#she washes in the river once every three weeks

[the-fiction-witch]

No Girls?

Media The Maze Runner : Death Cure

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Smutty / Flirty

Concept A Glade with No Girls

Smut: Sexy Discussions / Sexual Language / Semi Nudity

I sat watching the ocean shift and change with each of its little waves, the ship to the side being worked on relentlessly by anyone with enough skill to do so. I sat repairing various clothes and tent flaps that had been dropped off to me a skill I'd always used and honestly enjoyed something about sitting down with a needle and some thread was so very calming indeed. But I wasn't alone I had newt beside me one of the group A boys who had gotten cosy with Vince I got along with most of them but newt especially we had a comfort with each other I suppose he had a day off from his usual work welding and cutting metal work on the ship a task Vince trained him in as his steady hand was well suited for it. But today he was resting his ankle up sitting with me as I worked. 

"Why didn't you try a big ladder?'

"We did. Couldn't build one big enough."

"What about like scaffolding?'

"Y/n I don't know how else to explain this to you the walls were too big to do that." 

"Did you try a big stick?" I asked and he glared at me "do like a pole vault" 

"Your really just not getting how big these walls are"

"No if it's a wall it can be scaled." 

"Okay so if you could get to the top then what?"

"Walk along the top."

"That doesn't connect. And moves every night"

"Fine. Still sounds dull"

"Says the girl who lived in a shopping centre with a bunch of cranks for two years"

"I wore stylish pre apocalypse fashion, ate so many fancy candies and slept on a whole bed of teddy bears. My life was awesome" 

"Sure sounds like it" he laughed

"So how many girls again?'

"One"

"Ooohh bet you boys fought over her. Or what she just one of those free love types who'd let all of you straight boys at her"

"No, she was only in the glade a week so"

"How long were you in there?'

"Three years"

"And you had one girl for a week?'

"Yeah'

"I'm surprised she got out the box without being drowned"

"...by what?" 

"A river of goo"

He glared at me again "we didn't all immediately jizz ourselves when we saw a girl"

"Really? Cause I think sixty boys in a large maze together for three years would be pretty hyped for a girl. Except the gay guys they probably didn't care all that much. Bisexuals hyped over threewaY possibilities. Asexuals wouldn't really care either" I explained

"I mean Thomas may have jizzed himself but that's because she's his girlfriend"

"Ohh. But you really spent three years with nothing but big smelly boys?"

"Yeah, and it wasn't that bad we had showers"

"Yeah I know what boys are like you showered once in a month if your lucky"

"...true." he sighed 

"Didn't you have buckets too?'

"Yeah for klunk" 

"Did you have laundry?'

'not really. Just brush it off if it gets dirt on it"

"Ugggh I get why the one girl lasted a week she probably couldn't stand the smell, sweaty smell unwashed teenage boys who don't wash their laundry and have shit buckets, all allowed to fester and go all sour"

"Okay now you say it… we probably were disgusting" 

"You shower more now right?"

"Every other day, I would everyday but the showers aren't that private…" 

"Awwww you shy newt?" I giggled

"Shy? Don't want people seeing my dick? Whatever you wanna call it" 

"But really no girls?"

"No girls."

"Awwww poor newtie spent all the formative teen time without anything to imagine" 

"I can imagine. I have an imagination"

"But you spent all that time without comparison. From when you where a tiny baby boy to now big strong boy" I smiled leaning on his shoulder 

"It wasn't that bad"

"What did you use to do? At night?"

"Sleep?"

"Newt, you were trapped in their from what 13 onwards. Your really going to try and tell me you didn't.. you know after lights out" 

"Did you?'

"Constantly I was bored. It helps me sleep"

"Do you… still?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just… curious" he blushed "no, I uhh never really had time, or the privacy"

"Awwwwww poor newtie." I giggled hugging him tightly and immediately I noticed "hi"

"Hi"

"Be careful with that I only just repaired those pants newt" I warned him going back to my sewing as he turned bright red "newt?'

'yes?" 

"You ever seen boobs?"

"... How much boob?"

"How much have you seen?"

"I saw Teresa's in her shirt… and also a little down her shirt"

"Dirty boy"

"She was laying down it wasn't intentional!"

"That it?"

"That's it" 

"You ever touched a boob?"

"Nope"

"You ever seen ass?"

"I mean I've seen Minho. And fry. Infact most boys"

"I meant girls"

"No."

"Ever seen a? Lady area?"

"No,"

"... would you want to?" I asked 

He went bright red stuttering a lot barely able to make eye contact with me "I mean uhhh well I uhh I guess I uhh what I mean is uhh kinda"

I chuckled and finished my last few stitches throwing my finished work in the basket "you're sweet newt" I smiled moving to stand In Front of him and I lifted my shirt long enough for him to look before dropping it back down and giving his cheek a kiss even if he was basically frozen with his eyes wide in place "see you later" I laughed taking my basket and headed back to camp 

[bleumanouchesims]

Prologue - Spring 1890

Rosalie shivered as she stepped down off the ship and onto her touch of America. Toulouse was beside her though his shivers were more from excitement than just the cold air. They were here! Surely in America, they wouldn't be looked down upon as they had been in France. America was a free place they were told, anyone could live there as long as they worked hard.

(But is it free for gypsies?)

This was her constant thought all through that nasty ship ride filled with gadje. Every night Toulouse would talk about how in America this would happen or that would happen and that she would never have to tell another gadje fortune or sell another flower. That he pictured them in a house, a real house that didn't have to move because the gadje were uncomfortable and calling illegal. It was a place that she knew would never exist. She knows for a fact that there were gadje in America and where there were gadje there were cries of thieves and charlatans. It was Gadje that put this ridiculous idea in Toulouse's head in the first place.

Well in a way, they did by burning the whole baro. One morning she had gone down to the river to wash her good clothes for she liked wearing her best when Toulouse returned to her. Once she returned the baro was gone, some caravans still on fire, and her whole family save for her husband were hanging from ropes, even the little children.

Toulouse was being held in a jail for six months for horse thievery. It had taken her three days to arrive in Champs Les Sims, where he was being held. He had smiled and embraced her dearly as soon as he saw her. His smile turned to shock when she told him why she was there. He was angry, more angry than she had ever seen in the 3 years since they married. He said that his jail-mate often talked about going to America when he got out, that they even let "gyppos" like him in. So for the next six months, they begged on the streets. Rosalie sold fortunes and flowers and Toulouse sold scrap and played his violin until they had a total of 2000 livre. It was more than enough for the trip there. Then they used some of the money to first travel by train and then by stagecoach to Le Havre.

There Toulouse had them registered for the next ship to America. after several weeks more of waiting, finally they boarded. But before they could they had to endure inspection. Rosalie hated the inspection the most. They had her strip naked and a gadjo doctor inspected her parts. It was so humiliating and demeaning. But she and Toulouse had been given a clean bill of health and they were able to board.

They shared a cabin with a Norwegian family, who knew little french but knew plenty of English because the mother's father was a clergyman. They were going to join him in one of the western territories. They ere kind people even if they held their purses a little tighter and always made sure at least one of them were in the room while Rosalie and Toulouse where there.

One night in the middle of their journey, Toulouse was crying out and whooping and slammed some paper down on their bed. He made a quick apology for waking the children before pulling Rosalie outside of their cabin.

"Rosie, ma foi! We have a house! I was playing a couple of card games with the other men and look look what the losing dinlo put down."

"Toulouse!" she says in a sharp whisper. "You know I can't read, let alone read English. It just looks like a piece of paper. You didn't lose all our savings for a piece of PAPER."

"I didn't lose anything! Rosie, we gained a house! The dinlo gadje put down the deed to his grandfather's old fisherman's cabin. We'll be set once we reach America! From the Castle's Garden if they don't turn us away, we will be living in a little town called Brindleton in the state of Mass. It has a longer name but I can't pronounce it in french right now."

They stuck the paper in Rosalie's knitting basket, hidden under the yarn until it was needed. The giggling like schoolchildren, they fell asleep.

The next morning, she apologized again for waking the children.

"It's no worry. My husband gets drunk too and causes all sorts of commotions."

Rosalie slides out the paper from the previous evening. "You read English yes?"

"Ja, I do. Do you need me to read that for you?"

Rosalie nods and hands her the paper. After a few moments of the other woman looking over she smiles and returns the paper.

"It is a deed for a cabin in Mass-a-chew-sets. Is this what your husband was so excited about?"

Rosalie nods again. "He said he won us a house while gambling last night and showed me this paper."

"That seems to be what he did indeed. Bless you in your new home may you live there happily."

"Merci."

Toulouse had decided to turn the cabin into an apiary and then an orchard. They couldn't have livestock because livestock could be claimed as stolen. Then they would have to go back to France. However bees could be found in forests and no one can truly claim them stolen unless a whole skep is missing, and trees with fruits don't just appear overnight. However, it would take a small while for said trees to bear fruit and so Toulouse decided to try and find work as a dockworker or fisherman until that time came.

***

Now they were here. After the hustle and bustle of Castle Garden and the Miracle that they weren't turned away, Toulouse and Rosalie stood waiting at the train station that wold take them to their new home and a new start.

***

Start / Next

Yay! The first official post of my decades challenge. I have long been inspired to do this challenge with a Romani centered story. I've tried it on some past blogs that didn't work out for other factors I do not wish to go into.

This will be set for now in the amazing Antiquated Brindleton save by @antiquatedplumbobs. Her Sewell legacy, as well as @aheathen-conceivably's Darlingtons and @pixelnrd's Langstons, are the stories that have given the push to start my own decades challenge story. The rules I will be using are the ones by @/illusarythrall and can be found here. I have added some additional rolls at certain points to reflect things such as Polio and the AIDS crisis.

