#i'm shredding cabbage with my teeth

[gaysparkler]

I think the more Pénthos learned about Solas, the more they would relate to him, in a way. We're told Mourn Watchers rarely, if ever, leave the Necropolis, so Pénthos very much lived in a bubble for most of their life - getting found as a baby in the crypt, being raised by another Watcher, getting their magical education, and properly starting their Watcher duties, all in the Necropolis.

So when they're forced encouraged to leave, after ending the undead rebellion before it could really begin, they find themself in a world that is completely foreign to them. Outside, everyone hates elves, mages are considered dangerous, and spirits are literally demonized. Emmrich even makes a comment about that when Pénthos calls spirits "demons" in the Necropolis, and when they correct themself, he reassures them that it's an honest mistake, since they were away for a while. It breaks their heart.

"It was like walking through a world of Tranquil," Solas said in Trespasser. Pénthos wouldn't go to that extent, but they definitely feel like they're not a part of this world.

Combine this with the fact that they've always been curious about their elven heritage, reading books and reaching out to any Dalish that comes through the Necropolis seeking to learn more, this makes them especially eager to connect with and prove themself to Solas.

Endgame screenshots under the cut that REALLY show how Pénthos felt about Solas and I'm so happy that option was there. Their parallels and relationship are SO INTERESTING TO MEEEEE

[starsciencees]

I'm feeling so anxious today I want to shred a full cabbage with my teeth and then maybe wrap myself real tight in a blanket and like next to a heater and pretend I'm a delicious breakfast burrito getting reheated in a toaster oven

[stiltonbasket]

For renouncement verse; I just binge-read all the ficlets instead of doing assignments and I'm so! overwhelmed! by how easily lwj displays his love for wwx. So can we get lwj being sick/hurt/in some situation where wwx gets all protective of him (and the children?) and just, idk, HUSBAND FEELS

anon 1: Renouncement verse: they are night-hunting together and lwj gets injured? Or lwj comes back from a night hunt injured?

anon 2: Renouncement verse. LWJ is injured. It makes his husband and children very concerned and over-protective.

anon 3: Arranged marriage au! lwj or wwx getting sick/hurt and the other taking care of them :DD

anon 4: prompt for the arranged marriage wangxian au!!!! CUDDLING AND HURT-COMFORT THATS IT SEND TWEET, brain empty nothing but wangxian, maybe like wwx gets hurt doing something stupid idk anyway i love you and your writing is incredible :)

(brief author’s note: please please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future updates!)

The last time Lan Wangji was wounded on a night-hunt, he was not quite thirty, and found himself distracted when the haunts he was fighting feinted towards the disciples standing behind him. It hardly comes as a surprise when the same thing happens again nearly a decade later; the snake demon darted towards Sizhui two seconds before Lan Wangji would have sliced its head off with Bichen, and distracts him just long enough to sink its teeth into the meat of his thigh. 

Snake yaoguai don’t tend to be poisonous, as a rule, but this one is, and by the time Lan Wangji is carried a few hundred yards from the demon’s den, his delirium worsens so sharply that he can scarcely recognize the faces around him. Sizhui is there, and Jingyi, though Lan Xichen sends them away as quickly as he can—and then there is Wei Ying, who shouldn’t be here because the serpent demon is still after them, and Wei Ying cannot fly—

“Run,” Lan Wangji pleads, trying to push his husband back. “Wei Ying, go!”

“I’m fine,” he hears Wei Ying say, speaking through a throat swollen with tears, and Lan Wangji cries out in pure anguish because his beloved will not leave him no matter how desperately Lan Wangji begs him to.

And then Wei Ying screams his name, and Lan Wangji wails out loud at the realization that his husband is gone, gone, and it’s his fault. He has lost Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji stumbles in the direction of his voice before someone grabs him and drags him away, forcing him back down onto a bed. 

“Wei Ying!” he sobs, howling at the top of his lungs when his fingers close around empty air. “Wei Ying, answer me! Please, beloved, please!”

But no answer comes, and Lan Wangji sobs himself hoarse until he can no longer speak because his very life has been ripped away from him, gone beyond all hope of saving when the yaoguai snuffed out Wei Ying’s. There will be no one to bring him back this time, no one to sacrifice body and soul and summon Wei Ying for the sake of justice unfulfilled, and Lan Wangji sinks into darkness with that knowledge tearing his heart into pieces before it shatters completely. 

“No,” Lan Wangji whispers, as the last echoes of his husband’s sweet voice fade into nothingness. “Come back, xingan. Come back…”

____

“And it’s out of him now, Xichen-ge? You’re sure?”

