parked Lil’ Apple outside the guest house and booked a room, Wei Wuxian handed Lan Xiaoli over to Lan Wangji. “You go on ahead, I’ll get myself one or two jugs of wine.”

As Wei Wuxian waited in the main hall to be served, he was deep in thought. Lan Xiaoli had never stopped calling him “Daddy” ever since the first time it’d happened. Although this made Wei Wuxian incredibly happy, there was one question burning in his mind that he just couldn’t shake off.

“If I’m daddy, then who is he?” he asked the next morning, pointing at Lan Wangji who was clearing up some stuff outside the guest house.

Lan Xiaoli, who had been slurping on his breakfast soup, stopped at once and looked at Wei Wuxian with big eyes, somewhat daunted by that question. Thinking it was a test, he replied in a meek voice, “Hanguang-jun?”

Wei Wuxian laughed out loud. “You’re not wrong… but that’s not good enough,” he said, tapping his chin. “Let’s see… hey! Hanguang-jun!” he called out the window.

Lan Wangji looked up.

“How do you feel about ‘father’? Not too casual, not too formal.”

Lan Wangji stood for a moment, showing no reaction. Then, his expressionless face drastically softened. He closed his eyes and inclined his head.

Wei Wuxian grinned at Lan Xiaoli. “You got that?”

Lan Xiaoli blinked and repeated, “Father?”

“Correct!” Wei Wuxian said and gently booped Lan Xiaoli’s nose. “A hundred points to you.”

 In the months that followed, they travelled from one Night Hunt location to the next, answering every cry for help that crossed their way.

Born as the son of an ordinary peasant family, Lan Xiaoli had never been on Night Hunts before. Now that he was part of their family, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian naturally planned to teach Lan Xiaoli about cultivation. Hence, Wei Wuxian thought it would be a good idea to include the little one in their Night Hunts. This would be a great way for him to gain experience and overcome his fear of creatures of the dark.

However, Lan Xiaoli was still small and they didn’t want to put him in any danger, so he was only allowed to join on cases with low-tier creatures. Most monsters and spirits of low levels were already scared away by the mere presence of Wei Wuxian, but should he for some reason not be around, the protective spells that were inherently embroidered into the Lan robes sufficed to ward off these creatures and keep Lan Xiaoli safe.

In cases where the creatures were of a higher level, but still easy to handle, Wei Wuxian and Lan Xiaoli would cheer Lan Wangji on from a safe distance while Wei Wuxian used the situation to explain a few things. For example, what exactly their job was, what kind of spirits and monsters existed, and how they were defeated.

Most of the time, however, Lan Wangji had long taken care of the spirits or monsters before Wei Wuxian could even finish one sentence.

Lan Xiaoli was completely mesmerised by Lan Wangji’s skills, his respect and adoration for the man growing a hundredfold every time he saw him in action.

Fascinated by his father’s abilities, Lan Xiaoli knew from a young age that, even though he had a lot of fun with Wei Wuxian, he wanted to be like Lan Wangji when he grew up.

While Wei Wuxian tried to introduce Lan Xiaoli to the world of cultivation on the fly, Lan Wangji gave Lan Xiaoli some proper lessons on the topics of cultivation and sect culture.

When Wei Wuxian was still asleep in the mornings, big Lan and little Lan were long awake. Lan Wangji used the early hours to hold his lessons, starting with the cultivation basics along with the Lan family precepts.

Lan Wangji’s teaching methods were the same as in the Cloud Recesses: very theoretical and extremely by the book. He didn’t need physical copies of the textbooks as his mind was practically a portable library of Lan knowledge. All they needed for class was ink and paper, which they could buy more of if needed, for Lan Xiaoli to take notes or write essays.

These private lessons were held in a separate room so as to not bother Wei Wuxian’s sleep – be it at an inn they stayed at or the small, empty huts they came across on their travels. If there was no extra room, they’d study outside, come hell or high water.

On the rare occasion Lan Wangji held an extra lesson in the afternoon or evening, Wei Wuxian would join them at times. The dry lectures bored him to death, but when there was no other way to entertain himself, being alone was even more boring. Apart from that, he liked to check in every now and then, curious to see how their little one was progressing.

Lan Xiaoli was a zealous student, and unlike Wei Wuxian, he didn’t think Lan Wangji’s lessons were boring for a second. In fact, he devoured all the information with tremendous curiosity.

Wei Wuxian’s presence made the lectures even more fun, as he’d always throw in some fun facts here and there. Yet, Wei Wuxian also liked to spout nonsense. On one occasion, he told Lan Xiaoli that he’d be gobbled up by mountain deities if he didn’t behave, which scared the boy so much that he ended up crying.

 On their journey, the seasons came and went twice in what felt like the blink of an eye. Spending every day and night together, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian barely noticed the subtle changes in Lan Xiaoli’s appearance as he slowly started to grow.