[bubuslutty]

NOW YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WERE DOING WITH THAT BOMB AHH WITCH READER FIC 😭💗💗💗

I CAN SEE IT NOW

John itching to help her cook, despite her telling him she's fine as she makes her finest dinner for their adult kids—ahem, most trusted men's arrival?? Mama may be a witch but her motherly senses be tingling and it says THESE MEN HAS NOT HAD A PROPER MEAL, JOHN. 😭

And a certain point where she finally stops for a bit to let the stew she's cooking do its magic, John immediately jumps to the opportunity to give his beloved the most absolute, cheesy and tooth-rotting kiss. I mean, straight up wedding-dip his sweetheart as if a priest had just said 'you may now kiss the bride' 🥲💗

ughshddjhd your mind is amazing 💞💕💖

I'm actually so happy you enjoyed it!! I've got so many ideas for that little universe 😫

your thoughts always make me so so happy so Thank you 🌹❤️

the bear in the witch's hut (all parts)

title: European Robins in my palms

word count: 2.3k

warning: nsfw (like one scene) but all fluffy throughout the whole thing!!!!

John had to take all of his special unit back to his childhood home and farm, at least once. And he didn’t think he’d enjoy it so much, having his brothers with him in his home with his parents and wife, together.

They had to ride for days to get to his village, and Kyle would point out the greenery and mountains, how beautiful these parts of the land were, and Price would smile, proud and happy to be going home, to his love. Simon would be basking in the sun, on the back of his horse, half listening to Johnny and sometimes interrupting him to tell him some of the unfunniest jokes on earth.

And when they would finally reach their farm, Price’s parents and his wife would be waiting for them, by the entrance. Price would hop down his horse, and open his arms for his wife, as she runs and jumps in his arms, kissing him all over and squeezing him tight. John’s witch was not afraid to show affection to her husband, not publicly and especially privately, be damned society’s expectations and rules, nothing will stop her from running to her husband, skirts riding up her naked legs and one of the sleeves sliding down one shoulder and hair a mess. Fuck being proper.

And he loved her so much for that, chucking everything that would make her a proper lady out of the window in favour of loving him so openly, as he truly deserves.

That fact about her would not go unnoticed by his brothers. What a sight she was, beautiful and so inviting in her laughs and smiles. It was more than evident how much she loved him and how much he loved her back.

When her legs were on the ground again, she will turn to the other men, pushing her hair out of her face and grinning like the fucking sun in the middle of summer, sticking out her hand. And she would receive grins and three kisses at the back of her hand.

Price’s parents would greet their son, commenting on his evergrowing beard and bigger build, but then they would turn to the other men, giving each a bone-crushing hug that would warm them from the inside out.

After they will obviously get settled in the cleared-out rooms that Price’s parents and his wife prepared, stretching their tired limbs and getting a proper bath to wash away all the sweat and grim that cold river water couldn’t wash away. You better believe Price will try every trick in the book to get her to stay with him, in his room for the next hours. He knows she has things to do, like helping his parents cook them a proper meal. But he tends to become needy, selfish and straight-out unreasonable sometimes when he’s in the same vicinity as her for the first time in weeks.

He wants his wife, for the love of everything good and gracious. Is that too much to ask for?

But John ends up getting his way in the end, not only he has her help him bathe, but he tried his mighty best to stretch it out as much as he could, like, “Honey, I think you’ve missed this spot on my back- Can you just-”

And his wife would wash his back for him, an amused smile on her lips, indulging him and running a cloth over the muscles and fat under his freckled skin, then she would press her fingers on the knots in his shoulders and dip of his back, making his head drop, feeling immediate relief.

Then she would somehow end up against the wall of the bathroom, skirts hunched up around her waist and his knee keeping her legs spread as he continuously plunges his fingers inside her wet cunt over and over again, while his other hand is covering her mouth so her delicious sounds wouldn't be heard.

And when she cums, she’s shaking all over and her legs are wobbly and Price has a stupid smile on his face as he rubs her back, helping her calm her frantic heart. His darling has then to stand against the wall, holding her skirts in her arms as he’s kneeling by her feet, a cloth cleaning up the mess she’s made of herself between her legs.

“I was supposed to be the one taking care of you…” She mumbled, cheeks hot.

Price glanced up at her and chuckled, “You are.”

.

.

.

When it was nearing dinner time, the witch stepped inside the living room, her sleeves rolled up and hair tied up, interrupting the men’s conversation. “Lads, I have a job for you.”

Gaz, Soap and Ghost all look at Price at the same time. The captain just shrugs and stands up, and they copy him, all following his wife outside the house. And Price can literally feel the excitement coming out in waves from his wife, but he doesn’t ask, he just follows her silently until they’re all 3 metres away from the house.

The witch turns to the men, her lips stretching into a smile. “I need you to catch me a rooster for dinner.”

And as soon as those words leave her mouth, Price smirks, trying to hide it by running his finger through his beard. Johnny barks out a laugh, “Of course, we’ll catch ya a rooster, lass!”

“Yeah, sounds fair, the least we can do is catch our dinner.” Kyle shrugs, hands in his pockets and Simon nods in agreement.

“Which one d’ya want us to catch?” Johnny asked, tilting his chin forward.

The witch grins and points above his head, and he frowns in confusion, turning around. And then he looks around and frowns when there’s no rooster on the ground- Oh, what the shit.

The rooster she wants them to catch is standing right on top of the house, staring down at them in challenge, the wind blowing over its black and white feathers, making the rooster’s body seem larger than it actually was.

“Steamin’ Mother…” Johnny mumbles, squinting his eyes to see the rooster better. Kyle and Simon also seemed to be taken aback, staring at the bird in shock.

The witch started giggling behind one of her hands, angling her body away from the men. Meanwhile, Price didn’t care much and started laughing loudly with his head thrown back, hand on his chest and tears collecting at the corner of his eyes.

“You two are mean!” Price’s mother suddenly scolded by the door, hands on her hips.

“Stop laughing, you mutts!” Price’s father barked out and Price and his wife started laughing even louder, screeching and holding onto each other while the three other men stood there, trying to figure out how the fuck are they supposed to catch that rooster.

“That was a good one, love.” Price said, his cheeks hurting from laughing and wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing the side of her face. As soon as Price said that, Kyle, Simon and Johnny all sighed in relief.

“Ahah, yeah, that was very funny,” Kyle said, glad he doesn’t actually have to go catch the damned bird. Which was still standing at the top of the house and staring at them.

“What do you mean?” The witch said, making Price freeze.

“What do-” Price frowned.

“Catch it.” His wife said, slowly smirking up at him.

When I say Price’s mum literally shrieked, laughing so hard she had to lean against her husband, face literally turning pink.

The colours literally drained out of Price’s face, anything but chasing that fucking rooster.

“I was being serious, John.” She said, bringing a hand up to fix the collar of his loose shirt. “I want you to catch it for me, please?” the witch bit her lower plush lip and batted her pretty eyelashes at him, placing her other hand on one of his biceps and giving it one squeeze.

Price was standing there, with his mouth open. And when she made a noise, tilting her head to the side, saying “So, are you going to do it?” without actually saying anything. Determination swelled in his chest, making his blood pump and he cleared his throat.

“We’ll catch it. For you.” He said, giving her a nod and placing a kiss on her forehead and started walking towards the house.

“Where are you going?” Johnny called out after the man.

“To get my gear.” Price said without looking back.

“What?!” Simon said, the word literally jumped out of his throat.

“Why?!” Kyle said at the same time as Simon.

“He bites.” Was all Price said before the three men ran after their Captain while his mother was still laughing, almost pissing herself.

.

.

.

When they finally caught the rooster and tied its legs, and held it in front of the witch like a damn trophy, they swore they would never underestimate a rooster ever again. They were all panting and sweating, with feathers stuck in their hair and clothes, with arm protection on to not get bitten, but the rooster still managed to bite a hole in Simon’s shirt and pooped on Johnny’s helmet. They didn’t look happy at all and now all have a newfound fear of roosters.

“Are all roosters like this?” Johnny grumbled, cleaning his helmet in a bucket of water.

“Nope, just this one. You don’t even know how many times we’ve tried to catch him, but never succeeded.” Price’s father said, still baffled about how the beast was finally caught after three years of trying to catch him.

After handing the rooster over, the men stood outside the house and watched until it was killed and plucked and they all sagged when the rooster was no longer breathing. The witch giggled at their state and stopped right as they were going to step inside the house to wash for the second time that day.

“Hold on, take your clothes off first.” She said.

“Huh??” Johnny blushed bright red.

“Shoes and shirts off, leave them outside.” The witch added and they all nodded, following her orders. After all, the rooster did numbers on them, their clothes were filthy like they were on a battlefield and just came back for dinner.

.

.

.

The house smelled absolutely delicious. Price’s mouth watered when he stepped inside the dining room, the smells coming from the kitchen while his parents set the table up.

“What’s cooking up, mum?” John asked, bending down to kiss his mother on the head.

“I don’t know, go ask her.” His mother shrugged, a smile on her lips and eyes twinkling.

“Alright?..” Price laughed and left his mum to go investigate the kitchen.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, he was greeted with a ridiculous amount of delicacies (As much as they afford in times of war while living on a farm). There were pies, stews, roasted vegetables and the rooster, bread, cheese and caramelised apples from the orchards down the road with roasted nuts on top and beer. And there were still pots and pans bubbling and cooking up on the fire.

“Honey? What are you doing?...” Price said and the witch jumped, turning around with a wooden spoon in hand.

“Cooking?” She answered, blinking at him.

“You-” John said, noticing a plate full of sausage rolls and couldn’t help but grab one and take a bite, moaning when the flavours exploded in his mouth, taking him up to the heavens and then back down.