“He ought to wake in an hour or two. I’ve cleared as much of the venom as I can, and the rest ought to pass through his kidneys.”

“Why does he keep crying? I—I’m—I don’t know anything about snake demons, we only ever got tiger yaoguai and boar ghouls in Yunmeng, and I was bait for a shark ghost once, but—”

“A-Xian, calm down. This particular type of serpent causes delirium in its natural state, there’s a farm about two hundred li away that milks them for anesthetic. He’ll be fine as soon as his thigh heals, and the wounds have already begun to close—see?”

Lan Wangji hears a hiccuping sob, then. “I do see.”

Xichen and Wei Ying keep talking over his head, which he cannot understand just at first; it is far past mao shi, or at least he guesses so from the angle of the sun on his face, and Wei Ying is crying with every word, pressing kisses to Lan Wangji’s limp hands and his forehead and every other part of him not covered by the sheets and blankets. 

“What happened?” he tries to mumble. But his lips feel heavier than iron when he tries to move them, and in the end he slips back into unconsciousness until late that afternoon, when he opens his eyes to see Wei Ying leaning over his head with a wet handkerchief in his hand. His husband is bathing his brow and cheeks, patting away the sweat and anointing each patch of clean skin with his lips, and Lan Wangji’s heart melts on the spot at the sight of him. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji rasps, as his beloved pulls him into his arms and bursts into tears. “Wei Ying, what—”

“You got bitten by a snake demon!” Wei Ying yells, shaking him by the shoulders. “You stupid man, I told you not to leave me behind, and you almost—you could have—”

“How could I have taken you?” he whispers. “You—how could I put you and the little one in such danger, xingan? I would rather give my life a hundred times over than do such a thing!”

“You almost did!” his husband shouts, before falling into another fit of sobs. “Never do that again, you hear me?”

Wei Ying scolds him through his tears for another ten minutes, and then he brings Lan Wangji a bowl of his favorite soup—vegetable broth boiled with fresh bamboo shoots and cabbage, with tofu and delicate pepper-seasoned glass noodles for strength. Lan Wangji only has to part his lips for the spoon and chopsticks, because Wei Ying refuses to let him eat by himself; he puts every morsel into Lan Wangji’s mouth with his own sweet hands, even the last few shreds of scallion clinging to the bottom of the bowl, and then he bathes Lan Wangji’s face again and rubs the blood back into his feet before wrapping them up in a pair of warm woolen socks. 

“Promise you’ll be more careful next time,” Wei Ying murmurs, after Lan Wangji eats his fill and bakes in front of the kitchen fire for a while. “Please, Lan Zhan.”

And then A-Yuan comes in, his face as red as a winter plum, and bawls into Lan Wangji’s neck like the baby he was when he first clung to him in a crowd eighteen years ago—and then Xiao-Yu toddles into the jingshi after his sobbing xiongzhang, crying loudly enough to wake the whole compound as he wriggles into his father’s lap next to Sizhui and wipes his nose on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. 

“A-Yu was scared!” the baby wails, clinging to his sleeve with his tiny dimpled fists. “A-Die, don’t go away! Don’t leave A-Yu and Yuan-gege! Protect A-Niang, and A-Lan—A-Die promised!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lan Wangji vows, gazing at his husband over their children’s two precious heads with his very soul in his eyes. “I’ll never leave you, sweetheart. Never.”

(And then Wei Ying is in his arms, too, and Lan Wangji’s world attains perfection all over again.)

[howdeecoyote]

Prompt 1: Welcome Home

This is from my personal prompt list. These will vary between one-shots and multi-chaps. I’ll post them on my fanfiction account, too, so check me out over there! (Link in bio)

Prompt 1: Welcome Home 

SasuSaku

Post-”The Last”

One-Shot

Sakura's hands trembled. Each expert chop shredded away the round cabbage she'd purchased earlier that day in the market when the sun was high and the streets were busy. Now, it is almost evening. It is time for families to gather, for meals to be prepared. It is time for friends to speak of joyous memories and mundane duties, with smiles on their faces and food in their stomachs. 

With an expert flick of her blade, the sliced vegetable gathered atop her knife. She separated it equally into three mounds, placing it neatly beside the Tonkatsu pork chops she had finished frying only minutes before. The woman took a step back to eye her plates. Were they presentable? Did it taste well? Sakura had followed her mother's recipe perfectly, but she had a knack for making even the freshest foods inedible. There's nothing wrong with adding healthy ingredients…but many tended to be bitter and hard to swallow. With a vicious inhale, the slender woman devoured the aroma of her hard work and went to fix the table.