Presently, the three of them were staying in a small, abandoned cabin in a forest, close to a calm river. Wei Wuxian strolled out of the hut to join Lan Wangji, who was practising swordplay with Lan Xiaoli.

The rays of the afternoon sun streamed through the red, orange, and yellow tree leaves, mottling the forest paths with specks of golden light. Most of the foliage was still hanging on the trees, but plenty already covered the ground.

Lan Wangji stood at the cabin’s porch and observed Lan Xiaoli’s futile attempts of letting his practice sword fly.

With Lan Wangji as his idol, Lan Xiaoli strived to be like him, imitating everything he did. Since Lan Wangji was able to control his sword in the air without touching it, Lan Xiaoli naturally tried to imitate that as well – to no avail.

While Lan Xiaoli did make the wooden sword fly for sure, it didn’t stay in the air for long. Instead, it just listlessly fell to the ground like a wet rag after being thrown. Yet, Lan Xiaoli kept on patiently picking up and throwing his sword over and over again.

Wei Wuxian folded his arms over his chest and leaned against a wooden pillar that supported the porch’s roof. “Did you tell him it doesn’t work that way?”

“Yes.”

“Any progress at all?”

Lan Wangji shook his head.

Lan Xiaoli’s spiritual powers were virtually non-existent and he made only slow progress. Taking his background and late start into consideration, his skills were still below average.

Wei Wuxian let out a sigh. “He’s been training so diligently for two years now and still no trace of spiritual prowess. You think he’ll be able to form a golden core in the future?”

“There is no rush,” Lan Wangji replied calmly.

“Of course. In the end, it doesn’t matter. With or without, he can be strong either way.”

Lan Wangji nodded. “It is a convenience.”

“So convenient. We’d be lost without you, hahaha!” Wei Wuxian said, while nudging Lan Wangji with his elbow.

“You can fight, too.”

Wei Wuxian sighed again. “I’ve been fighting all my life; I was supposed to be retired by now, but you just couldn’t keep it in your pants! Hahaha, don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true.”

Lan Wangji only shook his head with the hint of a smile.

“I have an idea though,” Wei Wuxian continued. “How about I teach him how to use bow and arrow? It’s all about strength and timing, it might actually help. And if not, he’ll at least know how to use bow and arrow!”

Lan Wangji nodded. “Good idea.”

Wei Wuxian grinned and jogged over to Lan Xiaoli who was still persistently throwing his sword back and forth.

“Hey XiaoXiao, let me show you something that flies for real, you don’t even need spiritual energy for that!”

Lan Xiaoli picked up his sword from the ground and looked at Wei Wuxian with bright eyes. 

Nearly blinded by the sparkles emitted from the boy’s eyes, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but smile. Seeing how diligent yet unsuccessful Lan Xiaoli was, Wei Wuxian sincerely wanted to help him feel a little better somehow.

After a quick trip to a nearby town, Wei Wuxian handed Lan Xiaoli a toy bow. “We’re gonna start practising with this until you get the basics.”

Together, they walked over to the bank of the quietly rippling forest river. 

The otherwise calm atmosphere was interrupted only by the leaves plucked from the trees by the gentle autumn wind and by the foliage that rustled beneath their feet.

Lan Wangji walked all the way to the edge of the bank, while Wei Wuxian and Lan Xiaoli stopped a few steps earlier. With a bunch of paper targets in one arm, Lan Wangji got in position, ready to throw them into the air for Lan Xiaoli to practise.

In the meantime, his hands on Lan Xiaoli’s shoulders, Wei Wuxian manoeuvred the boy to the perfect spot – a few feet from the river away, facing it a little to the left of where Lan Wangji stood. Then, Wei Wuxian got down on one knee behind Lan Xiaoli and placed his hands over Lan Xiaoli’s on the bow to support him.

“An archer grabs the bow and pulls the string to shoot,” Wei Wuxian started to explain, as he helped Lan Xiaoli pull the arrow all the way back. “Relax your shoulders, tighten your arm, and wait for the right time. This way, you won’t miss even one shot.”

He moved the bow a little upwards, ready to face the paper targets. “Aim at the target and make sure to stay in a proper posture.”

Lan Xiaoli couldn’t believe to hear the words proper posture out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. His brows slightly twitched.

“Straighten your forearm,” Wei Wuxian continued, gently squeezing Lan Xiaoli’s arm that held the arrow to nudge it into place, “and bend your legs a little for a steady foothold. Then keep aiming at the target, and take the wind into account before letting go of the arrow.”

Wei Wuxian then proceeded to release the toy arrow as soon as Lan Wangji had thrown a paper target into the air, and hit it spot-on.

Lan Xiaoli gaped in astonishment. The arrow’s movement was so swift and Wei Wuxian’s aiming was so precise, Lan Xiaoli was about to lose his shit. So his dad wasn’t a slacker after all!