“You don’t have to do all of this, my love. This is- This is too much,” Price said after swallowing and snaked his free arm around her waist and pulled her against him, chest to chest.

His witch frowned, “John, when was the last time your men had a proper meal? This is the least I could do for them."

John smiled, feeling fuzzy and warm with love and appreciation. "Allow me to help you, then."

"No way, I've got this under control. You can go back out there." She said, waving her wooden spoon in the air.

"Please, love."

"Nope. No way. Go away, John." She shakes her head and turns around, stirring a pot while it's bubbling.

"At least let me watch you cook." He whined, John Price whined and he wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her from behind.

"Fine. Just don't touch anything." She sighed, rolling her eyes and smiling, stirring. And Price happily nuzzled his face in her hair and went along with her wherever direction she went, literally glueing his body to hers.

This went on for a couple of minutes until she stopped and looked over at the food with her hands on her hips, and called John's mum, telling her to start taking some of the dishes to the table.

And as soon as she puts that damn wooden spoon down, John quickly turns her around and straight up wedding-dips his sweetheart, and cuts off her startled "John!-" with a deep passionate kiss.

When he helps her up, her cheeks are hot and she's panting, eyes wide and lips feeling all tingly. She's just looking at him while he's smiling at her like a love struck fool.

Simon's also in the kitchen, grabbing a plate full of veggies and doesn't give two shits about what they're doing, because all he's capable of focusing on is the food he's carrying and the growling of his stomach.

BONUS:

the second time Price brings his boys over (kyle, Simon, johnny, ale, rudy, horangi and konig). The damn rooster is there again.

“Mum??”

“I see it, John.”

“It’s ALIVE??!!!”

And they have to chase it and kill it again. But his witch manages to hold it in her arms and pet it, “YOU CAN PET IT???” screamed Soap.

And the witch just smiles and tells them it’s a blessing in disguise, a gift, they will never get hungry as long as this rooster is around. And he always comes back, no matter how many times they eat it.

gaz, Ghost and Soap all tell the other guys abt the rooster and instill the fear in them, so now the rooster is some sort of inside horror story lmao.

+

When Price's mum meets alex for the first time, she's hella confused cuz she doesnt remember pushing him out.

“Are you my son??”

And when he opens his mouths, she's "nope, I didn't push you out"

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @silviafantin15 @reveluving @bobastayhigh

[scaly-freaks]

cherry wine stains 7.0

all previous parts in pinned.

Alcoholism.

It's a heavy word, meaty, sticks like mango fibers between the teeth. By the time someone suggests it might be relevant to you, you're already a lost soul, wandering in a forest where the trees are broken liquor bottles, each label fancier than the next. Did you hear about so-and-so? Yeah, I hear they're an alcoholic now.

A stamp of disconfirmation on your validity as a well-functioning human being. There is no such thing as a functioning alcoholic. It's a bandage term, to disguise the inevitable slip-and-kick of the stool.

But Amara thinks she's functioning perfectly well.

It started with a glass of wine after dinner, as most things do. She hated the bitter taste as a teenager. Her tastebuds are still puerile, but the fuzziness she couldn't appreciate when she was younger is well-cherished now. Adults are more patient; they can get through the nasty bits for the soft, cushy marrow underneath.

If only she hadn't developed a hobby of painting the bottles once she was done with them.

Now the evidence is all over her home. It's like a serial killer removing the bones of her victims and painting them to hang as wind chimes (like that one episode of Criminal Minds that she kind of sort of remembers watching when she was too drunk to move).

At first she tells herself it's to cope with Rafael's threat. But when two months pass by and nothing happens, she can't say that it is. Besides, he was found in the river last week, chock fill of heroin that hadn't yet left his system. Amara knows for a fact he never touched drugs, not once he began to deal them.

It must have been Aegon.

She wonders when he graduated to murder, and if that means he sees people differently now. Knowing how easy it is to kill another person must transform the psyche irrevocably. She also wonders who told him Rafael was making threats towards her because it certainly wasn't Amara herself. Or if that was even the reason Rafael had died.

She'd gone home the night she saw Aegon at the club and drank until she couldn't see straight. Elizabeth and Gwen returned later to put her to bed, thinking she had simply had too much fun at the club and then somehow, rather responsibly, gotten herself home in a taxi.

Two months since that night.

She's learned to live happily in her forest of painted glass bottles and the day job she took on in between performances because nothing pays the bills these days except for crime. But she doesn't have the stomach for that.

It's how Aegon finds her.

An insistent bell press should have warned her who is on the other side. He's had the same way of assaulting doorbells since he was a child.

Her surprise at seeing him is dampened by the way he recoils at the stench of alcohol.

Shame washes over her, like the tide regurgitating garbage onto the beach. She doesn't look great either. Hair unwashed, dark circles, body doused in fabric that neither flatters nor enhances. Some days, she's swear she's put on weight. Others, her skin feels glued to her bones with nothing in between. She can't tell what she weighs anymore; her eyes skim over the reflection in every mirror she passes as if staring directly into it will bring a monster to her door.

But it hasn't. It's brought Aegon.

He snaps into action the way only an older brother can. With three younger siblings, he's never lived in any other state.

When she argues, he snaps at her, and they have a screaming match unprompted. It's as if no time has elapsed. Just last night, they were together, and now they're fighting again. She says something about it's my life blah-blah-blah and i'm fine and he tells her to shut up and take a fucking shower. That works better than kind words could have, because she goes upstairs just to get away from him.

And then once the shower is done, she realises she feels better, which of course annoys her all over again. But all the shouting has worn her out. She doesn't have the energy for more.

She stays up in her room - which is surprisingly neat - and hears him walking around downstairs tidying up. Elizabeth and Gwen haven't been home in a couple weeks, so it's been Amara alone, turning the place into a badger's den.

It isn't till she hears the clink of the glass bottles that she runs down in a panic. "Don't throw those away. I painted them."

"And I can paint a dope syringe and call it art," is his acrid response. "You've collected them like fucking trophies."

The brutality of his hand gathering them up leaves her feeling as substantial as a piece of crumpled paper teetering on the edge of a windy balcony.

She drops herself on the bottom step to watch as Aegon clears away months of her hard work. My liver struggled through all that for nothing.

He drops off the garbage bags by the bins and when he returns, Amara has her head between her knees. She is going through a list of things he might have wanted to tell her in person.

I'm leaving the country.

I'm going to jail.

I'm engaged.

I'm going to be a father.

She'll never know how she manages to force the words out. "Why are you here?"

Aegon stares at her with a hooded expression that either means run or are you fucking stupid? Neither makes her feel very good.

She wonders why he's being such a prick. Or if maybe he was a prick all along, and she just chose to ignore it because he was less of a prick to her than he was to everyone else. And don't we all just love to feel special to pricks like that?

"Why? Do you want me to leave?"

"If you're going to keep throwing away my stuff, yes."

"That wasn't stuff. You're an alcoholic and you're wearing it like a badge of honour. And don't you dare tell me you can do what you want."

"I wasn't going to."

"Yes you were."

She was.

"Still. Something brought you here. Or someone."

"You've been ignoring my calls for weeks."

Amara frowns. "No, I haven't. You never called."

He holds out his hand for her phone, and she doesn't think twice before handing it over. Most people would. Phones are such intimate objects. Giving them to someone unlocked is the animal equivalent of rolling over to expose your belly.

"Why do you have my number blocked?" he asks.

"I don't have your - that's not your number."

"It's my new number."

"...oh." Comprehension sinks in. "I was getting a lot of cold calls around that time. I started blocking numbers I didn't know. You probably should have texted first."

Aegon flares his eyes as if to say yeah, no shit. Maybe that would explain the negativity straight out of the door. She wasn't feeling too happy that he'd ghosted her, but he was going through the same thing. Knowing about Sara meant she hadn't bothered to follow up and ask why she was no longer on his contact list.

He comes to sit on the stairs, a couple steps beneath her, and they stew in the silence. The atmosphere feels loaded, like a gun about to go off. Or maybe that's all in her head. Aegon has both his hands shoved into his pockets, one leg carelessly tossed over the other as his eyes fill with light from the window.

"I'm sorry for the mess."

He snorts. "You call this a mess?"

"It kind of is." She bites a hangnail and looks around. "I think I like letting myself go just to see how bad it can get."

Aegon chuckles. "And this is your worst, is it?"

"I'd say so."

"Spoken like a ballerina."

"You don't think this is bad?"

"I think you're a functioning alcoholic who would have tidied up eventually and pretended nothing was wrong."

"There's no such thing as a functioning alcoholic. I looked it up."

"Newsflash: if you're looking it up, you are it, angel."

Her stomach does several somersaults at the familiar pet name. He doesn't seem to realise - or care - that he said it. Perhaps it's always been ordinary to him that Amara is something as hyperbolic as an angel. It's something he's never questioned. That both flatters and worries her, because the only way to go from high up in the heavens is down, down, down.

"Functioning alcoholic and an only child. Would explain the refusal to ask for help in order to fester," he continues.

"People with siblings fester too, you know."

"The ones with crappy siblings, yeah. You could have called Helaena. She clearly seems to think you two are closer than you do."

"That's not true. She's one of my oldest friends."

"Oldest doesn't mean closest. Do you want me to tell her how I found you?"

"No."

"Then you're not close."

"If you came here to lecture me, I'd rather you left."

"Unblock my number. Then, I'll leave."

She snatches up her phone and does exactly that, but before she can show it to him, Aegon grabs her wrist and forces the action himself. In the process, he pulls her nearer, and her damp hair falls over him like a scented curtain. She sees him visibly inhale, coupled with a slight tremor in his jaw.