She had very important guests coming. As she sat the last of the chopsticks down, three simple knocks rapped on her front door. Wiping her sweaty hands on the front of her apron, she untied it and hung the worn thing on the handle of her kitchen oven. Sakura's steps were slow and graceful, despite her uneven heartbeat. Naruto stood before her with masculinity and aristocracy. Though his eyes would always show innocents, it was clear that he had mature. He was no longer the wild, sly fox of his youth—after all, he would be Hokage in a few years.  

Training was difficult and tedious for the Kyuubi. Sadly, because he was busy learning the trade, he and Sakura rarely saw each other much anymore. Still, the man made sure to keep at least one day out of the year open for her. Sasuke had promised the same. Naruto smiled—a charming little thing that showed off the whiteness of his teeth—and brushed by her petite form. "It smells great, Sakura-chan. Is the teme here yet?"

Sasuke had always been punctual. She assumed that if he had not made it to her home at seven on the dot, he wouldn't be arriving at all. The man had been traveling for months now—searching for a redemption he would not find in the loneliness of damp forests and unfamiliar towns. It worked out well for the village, because he was often put on secret reconnaissance missions, and he could protect his people from the outside. Still, Sakura missed seeing him.

She respired, letting the heartache flow from her lips as if it were the very air inside of her.  "I don't think he'll make it…again."   It was the second year in a row. Together the old friends sat, sipping frothy green tea and speaking of important assignments and hospital conundrums. As they conversed, Sakura realized how…utterly uneventful her entire year had been. When she was a girl, a new year meant a new start. Things like a different hairstyle or losing weight to suit her structure better had always been at the top of her lists of "change". 

She did not have the time for such thoughts anymore. The business of her life had taken such a strong hold; a full year had come and gone uninterestingly, but busily. Though Konoha's peace was always a blessing, the woman couldn't help but feel…trapped. It was almost like life was just an endless cycle of scraped knees, emergency surgeries, and non-threatening missions. Naruto spoke of his expecting wife and how excited he was. His years have been a lot more interesting. Hinata was three months along now—and although she had just started to show, the entire village already knew of their pregnancy. 

A hero's child was soon to be born. Everyone was excited to meet the heir. Sakura, especially. 

The blush-haired woman finished her meal and gathered her dishes dazedly as Naruto continued. He waved his arms wildly with excitement. "She eats all of the time now. I'm lucky that she craves ramen, at least!"

"What if your child develops that habit? Make sure she takes all of the proper prenatal vitamins and only eats ramen as a treat. It's so high in sodium!"   She couldn't help chiding him. Naruto always had a way of reminding her of his prepubescent self, and of better days—innocent days—when she had something to pick on him about. She grinned as he brought her his empty dish, leaning against her as he rinsed and scrubbed.

"You're getting better at making food, ya know."

"I practice all of the time." 

"It's a pity you'll throw that one away. I'm…really sorry, Sakura." The sincerity behind Naruto's words was not lost on Sakura. She discards the leftovers and leans against her counter, thinking of Sasuke and wherever he may be.

"It's alright. The food is cold, but his heart is warm. Something must have come up for him to be absent."

She had hoped to woo Sasuke with her improving skills as a housewife. For a moment, the night before, she could almost picture the subtle quirk of his eyebrow as he walked into her home. Perhaps he would say, "It smells nice in here. Did you cook all of this? I'm impressed!"   She rolls her eyes.

As a Genin, Sasuke had expected her to train more and get stronger, so she could be a useful kunoichi and defend herself. As a Chunin, Sakura had become one of the strongest ninjas in the entire nation. Now, as a Jōnin—powerful and famous and an expert in medical expertise—she was worried about childhood fantasies all over again?

It all felt silly. She is caught in between, no longer a child and not yet a woman. The ripe age of 20 tended to do that to you.

Naruto left not long after. He was the anxious type, and when away from Hinata for too long he began to get antsy. Sakura enjoyed his company, though, and reminded him that he was always welcomed in her home. When he left, he took his brightness with him. The emptiness of her one-bedroom flat only taunted her. But, life was as happy as it was sad, and loneliness was nothing to dread. It would be bedtime soon, but Sakura was not tired in the least. 

She sat on her couch and zoned out to the news and weather, frowning slightly at the imminent chance of rain.

As her television blared and its cool blue glow tinted the color of her living room, a small knock sounded on her door. The wind had been howling since midnight, sending waves of fallen leaves against her home. For a moment, she thought that something from outside had come loose and pecked against the wood of her door.