Lan Xiaoli immediately wanted to shoot an arrow on his own. He took an arrow out of the quiver and, with the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration, tried to nock the arrow onto the bow, but struggled to keep it in place. While he pulled on the string, the arrow shifted to the side and slid to the ground. So, just like his sword, he picked it up and tried it again. And again. And again.

Although it was a toy bow, Wei Wuxian had made sure that the string was as taut as that of a real bow. That way, the same strength needed to be exerted. However, it turned out that Lan Xiaoli was lacking in arm strength, as he already broke into a sweat at the mere attempt to draw the arrow all the way back.

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “As long as you struggle to pull this string, you won’t receive a real bow,” he chided. He didn’t expect Lan Xiaoli to master it in a day, but he also didn’t think he would have such a hard time with the basics.

Lan Xiaoli nodded with a drooping head and a pout. But he immediately pulled himself together. Since all archery required were external forces, such as strong arms and good eyes for accurate aim, Lan Xiaoli was overcome with the faint hope that he too could gain this skill.

Motivated to quickly acquire this ability and reach Wei Wuxian’s level one day, he practised all day with great focus, completely forgetting about spiritual energy.

 Since Lan Wangji had assumed the role of the guiding hand, Lan Xiaoli looked up to his new father in particular and was eager to make him proud by any means possible. Thus, he made sure to observe each rule of the Lan clan that Lan Wangji had taught him and never once complained that there were thousands of them.

Wei Wuxian had caught this quite early on, as Lan Xiaoli had already started to copy Lan Wangji’s behaviour when they’d still been on their way from Linguang to Gusu.

Lan Xiaoli rose with Lan Wangji in the morning and retired for the night with Lan Wangji in the evening. At the table, he always sat in a kneeling position, and avoided spicy food. He spoke only when asked and when he talked, he’d imitate Lan Wangji’s speech pattern. Since one of the rules prohibited clamour, Lan Xiaoli had even reduced his crying to a minimum.

Wei Wuxian was astonished at how little time Lan Wangji took to raise Lan Xiaoli into a decent member of the Lan clan. That the boy could tolerate the bland food at the Cloud Recesses just topped it all off.

Did we find a long lost descendant of the Lan clan after all? Wei Wuxian wondered, silently snickering to himself.

There were only few things Lan Xiaoli struggled with – and maintaining a proper posture at all times was one of them. Especially with Wei Wuxian around, who wasn’t exactly the best role model.

Instead of kneeling with a straight back, Wei Wuxian preferred to sit slumped over, his legs crossed and his chin propped up on one of his hands.

Whenever Lan Xiaoli saw him like this, his back involuntarily curved a little as well. 

Of course, Lan Wangji noticed this and didn’t fall short of punishing Lan Xiaoli adequately.

For the slackened posture, Lan Xiaoli had to kneel in the gravel outside their hut. Lan Wangji was sitting behind him on a wooden bench on the porch to keep a watchful eye on the boy.

Not long into the punishment, Wei Wuxian sauntered out, casually twirling his flute in his hand.

He leaned down to Lan Wangji and whispered into his ear, “We can do other fun things while he’s kneeling, how about it?” He tried to tempt Lan Wangji with a wriggle of his eyebrows, but his efforts were in vain.

Lan Wangji resolutely rejected his advance. “I am watching his posture.”

Right at that moment, Lan Xiaoli’s back curved a little and Lan Wangji, quick to react, poked his back with the hilt of his sword. Lan Xiaoli immediately straightened back up.

Feeling snubbed, Wei Wuxian pouted, but didn’t press any further and decided to hang out with them anyway. He lay down on the bench, rested his head on Lan Wangji’s lap, and spinned his flute in his right hand. After a while, he started to play a few songs to pass the time. 

Lan Wangji gently stroked Wei Wuxian’s head, his eyes fixed on Lan Xiaoli.

Depending on the misconduct, the punishments included, but were not limited to, kneeling to reflect, copying the rules, transcribing texts or holding up a wooden stick, and later sword, placed on his arms.

His arms were still too weak for the handstand punishment; that needed more practice. They figured this out when Wei Wuxian and Lan Xiaoli returned to the hut from a trip to the nearby town one day and were greeted by a handstand-doing Lan Wangji.

Lan Xiaoli excitedly tugged on Wei Wuxian’s hand. “Daddy! Daddy! I want to do that too!” he exclaimed, pointing at Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian sent him a teasing grin. “I don’t think you can do it.”

“Yes, I can!” Lan Xiaoli returned with utmost confidence, his big eyes blazing with determination and his little hands clenched to fists.

Lan Wangji threw Wei Wuxian a disapproving look for his disheartening comment.

“What? He can’t even pull the string of a toy bow,” Wei Wuxian said with a dismissive shrug.