Their eyes meet and she thinks of Rafael floating in that river.

Aegon's hands feel the same as they used to, not at all like they've killed someone.

But the soft blue edge to his eyes is gone. He has less patience. And now her wrist is caught in his hand, and he is staring at her like he wants to tear into the soft skin of her neck. Or she's imagining it all. Living inside a mind you don't trust is a hell all on its own.

"Next time I call you, pick up," he tells her.

Danger licks at the words like the flame of a lighter.

She's not imagining it.

Once he's gone, she lies back on the stairs, waiting for the fear to kick in.

Her childhood crush is gone, and in his place is someone that has learned to carve his place in the world with violence.

But the fear doesn't come. There is nothing of the sort.

Instead, it feels like a chain has wrapped itself around her neck and Aegon holds the other end.

She can't remember the last time she felt so secure.

[foolofatook001]

Faerie Fort Week Day Two -- Blood

Tear My Way In

Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers— it starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters…

When Ren swears his loyalty to the Shadow Lady, the only thing that binds them is his word and a few netherwort sprouts, gladly passed over to solidify their alliance. He is eager for allies, knowing a man who goes through a game like this alone is a man who will not win, and the Shadow Lady and her court made up of the members the Castle on the Hill seem like a reasonable choice. 

The next week, he walks through the gate of the Fairy Fort and sees the Shadow Lady standing there, the white of her underskirts spattered in red and her hands matching them, and the realization that she could have killed him at any time that day— she had come to the tower to see his progress, he had taken her up to the parapet, he had stood by her side and proudly explained each planned feature, basking in the warmth of her approval and her smile— hits him hard. 

She must see it on his face, because she looks at him, a touch of hurt in her expression, and says to the clearing at large, as Cleo and BigB hover at a safe distance, "I wouldn't have gone after any of you, you know. There's no need to look so frightened."

All three of them hurry to reassure her that they hadn't had a doubt, really, it was just a surprise— and she lets it go after a little while, washing away the mistrust as easily as she rinses her hands in the river. Ren, standing guard and keeping an eye out for mobs (or disgruntled Scott and Pearls), watches the pink-tinged water run away from her and hopes he is never faced with such a choice. He remembers what being red was like, last time. If the Boogeyman's Curse is anything like that… Well, he'll say he's impressed by the Shadow Lady's self-restraint, if that's the case. 

He wakes in the morning about a week later and immediately feels something off. There's a need to tear, bite, rend. To taste blood. 

The curse has descended on him. 

He does his best to ignore it; go about his business as usual. It's not terribly effective, however, and the only thing that soothes the bloodlust is digging the pit trap in the bottom of the tower. But the silence of the tower aggravates his already-on-edge nerves, and something— whether a search for distraction or the siren call of hot blood— pulls him out of his hole and into the forest. 

The Shadow Lady is in her circle, building something. He keeps his tone light, unconcerned, as he inquires after any news he's missed while working on the tower. She straightens, and her eyes seem as though they can see through the smiling mask he's holding tight to his face. "Are you the Boogeyman?" she asks.

Every muscle tenses. He's been found out this early? When the Shadow Lady was cursed, she kept it from everyone. Surely she expects the same from him. "No," he lies.

"I don't believe you," she says plainly, and he just barely holds back his flinch. "But I trust you," she continues, and Ren is glad for his sunglasses, because he's staring at her now. 

When he breaks, it's to her compassion, and really, he should have expected it. She knows better than any in their alliance what the curse is like; of course she would understand. She's even trying to help him in what way she can— without breaking the rules, of course. 

When he finally lures Skizz into the trap, he dedicates the kill to his Shadow Queen, and the thread of their oath— once in word only— becomes an unbreakable one, sealed in blood. 

(also on ao3)

(prompt post)

[mdzs-is-rotting-my-brain]

For @mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess

🎁 🐚✉️ (comfort, fluff)

I"m not convinced I nailed the 'comfort' or fluff on this one. But let me know, I'm open to criticism,

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'd be worried about these if you didn't say they were harmless."

Wen Qing held up the small blue and white gift box that had become the only regular occurrence in Wei Wuxian's life.

He sat up too fast, the heart monitor spiked, pain rushed from his stomach to his shoulder in a eye-blinding spike of pain. Clutching the well bandaged wound, he gasped for breath through the pain. White noise filled his ears for a solid minute before it faded back into Wen Qing' lecture, she wasn't talking to him but rather about his morphine drip, and the amount he was supposed to be on.

He fell into meditation breathing by habit, pushing the residual pain away and getting his breath and shaky limbs back under control.

"You good?" Wen Qing asked when he opened his eyes.

"Yeah. Shouldn't have done that "

She rolled her eyes, scoffing, “You’ve been awake for less than two hours following major surgery. You’re not used to it yet.” She handed him the box, “I’m gonna go find your doctor and talk to them.” She swept out of the room with all the fury of a patients rights violation behind her.

Wei Wuxian eased himself up slowly, crossing his legs and easing his posture until the strain of his stitches eased to a mild pain he could live with.

The box was smaller than the last one, he had to assume the contents would be smaller as well.

He smiled, running his hand over the plain blue box, and bow tied as neat and as perfect as every other box before it.

He wondered sometimes, the kind of man that pouty child in his blue overall shorts with the bunnies and carrots along the hem, and his pristine white shirt at the beach turned into. Besides a man that had found him and proceeded to mail back every single seashell Yu-furen told him he could not keep.

The kind of man that packed them all neatly into appropriate boxes and perfectly tied bows.

The kind of man that, no matter where Wei Wuxian went, from Lotus Pier, to Yi City, to Yiling, and finally to Gusu, found him and kept sending him seashells.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he had actually gathered that many seashells, they’d been arriving one a week since he turned eighteen, no return address, no notes, nothing to give Wei Wuxian it was anything other than a creepy stalker.

But who else could it have been? Who else had Wei Wuxian ever dumped as many seashells and pretty rocks his ten-year-old arms could carry on? Who else had he met that wore blue and white? Someone from the Gusu Lan Sect? Sure, and that chubby cheeked child from thiriteen years ago maybe have been, or still was, a part of the Gusu Lan Sect. But if he knew Wei Wuxian had been living in Caiyi for two months, after taking all of the trouble to track him down through thirteen years and three moves, several upheavals, why would he not take the opportunity to come and see him?

The ribbon was silk, like all the others, sliding out of the perfect knot with ease, he wrapped it around his wrist, using his teeth to tie it off.

Nestled inside white silk lining was a gastropod seashell, a common turritella, mostly brown fading to white at the tip.

Yuan-er called them ‘unicorn horns’ and had glued several of them to the heads of his horse toys or the hoods of his cars, or two to a doll to make horns.

It felt more fragile now then it had when he was ten, he knew now how they were made, and how they washed up on the shore. But when he had been ten the world had been wide open. There was something new around every corner, if even exploring it came with bitter recriminations from behind him. The beach that one summer he was allowed to go had been once such place.

He’d never seen a body of water so big. The river in Yiling had been narrow, cold, and meandering, the water was always some form of green or gray, rotting piles of trash, bodies,, and waste the only smell for miles around the river. It took days to filter, and the poor people who lived around it were sick for weeks at a time if they had to drink before cleaning. The local government, despite years of effort, had done little to do anything about it by the time Jiang Fiengmen brought into the Jiang Sect as a ward.

In southern Gusu though, the water was a deep and brilliant blue, sparkling so bright it hurt his eyes to stare at the ocean stretching until it met the sky.

The sand was hot, rocks and shells biting into the touch callouses of his feet. Jiang Fiengmen showed little interest in his every discovery, and Yu-furen told him he could only take one home.

Not far from where they were, was another family, a woman and her two children, one of whom was politely reading while the other, with his chubby cheeks, and white-and-blue clothes, stared at Wei Wuxian like this was a private beach and he was intruding with his loud proclamations of every little new thing he found.

Ten-year-old Wei Ying didn’t understand why the boy was sitting under the umbrella, or why they weren’t dressed for the beach, and he hadn’t cared either. It’d only been a week since Jiang Fiengmen brought him in as a ward. Social skills would come later.

So, not only was it surprising that the boy that glared at Wei Wuxian like he was everything wrong with the world at that particlular moment, had not only kept all the shells, and rocks Wei Wuxian had dumped in his lap, and kept giving him as the day wore on until Jiang Yanli called him back for sunscreen where he passed out and woke up to find the boy and his mother gone, but now he was giving them back to him. Having gone through the trouble of tracking Wei Wuxian down and returning each shell one-by-one.

“This is why I don’t trust your care to anyone.” Wen Qing dropped into the chair beside his bed, flipping through his medical chart.

At least, Wei Wuxian assumed it was his medical chart, it’d be odd if she had someone else's.

“What’s happened?”

She snorted, “They brought someone down from the Lan sect to play Cleansing for you to purge your system of your guidao cultivation. Not bothering to check your golden core first. It’s no wonder your wounds became infected.”

He did wonder why they hurt so much when he woke up two days ago.

“That explains so much. How bad is my core?”

“Bad. The damage has spread to seventy percent now because it overcompensated trying to keep you alive during the Cleansing.” She looked at him, eyes flat and hard. He never liked that look on her. That banked anger, she was holding back for him, but she would be talking to doctors, nurses, and the board of directors and if any of them came out with their medical licenses, reputations, and egos intact, Wen Qing had lost her touch.

“You flatlined twice. The Cultivator should have stopped there, and the doctors did try to stop him. But he insisted on getting it all out.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach turned, it felt like ice had ben poured down his back, he shivered, pulling the thin medical sweater tighter around him.

“The…boys?”

She put a hand on his arm without even looking, “You took care of your will last year, they’ll pass into mine and A-Ning’s custody.” She squeezed his arm.