But then, it happened again.

Wrapping her shawl around slender shoulders, she toed on her slippers and grabbed her hidden kunai from underneath her coffee table. She was a kunoichi, after all. Tentative steps led her to the front of her home, and with an excruciatingly slow turn, the knob unlocked and she peeked on into the darkness of the night.   "Sasuke-kun?"

The tall man brushed passed her and shook the leaves from his floppy black hair, letting them fall on the ground of her foyer. She took his cloak in a bewildered panic, brushing the smooth cotton with her fingertips before hanging it on a coat rack. 

"W-w-welcome…" her voice faltered, and the phrase she'd worked so hard on tumbled gracelessly to her newly dirtied floor.

"I didn't make it in time."

Sasuke's statement caused a red heat to feather her cheeks. She smiled as warmly as she could, shaking her head in a ‘don't-worry-about-it' gesture. "You must be hungry. Can I make you something to eat? You can use my bathroom if you need to."

Sasuke was the type of man that could look impeccable even in the thickest of grime. Sakura could not remember a time when he smelled of perspiration or of body odor, even in the longest and most grueling of missions. His scent, however, was always different, almost like his body soaked up the environment around him. 

He smells humid and rainy like he'd encountered a heavy thunderstorm that left him completely dry. She inhaled him.

"Ah," He says, under the impression that her unabashed sniffing had caught something rather unpleasant. He followed her to her small restroom and took the spare clothes she had. It was a simple black top and men's bottoms, still soft and new from a recent purchase.

"I've been stocking up on spare clothing," She explains. "I always get strange visitors in the middle of the night. You wouldn't believe how many stone-cold ninjas are too afraid of Tsunade to go to the hospital!"

Sakura knows that, if he'd let her, she would babble for hours. But he wants to wash up, and her mouth would certainly send him back out to the wilds if she didn't keep calm. 

She makes her way to the kitchen and starts to prepare a modest meal—rice balls with bonito flake filling. She is grateful for her mother's advice in this moment—to always leave her rice out to soak overnight—and it gives her plenty of time to fix her hair and fold up the shawl left on her couch. When everything looks presentable, the woman turns on her tea kettle and waits, thinking of all of the things Sasuke has missed out on, and all of the things she wanted to tell him.

  For some reason, Sakura only has unimportant things pop into her head. Though she knows no one would be interested in the strange price increase on deer antlers and thisslebush flowers like she is, (because they are used frequently in the medical field), she can't help wanting to express this to him. Sakura wants to tell Sasuke that the red bridge they used to meet on has a loose plank—the third to the right. She wants him to know that the cabbage vendor has a new grandson, and that her landlord just turned 68, and that she broke her favorite glass vase a few months ago and still hasn't found a replacement.

Sakura doesn't want to talk about how long he will stay, or when he will be leaving again.

When he walked into the kitchen—barefoot and still toweling off his thick, ebony locks—she had just finished shaping the last onigiri. She is shy with her steps but genuine with her smile. So when Sakura places the food down on the table and pulls the chair out for him, Sasuke can't help but eye her skeptically. She's not angry like his mother would have been for arriving so late. She's not needy like Naruto is when he hasn't seen Sasuke for a while. She's not nagging like Kakashi does when Sasuke doesn't give notice of a delayed arrival. 

No, she is simply Sakura—warm, inviting, and loving—like she always had been.

Sasuke looked at the meal in front of him. He cannot remember how long it has been since having food prepared just for his sake. During his travels, if anyone asked where he was coming from, Sasuke said he belonged to the land—that he was just a roamer with no home to come back to. But he has found his home in Sakura, no matter where he lays his head at night.

  Placing his towel over the armrest of the chair, Sasuke approached her. His words could never fully convey his gratitude, his thankfulness—not like his actions could. 

Gathering her face in his hands, he meets her gaze fully. In this proximity, Sasuke can see the flecks of gold and silver in her shocked irises, and the feathering blush that blooms across the bridge of her nose, and the parted mouth pant that escaped just before her breath was captured against his lips.

And when he moves away, still in her gravitational pull, Sakura says the words she's wanted to say to him the most—the words that wouldn't come out before. It is not about deer antlers, or thisslebush flowers, or the vase she cannot replace. 

It is about them.

"Welcome home, Sasuke-kun."

And in the end, Sakura knew she was right. Because the food may grow cold as their kisses get deeper, but his heart will always be warm. In her hands, he could never grow cold again.