“He can do it,” Lan Wangji said, and got to his feet.

While Lan Wangji showed Lan Xiaoli how to best do a handstand, Wei Wuxian doubtfully raised one of his eyebrows and sat down at a table next to them, munching on the nuts they’d brought from town.

After a few instructions from Lan Wangji, Lan Xiaoli tried to do a handstand on his own, but still required Lan Wangji’s assistance, who held him up by the feet – all the while doing a handstand himself. Now only on one hand, he still didn’t waver in the slightest.

Lan Xiaoli was the opposite: his little body kept on trembling and swaying, and even though he was supposed to focus, he got easily distracted by Wei Wuxian.

Bored of just watching, Wei Wuxian had sat down right in front of Lan Xiaoli with his legs crossed and playfully kept poking fun at him. 

“Look how your arms are shaking! You’re a disgrace to this family!”

“Your posture is a disgrace to this family!” Lan Xiaoli retorted.

Caught off guard by this retort, Wei Wuxian was struck speechless for a moment, then erupted into laughter.

The teasing comments seemed to fuel Lan Xiaoli’s motivation, so there was no reason to stop. However, as the two bantered back and forth, Lan Wangji could feel that Lan Xiaoli’s body wasn’t tense enough to hold his own weight.

“Quiet. Steady,” Lan Wangji calmly reminded him, while slowly letting go of his feet.

Almost immediately, Lan Xiaoli lost balance, but Lan Wangji caught his legs right away, “Steady.”

Lan Xiaoli nodded with a strained look on his face. His brow was furrowed, and his lips pursed into a thin line. Sweat beads dripped off his face. 

After several attempts, Lan Xiaoli was finally able to hold his balance without any help. Elated, he wanted to cry out in joy, but the instant he opened his mouth, he toppled over and fell right into Wei Wuxian’s lap.

“Told you, you can’t do it!” Wei Wuxian said, laughter mingled into his words.

Lan Xiaoli stuck his tongue out at him, which Wei Wuxian returned before pushing the boy off his lap and crawling over to Lan Wangji. With a mischievous grin, he leaned in to kiss Lan Wangji upside down.

Fuelled by his excitement, Wei Wuxian proceeded to undo Lan Wangji’s belt without warning. He’d already been tempted while he was watching them from afar, especially since Lan Wangji was only wearing pants, but now, his growing excitement mixed with curiosity.

“I wonder if I can do it in this position…,” he mumbled, but Lan Wangji quickly slapped his hands away.

Wei Wuxian flinched and looked at his husband as if he had just experienced the greatest of all betrayals. He had never been refused by Lan Wangji before!

Lan Wangji could almost see the question marks form on Wei Wuxians face.

“Xiaoli is still here…,” he explained.

Like the good child Lan Xiaoli was, he sat on his knees with his hands on his lap, looking at them with his big, innocent eyes and an unknowing smile.

Wei Wuxian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Having a little one was a wish of his which had been fulfilled, yet he still needed to get used to the fact that he could no longer get naughty with Lan Wangji whenever he pleased.

Lan Wangji got back to his feet, picked up Lan Xiaoli and carried him into the other room, where he placed him in front of a table which already had some writings spread across it. Pointing at them, Lan Wangji said, “Continue to copy the rules.”

“Eeh...?” Lan Xiaoli didn’t understand what was going on at all, so he naturally was less than happy about this, but didn’t protest.

Probably punishment for not being focused, Lan Xiaoli concluded. He neither questioned nor minded the punishments at all.

He was too young to understand the concept of gratitude, but deep inside he knew he had to pay back his dads for their kindness. To not burden them, he wanted to be as compliant and obedient as possible, so he did whatever he was told.

Without complaint, he sat down at the table and started writing down the rules for what felt like the zillionth time; he had done it so many times, it could barely be called “copying” anymore.

Not because he got punished very often – in fact, it rarely happened. The only times he got truly punished was mainly due to bad posture. The reason he’d copied the rules many, many times was because he was extremely diligent.

Since he wasn’t very good at practical skills, he wanted to compensate by putting all his efforts into studying the theoretical aspects of cultivation, as well as the family’s precepts and etiquette. After only a few months of study, he knew all the rules by heart and strictly lived by them.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji returned to Wei Wuxian and let him experiment to his heart’s content in any position he desired. Most of the experiments ended in success.

Once they were done, Lan Wangji checked on Lan Xiaoli, who was still diligently writing down the rules. Lan Wangji promised him once he’d finished the next batch of rules, dinner would be ready. And so it was.

With the established routine of Lan Wangji teaching and Wei Wuxian teasing Lan Xiaoli, it quickly felt like they had always been family. They pretty much lived a happy and wholesome life, but sadly, their peace and quiet was soon to be interrupted by the thing called puberty.