“Oh good, they did list the cultivator here, now I know who we’re suing.”

“We’re…suing them?”

“Wuxian. There is a advanced directive in your medical file. Commanding any doctors that unless your life is in immeadite danger, you are to be treated by me or any of the Dafen Wen. Needless to say, while your injuries from the-” She waved her hand around, brows scrunching in thought.

“Crab yao.” He supplied.

“Yes, that. It wasn’t in danger until Su Minshin thought he knew better. They should have treated your injuries, stopped the bleeding and called me before anything else was done or medical decisions. Violating that, the hospital has made itself liable, and the Gusu Lan Sect for not ensuring they had the medical right to continue treatment after their ‘client’ flatlined twice in their cultivators care.” She snapped the file shut, squeezing his arm again, “I’m going to go talk to the board of directors, and the Gusu Sect leader. A-Ning is downstairs getting food with Yuan-er and Yu-er, they’ll be up here shortly.”

Wei Wuxian caught her hand before she left.

Family didn’t say thank you.

Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing taught him that. There was no need, they were family. Saying thank you was for strangers.

“Wear your white suit with the red flowers, you look like you could kill and not get it bloody.”

She smiled at him, “I’ll have A-Ning run home and grab it.”

Wei Wuxian held the shell in his free hand, watching her go. He reached under the medical gown to pull out the small blue pearl he’d threaded onto a leather cord.

The little boy with eyes as gold as every sunset Wei Wuxian had seen, had given it to him the last time he delivered an armful of shells.

It was the one thing he took home.

The hospital where he stayed had also been owned and operated by the Gusu Lan Sect. He wasn’t sure if they wanted to sweep the situation under the rug or were actually trying to make amends for his botched medical care, either way they were offered an extended stay at the Caiyi Cultivation Rehab Resort, also owned and run by the Lan Sect, but this one was owned by the main family, Zewu-jun and his relations.

A sprawling resort on the eastern shore overlooking expansive ornamental gardens, meditation gazebos, outdoor areas for relaxation and recovery, a private gym, indoor pool, heated jaccuzzi, and even a kids area though he had no intention of living his sons in anyone's care but Wen Qing or Wen Ning.

The receptionist was a polite young man, he had similar refined beauty as all the other Gusu Lan Sect Cultivators he encountered had. Fine, sharp, features with either wide or fine eyes, either dark or slightly lighter. They wore pristine white robes, and their sacred ribbons. None of them had the eyes of a sunset, or the magnetic pull of a child hiding from the sun.

They got the honeymoon suite, three bedrooms, a main room and a large balcony over looking one of the ornamental gardens and the ocean.

Wei Wuxian, Yuan-er and Yu-er would get the room with the biggest bed, Wen Ning and Wen Qing each got their own.

“I am supposed to tell you that Zewu-jun’s younger brother, Hanguang-jun, is also within the resort.” The Sect member that walked them up said, Wei Wuxian hadn’t caught his name, too busy trying to stop Yuan-er from pulling the fish out of the fountian in the foyer, “He is the only other guest at the moment, he is to be left alone.”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes, “Be sure he knows that we’re to be left alone as well. Don’t need anymore Lan hand’s fucking up my patient.”

The poor boy looked scandalized for a moment before he saluted them, leaving so fast he forgot to shut the door.

“Will I ever not be your patient when we’re in company?” Wei Wuxian asked, pushing the door shut behind the poor Lan.

“Yes, when people stop trying to kill you, and other people stop making it easy. You and A-Ning take the boys out for a walk, let them run off some energy after the car ride. I’ll order us some dinner.”

“Yuan-er, Yu-er, lets get out of Qing-ayi’s hair for a bit.” He called to the boys on the balcony with Wen Ning, “A-Ning you better come too, Qingqing is in a mood.”

He felt Wen Qing roll her eyes, he knew she was going to make him pay for that, probably ‘forget’ to order the chili oil, or something similar.

“Diedie, did you see the ocean? It’s so big. Can we go? Please can we go” Yu-er grabbed his pant leg with wide eyes. Xuanyu had the biggest doe eyes Wei Wuxian had ever seen on a child, he drank the sight of everything in like he wasn’t going to see it twice.”

“Not today little sunflower.” Folding his legs, he sat on the floor, holding both of Yu-er’s hands, “Its late, and during this time of the year the water gets cold at night. When you have your first impression of the ocean I want you to love it. We’ll go tomorrow, as soon as the sun warms the water, okay?”

Yu-er considered that with all the gravitas a nine-year-old was capable of. He nodded, said, “Okay!” Before running off to find his brother.

During the adoption proceedings, Wei Xuanyu, at that time Mo Xuanyu, hadn’t wanted anything to do with Wei Wuxian, the idea of adoption, or a younger brother. Until Yuan-er, and his perfectly timed flu, threw up all over Xuanyu’s atrocious aunt. They’d practically been inseparable ever since, forcing Wei Wuxian to move Yu-er’s bed into Yuan-er’s room so he could watch over his brother.

“Take it easy.” Wen Qing said as they stood at the door, “Nothing extraneous, no running, no lifting the boys up, and definitely no holding them. You still have two-hundred and fifty stitches in your chest. The last thing your core needs right now is more damage to try and fix.”

Wei Wuxian smiled at her, “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“I’ll watch over him jiejie.” Wen Ning said.

“See, I have the boys to keep me distracted, and A-Ning to babysit me. I’m all set.” He kissed her cheek, then ducked out of the room before she could threw something at him.

“Gross! Wei Wuxian!” He heard her all but scream before the door swung shut.

The ornamental gardens was manicured lawns and hedges with some purple leafed trees Wei Wuxian hoped were native to the area. Well-maintained moss grew artfully over recreations of historical gates, obelisks, or guardian dragons. a pavilion was built in the middle of the large lake with no walkway, only narrow stepping stones. The boys wanted to attempt the crossing, but he was pretty sure Wen Qing’s ‘nothing extraneous’ included fishing a nine-year-old and a four-year-old out of the lake. And it was occupied. Too far away to make out details, but he could see pristine white robes, a long curtain of black hair, and skin as white as mutton fat jade.

Remembering that the Second Jade of Gusu Lan was also at the resort, Wei Wuxian quickly herded the boys towards the Chang’e courtyard, tempting them with the idea of jade rabbits and a history lesson.

The Moon Courtyard was everything he expected. A monument to Chang’e on one side of the courtyard holding two jars of the famed elixer of immortality, and her husband Houyi on the other looking up at his wife, between them a moon of gentian blossoms sat in the center with four rabbits around the moon.

The boys fell silent upon enter the courtyard. Wei Wuxian couldn’t blame them, there was something about this place that felt more reverent that the rest of the garden. More…personal. It felt like an homage. an honoring. Similar to how he felt in family shrines, or at funerals.

It felt holy.

Keeping the boys respectful as they saluted to both Houyi and Chang’e before they crossed the courtyard and into the hedgemaze on the other side.

“Tag.” Yuan-er shouted, breaking whatever spell had fallen over them in the Moon Courtyard. He slapped Yu-er’s shoulder, “You’re it.” He took off running before Wei Wuxian could even found the words to stop him.

“No, wait. We shouldn’t play that game.” A-Ning said, catching Yu-er's shoulder, “Your die is still hurt. Go, I’ve got him.”

Wei Wuxian walked faster then Wen Qing would have probably been happier with, and walked faster still when he heard tiny sniffles, and a quiet voice.

Rounding the corner he saw a Lan Sect member kneeling in front of Yuan-er, holding a handkerchief to his chin.

Wei Wuxian never minded blood, he could shake off his own injuries as fast as anything, a strong golden core and guidao cultivation ensure, was his delicate balance not screwed up, he could heal from most injuries within hours or days.

Seeing blood on his son however, twisted his stomach unpleasantly. Squeezing his heart, filling his head with white noise.

“Yuan-er?” he was patting his son down, looking for the stab wound, the gunshot, the yao injury, anything that would make the blood on the white silk and Yuan-er’s tears make sense.

“I’m okay diedie.” Yuan-er said, he didn’t look okay. His eyes were wide, red and puffy, fat tears trailed down his cheeks.

Wei Wuxian pulled him into his arms, squeezing him tight, “Are you sure? We can go back to gugu.”

“He fell.” The voice beside him rumbled, polite yet oddly strained, “Scrapped his chin. I believe he is just in shock.”

“Thank you, I-”

Eyes. As gold as at the sunset. Set in a face as beautiful as every lotus blooming, mountain range covered in snow, or one his son's laughter of pure delight. Skin as pure as mutton fat jade.

He knew him, all at once, from seashells returned in ornately wrapped boxes, and caring so gently for a child that was not his.

“Zhan-er. Ah, Lan…Zhan?”

His face lightened as if Wei Wuxian had said a password only the two of them knew, easing from guarded wariness to calm, warm and accepting.

“Wei Ying.”

There was so much warmth in that simple address. The way his eyes roamed across Wei Wuxian’s face like it had been something he had been wanting to see for decades.

His gaze locked onto something at the base of his throat.

Wei Wuxian smiled, touching the pearl, “You kept mine as well…well kind of, you have been giving them back.”

“You said your Furen would not allow you to have them. I believed when you became an adult she could no longer tell you what you were and were not allowed.”

He wasn’t wrong, mostly because when he turned fifteen, an adult by cultivation standerds, she kicked him out of the sect. Something she’d been promising to do since Jiang Fiengmen’s death.

The tiniest sniffle brought both of their attention to Yuan-er.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should take him back to his aunt, get him looked over. Make sure he’s fine.”

He found a hand on his elbow, gently helping him stand,

“I want to see you again.” His cheeks warmed at the sudden, bold, declaration, he buried his face in Yuan-er’s hair, letting out a mortified groan.

A huff, something like a chuckle, or a gentle laugh, “I want to see you again as well.”

He jerked his head up, noting adorably pink ears, smiling at the still beautiful face in front of him.

“Don’t laugh, we’re in the honeymoon suite, I came with my…sister and brother, and my sons, so we needed the extra room.”

It was unfair that he even frowned beautifully,

“Your wife?”

Wei Wuxian scoffed, “Would I be flirting with the second-most eligible bachelor if I were married? Not to mention I am the fourth eligible bachelor on that list. If I were married, you’d have known.” He bent closer, sandalwood drifted across his nose, it was a fitting fragrance for someone so refined and otherworldly beautiful,

“And here I thought were you paying attention to me. You knew when and where I moved within weeks of me getting there, and yet you thought I was married.”

“Diedie, Yuanyuan!”

In the cinamatic history of perfect timings, Yu-er and Wen Ning came around the corner, clamping onto Wei Wuxian’s leg, tugging at them so he could see his brother.

“What happened? Is he okay? Does he need the hosptial like you did?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Wei Wuxian stroked his head slowly, “He just fell and is a little shaken up.”

“I will walk you back.” Lan Zhan said, folding his arms in his voluminous sleeves, “I am staying a few rooms down from yours.”

The warning about not disturbing Zewu-jun’s younger brother now made sense.

“Oh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” He added a teasing lilt so Lan Zhan knew not to take him seriously, “You see, we were warned not to disturb Zewu-jun’s younger brother. And if you come up to my room well…” he let his eyes drift up and down Lan Zhan, “...we’d disturb the whole floor I feel like.”

Wei Wuxian smiled, unable to stop the urge to tease even if he had better control over himself.

Really, if Lan Zhan didn’t want to be teased, he shouldn’t have been so pretty and refined and understanding and kind.

It’s his own fault really.

“Shameless.” Lan Zhan retorted, his ears darkening.

Wei Wuxian laughed, long and loud, like he hadn’t since the Chang Clan and Xue Yang disaster.

“I can’t yet anyways. I’m here to recover and I feel like you would be the ‘extraneous’ activity jiejie warned me to avoid.”

“Do you flirt with everyone like this?” Lan Zhan asked, turning to offer a hand to help Wei Wuxian down the stairs into the Moon Courtyard.

“Only the really pretty Lan’s that return seashells.”

Lan Zhan hummed. He didn’t let go as they crossed the courtyard, pausing long enough for Lan Zhan to make his own bows to Chang’e and Houyi before wondering back through the winding paths they took before.

The pavilion was empty now, of course it was. Wei Wuxian if Lan Zhan had seized the opportunity to arrange a meeting in the hedge maze when he heard them talking the boys out of going to the pavilion.

Wen Qing was waiting for them by the door, she stubbed the cigarette out before Wen Ning saw, her eyes darting between Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan and their joined hands and immediately decided she didn’t want to know a single thing about it.

“Yuan-er fell, I think he just scraped his chin, but could you look at him for me?”

Yuan-er was reluctant to be released, and he settled for leaning against Wei Wuxian while Wen Qing looked over his chin and hands.

“I’ll apply some antiseptic when we get back to the room.” She frowned at him, “You should have put sunscreen on before you went out. I don’t care that it’s spring, the sun is still cancerous.”

“Yes Jiejie.” Wei Wuxian suffered under her care, he really did. No spicy foods, no alcohol, no sex-she didn’t specifically say ‘no sex’ just nothing strenuous. Which is the same thing really-no fun.

Aside from Jiang Yanli, she was the best sister anyone could ask for.

“I am beside you, I will walk you to your rooms. Please disregard the staffs instructions not to disturb me.” Lan Zhan offered Wen Qing the appropriate salute, “I would like the opportunity to know you all further in the coming days.”

“He’s one of the good Lan’s” Wei Wuxian said, putting a hand on Wen Qing’s arm when he saw her stiffen and frown, “I doubt seriously he knows what Su Minshin did, or the Lan sects participation.”

“Su Minshin?” Lan Zhan brows furrowed, he looked at Wei Wuxian sharply “What has happened?” It was a question, but it felt like a demand.

Wen Qing sighed, “Why don’t you…come around for dinner. I can explain everything then. Does the Lan sect still eat at six?”

Lan Zhan nodded, “We do.”

“We’ll see you in an hour. Come one Yu-er, didi, Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian stood, holding Yuan-er.

He stared at Lan Zhan, pristine features staring after Wen Qing.

“She’s making it sound far worse than what it was, really.” He kissed Lan Zhan’s cheek, he wished he flushed as subtly as Lan Zhan, cause right now he was sure his face was as red as tomato, and he couldn’t blame it on the sun.

“See you at dinner.”

He got two steps before he was pulled to a stop. Lan Zhan hadn’t let go of his hand yet.

Lan Zhan stepped up to meet him, his free hand drifting to Wei Wuxian’s cheek. His eyes searching his.

“I…have wanted to give you this for a long time.” He pulled a white envelope out of his sleeve.

Like the boxes it was plain envelope and no fancy seal. Even in its simplicity there was a subtle extravagance in the embossed paper and textured cloud design.

“Do not open it now. And you do not have to answer now, or soon. Just to know it is an option.”

It took every ounce of Wei Wuxian’s self control to not rip open the envelope until after Lan Zhan-apparently forgetting he was walking him back to the room-vanished around the corner.

Wei Wuxian walked over to the stone bench beside the door, slid his nail under the seal and opened it.

The paper was light blue, with a subtle pattern of seashells in hues of cream and blue.

Wei Ying,

If you remember me, I am a friend you once made thirteen years ago. I am Lan Wangji of Gusu Lan. I am a friend still.

If you want, would you join me in Gusu?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That concludes the final three emoji prompt.

thanks to everyone that participated and sent in requests.

A special thanks to Moma (Mdzs-owns-my-ass) for waiting two days longer.

While doing research for this prompt, I noticed the similarities between Chang'e and Wei Wuxian.

Legends vary about when, and why Chang'e ascended to the moon, but there was always the constant theme of rabbits and two bottles of immortality elixer and her husband was an archer.

Wei Wuxian climbed "ascended" the Gusu Sect walls at night, during a full moon with two bottles of Emperor's Smile, later he gave Lan Wangji two rabbits and the Lan Sect uses jade entrace tokens. The Archer is represented both in Wen Ning and Lan Wangji.

MXTX is Chinese, it makes sense that similarities from Mythology and Lore would be in her books, I just thought it was fun to notice it.

Anyway, I'm off to practice writing short oneshots.

[diskmess]

The Breeders - Pod

I’m going to have to be honest about some pieces of myself that are not endearing. This is going to take some time. A long time. I know you can’t wait forever. None of us can. For now, let’s start with two recent occurrences:

I forgot a close friend’s birthday. I have crunched some numbers and determined that there are approximately three hundred and twenty-one adequate excuses I could give you, but they do not interest you now, and they will not interest you tomorrow or in two weeks, and one hundred moons after my last bone becomes indistinguishable from the planet’s crust you will no longer have the faculties to care. I forgot. That’s it.

When I heard of Steve Albini’s sudden passing, I immediately looked up his discography. I pointed at all the albums I knew and failed to take note of the ones I didn’t. Pictured below is one of the albums I pointed at. 

THE DISCOVERY:

I’d been seeing the same vinyl of The Breeders’ debut album at one of my local record stores for three consecutive weeks. I’d appreciate its largeness and jaw-flooring low price for about as many seconds as it cost dollars. Then, I would say something terrible:

“Next time, if it’s still here.”

When I forgot my friend’s birthday, I realized I needed to buy that record. I knew she didn’t have it. I even had a dream about giving it to her: bowing myself in half, head down in deep apology, I presented the record like cartoon butlers present fine cuisine. Surely, it was a prophetic dream. I rushed out there one bleak Monday before work. I got there an hour before they opened. I needed to kill time. I puttered my dying car over to the nearby Wal-Mart, which ended up taking half an hour due to a malfunctioning traffic light. I listened to The Breeders’ Pod while inching forward every thirty seconds or so. 

I escaped Car Jail and looked at bad DVD covers for about twenty minutes. I had my legs carry me back to the parking lot, shuffling my mass underneath the uneven rays of an indecisive sun. It rained. The sun beamed. It rained. The man parked in front of me stared me down as I killed time by filling it with my phone. I tried not to see him.

When I arrived at the record store, the record was gone. 

THE EXPLORATION:

(and that’s hot — )

Most of my days are spent roasting in boxes. I drive dangerously close to half-asleep in a large red oven. My ass plasters itself to the seat. Fans blast barely conditioned air into my twitching eyelids. When I roll down the windows, I can almost stop myself from becoming a sweat factory. When I roll down the windows I make myself vulnerable to 100,000 small imaginary knives, pointing in at me from all the Out There’s commotion. I turn up the radio so I can hear it over the air whooshing. The radio announcer speaks: 

Yesterday, at age sixty-one, we lost Steve Albini. A new Shellac record is set to release in just over a week — he was not planning to die.

I get something down on my chest. 

They play three songs he produced and I’m staring out at the parking lot. Time, which never stops moving, is something we are tasked with filling. Once it is filled, it passes. I have never witnessed something so harrowing as a totally empty hour, thank God, but I know I’ve gotten close. Some days I am dragged along an energetic river full of places and memories. Without even a single thought I am washed over many would-be destinations whose towering landmarks turn to fractions of particles of dust. Other days, I direct its flow:  

“still rolling in the stones run to the log that's rotten and — “

Someday, on a day like any other day, that’ll be it. I will be filling time by making plans to fill some other time with some kind of Goodness. I won’t be thinking about it. And that’ll be it — where I lay, everything I ever gave the gift of motion will be hung upon the world. When it hangs, anyone can choose to bear it. I always choose to bear it on those days where I direct the river’s flow, and I always wake up screaming when the bumps of some beautiful place disturb my lifelong car nap. I catch it blurry in the rearview and start pounding the windows. Oh! Oh God turn around, what was that, what happened, why didn’t you tell me, how could I have been sleeping, where are we going,

And that’s it. Next time, pour water on me ‘til I live again: I promise I won’t forget. Slash my tires if I forget. Make me stay right Here. Make me sponge up every piece of every place I’ve ever passed and make me give it back to the world while the river still drags me along. Let me use its flow to carry these pieces to elsewhere and some other time. Don’t let me be dragged along until That’s It. Don’t let me drop everything there.

[butternuggets-blog]

FOR WANT OF A NAIL

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @wheresthesunshinesblog @adowbaldwin @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont @adarafaelbarba-blog @dogblessyoutascha

Part Fifty-One

Summary:  Baldwin Montclair had a string of ex girlfriends, a single child, and a  lifetime longer than most people could dream of to make all kinds of  mistakes. His family knew one which kept coming out of the woodwork to  irritate him every other century

Also on AO3

TW: Discussions of periods, puberty and the science behind getting pregnant. Also, medieval laundry practises (if you know, you know)

Sept Tours was a labyrinthine structure but Yvette had more or less gotten the hang of it by the end of the first week.

Yvette's work began at dawn. She washed and dressed by candlelight in the servants' quarters in the north-west tower, then followed the current of people trickling towards the kitchens, or stayed in the servants' quarters until Alain came to fetch her.

Alain and Marthe had devised a well-rounded schedule for her, focussing on both mental and physical labour. As housekeeper, Marthe's domain was the kitchen and staff. She ran the bowels of Sept Tours like an army; every person had set tasks to complete each day, including herself, and there was never a moment when she was not redirecting delivers, receiving mail, attending to Ysabeau's needs or teaching Yvette how to balance the castle's finances.

Alain had started out as Philippe's squire, and quickly shouldered the responsibility of steward of Sept Tours shortly after. He took Yvette on a tour of the estate grounds, explaining the upkeep costs and ongoing repairs and maintenance the place required. He also brought Yvette with him to Philippe's study to watch him oversee legal disputes brough to him by the local residents.

'All this will stand you in good stead when you inherit your father's estates.' Philippe said, after Yvette had reported all she had learned to him at the end of her first month in residence.

'How many properties is it that your father owns now?'

'Five,' said Yvette. It was a good lie. She had repeated it to herself so often that she almost believed it was true.

A fortress in Beaune and a townhouse in Dole. Another townhouse in Paris, and a manor in London west of Matthew's lodgings in Blackfriars and Baldwin's in the Square Mile. Martin had also purchased a large residence in Florence, for the view.

Kamb-atsu didn't count. That place was only for them, a true escape from the politics and danger of the outside world. It was to be used in the case of emergencies only, although the rule was slightly bent to accommodate scheming too delicate to be handled anywhere else. Yvette had been there three times- once to memorise the route, and twice for Congregation politics- and Martin had drilled it into her that she must not reveal the fortress to anyone.

________________________________________________________________

Yvette was proud of every single blister she had earned in her first year of service, and nothing had contributed to her newly-toughened hands more than laundry duty.

'Come, petite ombre' Marthe beckoned Yvette away from the breakfast table. 'You will help me with the vats.'

Sept Tours had its own laundry room, so thankfully they didn't have to cart the entire castle's linens to the river for the big wash. Instead, they seperated everything into piles in their respective sections and began.

Silks and wools; spot cleaned. Linen had to be bleached to stop it turning grey; Yvette dumped a load of linen bed sheets, napkins, tunics and hair covers into a wooden tub full of boiling ammonia and stirred them gently with a wooden paddle.

'Time to soap them girl' said one of the laundresses, as she passed.

Yvette used the paddle to fish the linens out, dumping them into an empty tub where she rubbed a bar of rough lye soap along the collars and sleeves of the tunics, and here and there on everything else, paying close attention to sweat stains and discoloured spots.

'Time to wash!' said Marthe, who had popped up by her elbow, smiling.

She helped Yvette haul the sodden cloth into yet another wooden bucket. This time the bucket was full of water and large wooden blocks. Between them they began spreading out the linens over the blocks, then picked up their wooden paddles and beat the soap, ammonia and filth out of it.

By now Yvette was exhausted. She had fallen into contemplative silence shortly into the whole process but others were singing, their voices rises and falling in chorus with their movements.

'There! That is done.' Marthe, sweat-free and breathing easily, lay down her paddle after one final whack. She gestured for Yvette to grab hold of the tub and together they tipped the dirty water down the drain. It was actually a shallow smoothed into the stone floor that channelled spillage outside to the sewage pipe, but it worked.

'Now-' Marthe beamed, '-comes the fun part.'

Everybody dragged their respective piles outside. It was warm, the first crisp breath of Spring pushing past Winter's cold embrace. Lavender shrubs had sprung up, their sticky flowers bobbing lazily. Between them, rose bushes had been planted, some supported by wooden trellises and others standing on their own.

'I think it should be Yvette who decides where we put everything!' said one of the laundresses. There was a loud rumble of approval from everyone. The woman crouched down beside Yvette and pointed.

'What do you think? Shall the linens smell of rose petals or lavender, petite ombre?'

It was the cook who had first called her that, but soon everyone else was too. She didn't mind. In fact, she rather enjoyed it.

Yvette considered the garden for a moment.

'I think it shall be...lavender.'

The women gave a hearty cheer, then fell about laughing.

'Lavender it is,' said the laundress, checking just to be sure that Marthe had given a nod of approval.

****

By the afternoon Yvette was sore and aching, her hands raw from the lye soap and the scrubbing. She felt as if she had washed every piece of fabric in the world; the garden certainly looked that way, clothes and bed sheets stretched over lavender to dry in the sun and soak up the natural perfume.

'You have done us proud today!' Marthe slathered a cold balm across the palms of Yvette's hands, paying careful attention to rub it into her callouses. It stung sharply, and smelt funny, but she'd feel better for it come morning.

'There, right as rain' Marthe smiled. 'And, there is something else I have to teach you before we can both attend dinner.'

Marthe's expression turned serious.

'Now that you are eight, your blood could come at any time.'

Yvette nodded gravely. Jane had already explained to her the intricacies of passing through adolescence.

Marthe's expression softened. 'Someone has told you already? Good.'

She took Yvette by the hand. 'That will make this easier then.'

She led her into the kitchens and a little beyond it. The small door was the same typical oak as the rest of the castle, but it remained locked at all times and only Marthe had the key.

Yvette had never been inside the stillroom before, and she peered about with interest. Labelled jars stacked in rows were sitting neatly on shelves set into the walls that ran the length of the room, interspersed with a few cupboards. There was a firepit and a complicated series of metal and glass apparatus that she quarter-understood by looking, and a long wooden table scored with knife marks.

Climbing up on a stool, Marthe fetched a plain wooden box from a topmost shelf. Inside it was separated into twelve compartments, each one full of dried herbs.

'What do you do know of these herbs?' asked Marthe.

'Parsley for the bowels and the heart,' Yvette plucked a pinch of each ingredient as she spoke, letting the brittle leaves and grains and seeds slip through her fingertips back into their boxes. 'Ginger for stomach complaints. Feverfew for cramps and headaches, Rosemary muscle pain and memory.'

'Sage cleanses poison and venom, and Queen Anne's lace seeds purge water. Mugwort, Pennyroyal, and Juniper root cleanse the womb. Angelica wards against evil, Rue ward off witches, and Tansy treats fever.'

'Inspirée!' Marthe clapped.

Yvette blushed. ' I like growing herbs.'

'Knowledge is power,' Marthe pat her cheek gently. 'No need to apologise for yours. Now, you are going to learn something new.'

Yvette eyed the box.

'These herbs...are for making a special tea, are they not?'

Marthe nodded. 'You will not not need it for many years now but as the saying goes forewarned is forearmed.'

Parsley. Ginger. Feverfew.

Fingers dipped into the box, pinched portions set into pouches shut tight with bits of string.

Parsley. Ginger. Feverfew.

Yvette watched the pot boil and Marthe set the teabags to steep, the steam drifting lazily through the sunshine.

Parsley. Ginger. Feverfew.

Two hundred and fifty nine years later, across a divide of memory and time, a weaver wearing a wedding ring will sit at this exact spot, at this exact table with this box, tying pouches shut tight with thin string and brewing cups of herbal tea herself.

Author's Notes

Petite ombre = little shadow

"Washing" was typically hands and face daily, and a bath every once in a while. Teeth were rubbed with paste of varying qualities every night to ensure they were clean.

Underwear were hand-washed every other day, but the Big Wash as described in the chapter took place every few weeks.

Most girls get their first period around 12, but it can happen as early as 8 years old.

Medieval medical experts understood that sperm (or "seed") was responsible for making a child, but it wasn't until the 1870s that the sperm was fertilising "eggs". In medieval times it was believed the the blood within a womb mixed with the sperm to create a child.

Queen Anne's Lace (wild carrot) was called as such from around the 18th century, possibly for its resemblance to the lace worn by Queen Anne of England.

Inspirée - inspired

[godreallyisawoman]

the-thing-that-isnt-god asked me a question yesterday. about death and the universe and stained glass windows. so I told the-thing-that-isnt-god I don't know what im doing here and I haven't stepped foot in a church in three years, that im not even sure if I could anymore. the-thing-that-isnt-god looked at me with pity in her too many eyes and told me a tale of dandelions and oyster pearls. wove the threads of the sky into my hair and drew stars in blood on my shoulder blades. I couldn't help but flinch at every featherlight touch. the-thing-that-could-be-god came back the next day when I was waist deep in a river I had never seen before. she asked me why I was so reckless and I told her I was trying to wash the blood off my hands. the-thing-that-could-be-god was holding a hummingbird and dripping sugar water from her mouth. she told me the blood would live under my fingernails unless I tore them off. and so I did. better my own blood running down my wrist than someone else's. the-thing-that-is-probably-god sighed five sighs at once and remembered watching me as a baby, crawling through the grass. I can't help but feel I have been a disappointment. the-thing-that-is-probably-god wants me to get up tomorrow and try again. but there are too many teeth on the ground and too much sorrow residing in my bone marrow. I tell god I'll wake up in a week and be better. be good. she shakes her head and lets me sleep. 

[szottesfolditanyak]

valamennyi ayahuasca

...

Roberta Louis:  As you continued to drink ayahuasca, or natem, during your healing, you had some profound visionary experiences. Would you tell us about a couple of these?

Margaret de Wys:  We continued doing healing ceremonies about three times a week. Every time, I was terrified. I would see monstrous visions and spirits. Once, I was forced inside the mouth—the size of a garage door—of a giant anaconda. I passed through diamond-shaped portals, going deeper and deeper, where I was introduced to mysteries.

During one ceremony, the spirits were comically bizarre. Microwave ovens, washing machines, and other appliances flew past jungle palms. The spirits in the trees said, “Oh, your quaint, cozy, oh-so-comfortable life. Hah! You stand at the abyss of nothingness and death.” They assaulted me, saying, “Become your own hero. Sink or swim. Sink or swim.”

Another night, we were on an island in the Pastaza River. Carlos was healing his aunt Tia, who had been suffering from hip and lower abdominal pains. He called, “Ven acá, Margarita.” Then he handed me a pair of rattles. A spirit jumped inside my body and began shaking my arm, sending healing energy into Tia. Then Carlos had me touch Tia’s uterus. A small child popped out from her groin and looked at Carlos and me. We looked at each other—Hey, you saw that, too? The girl flew into the bonfire and disintegrated. The next morning, Tia announced her pain was almost gone and said she had better range of motion.

...

RL: I understand that you experienced Carlos actually shape-shifting into a jaguar in a ceremony. Would you talk a little about that?

MDW: During my first healing with natem, a black jaguar stalked through the night. It paced, circled the healing area, and entered Carlos. The animal in him was seething with power. A growl rose from my throat as an aggressive female jaguar came into my body. My hands turned into paws, claws extended. Carlos and I were fighting. He tried to dominate me. I fought for territorial rights—for the right to survive. People were looking and scooting away. Cat sounds split the air.

A part of me witnessed these extraordinary feats. It’s indescribable to have a wild, untamable animal inside you. I was moving faster—and fighting better—than humanly possible. I had a fierce, unstoppable power. The jaguar in Carlos was wild and brutal. Eventually, Carlos smacked me on the head with a condor fan, and the jaguar left me. The next day, everyone talked about seeing the two jaguars.

[stillxnunpxidintern]

Steddie x Reader Imagine - Daddies And Daughters Day

It was finally the weekend, both Minnie and Rosie had been so excited this passed week, as today was the day that they got to have their Daddy-Daughter day, well more like Daddies-Daughters day.

You had no idea what the plan was, apart from that they were going to Indianapolis. You never asked what they were doing, so that when the girls got back, they could tell you everything that they had done when out. However unbeknown to you, that this day out they planned to got some birthday gifts for you.

They had left about 9 that morning, so that they could make it to the city for around 11. That meant you had a quiet house and took the opportunity to have a bath, without neither of your partners interrupting you, cause it was always one of them two doing it.

But first you took Ozzy for walk, what wasn't long these days as his age was creeping up on him every days. After you were back, you placed on his favourite spot on the couch and decided now was the prefect time for bath.

Once you were dried after the bath, you come down stairs to see that both Slayer and Ozzy were cuddling, what was always adorable to see as Slayer liked to pretend that she didn't care, but since Scoop passed, she was a lot more cuddly with Ozzy but only when there wasn't anyone to watch.

So while you were at home relaxing, the foursome was walking around, well 3 of them were walking, Rosie was on Steve shoulders, so Eddie was holding Minnie hands.

Their first and most important stop was to buy birthday presents. Both Minnie and Rosie had an idea of what they wanted to get you, but both Eddie and Steve helped them and narrow down what the end gift would would be.

So once both girls had picked out their gifts, they head to lunch at their little diner, that they normally went to when had their day out together in the city. After lunch it was Eddie turns to have Rosie on his shoulders, while Steve took hold of Minnie hand.

The rest of the afternoon was spent them having their fun, and walking for hours, so when they got home the girls would be exhausted, so that they would just want to eat and snuggle.

So when they arrived home about 6 that evening, both girls came rushing in and telling you about their day, as Steve and Eddie followed in behind with Chinese food in hand for dinner, and went to the kitchen and put the food out.

The girls told you about what they had for lunch and how they went to Children's Museum and how much there was to do inside, they even had dinosaurs, and then after that they went for a walk down by the river. Minnie was doing most of the talking but Rosie did get her input in as well.

Eddie popped his head around the door and said that dinner was out, so you and the girls headed to the dining room, ready to eat dinner. Though it seems that girls eyes were bigger than their stomach as they could hardly get half way through their plate.

The three of you noticed that the girls were drooping, so told them to go get changed in to their pjs and wash their faces as well. While they went off to do that, the three of you cleared up and covered up all the left over chinses for the following the day for lunch.

After everything was done, the three of you were all the couch with a hot drink each, as the girls came and joined you both, one on each side of you, snuggling into your side, so the 5 of you watched the tv.

Both Minnie and Rosie were asleep by 8, exhausted from the day's activities. You kept them both their till about 8.30, when they were both carried up to their beds by their dads. You in that moment took the cups to the kitchen and got some goodies from the cupboard.

When Steve and Eddie return child free, it was your time to cuddle with them, so you all sat in front of the tv watching a movie and eating the snacks, enjoying the peacefulness of the evening.

[americancowgirl19]

The Hybrid and Her Mates

Summary: How you meet the boys and how you plan to free yourself and them from Max

Warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive themes, implied smut, hints of depression, soulmates

Reader: Female Reader

Pairings: Poly!Lost Boys x Female Reader, Female Reader x platonic OC

Word Count: 3975

A/n: Reader is Max’s sister, she can be blood related or adopted. ‘ve never written for the Lost Boys before and this is supper long! I have plans for a part two that will go into the movie but I’m not sure how well this will do or if anyone will even like it or if anyone will even want to read another part. So, if people want a part two then I will write one but if no one likes this then this will be it, lol.. Let me know what you think!

Masterlist - Part Two - Part Three

You met Dwayne first. You didn’t remember where you were. Hell, you had a hard time remembering when it was. But you did remember how he looked.

He had his long thick black hair pulled back and he was covered in mud. As you thought about it you remembered you were in the outskirts of some city. It was the lower end of the city. The area where people did anything to survive.

Dwayne fought. He was the city’s champion. He never came up against a competitor that he couldn’t beat. After every match he would earn some money which would instantly be spent on rent and food.

You remember watching him for a couple of days in the shadows. You went by un-noticed by the people around you. People didn’t see you unless you allowed them, a little illusion trick you learned a while before.

However, while you were able to hide from everyone else you couldn’t hide from him.

“What’s your name?” He asks, not even glancing at you as he cleans himself up in the river. You looked around but there wasn’t anyone around. It was just you and him. How had he seen you?

“Y/n,” You introduced yourself. You stepped out into the light. Before you knew it you were right beside him. It was like once you started walking you couldn’t stop until you were as close as possible.

“You’ve been watching me for a while,” He notes.

“I have,” You nodded, kneeling beside him. He glances at you. This is the first time you’re seeing him up close. His eyes were captivating. As he washed the mud off of himself his scent began to intensify. It was mouthwatering. 

“What are you?” He asks. You couldn’t help but to smile. He was observant and clever it seemed.

“What do you think I am?” You asked him.

“You’re not human,” He shakes his head. “You’re something more,”

“Curious to find out?” You ask him. He stares at you for a moment before slowly nodding. From that point onward you and Dwayne were practically inseparable. Every day he learned more about you while you learned about him.

It only took a few weeks to realize what you had found.

You had four wonderful months with him. With you by his side he didn’t need to fight as much. With him by your side you didn’t feel so monstrous.

“Dwayne,” You sighed, blissfully as he gently kisses down your neck. He hums as he continued to kiss down your bare body. You don’t say anything else. You just wanted to feel his lips going down your chest and his hands caressing your hips.

“Has my little witch lost her tongue?” He hums, chuckling quietly. You smirked lazily.

“I love you,” You whisper. Dwayne breathes in deeply, his hands gripping you tighter. He slowly travels back up your body. You look into his eyes as his head hovers over yours. He doesn’t say the words back but you know. He pours his emotions through the kiss he plants on your lips.

Using your strength you flip him over and pin him to the bed. He smirks into the kiss. You intertwine your fingers with his, keeping his hands above his head. 

Before you could think to go further another scent hits your nose. A scent that makes your body tense. You pull away from Dwayne and sit back on his thighs. You release his hands and turn to look toward the window.

“What’s wrong?” Dwayne asks, sitting up. His arms wrap around you. You rest your hands on his shoulders.

“My brother’s here,” You whisper.

“Brother?” Dwayne asks, frowning his eyebrows. Your eyes return to his.

“We should have left while we had the chance,” You whisper, caressing his cheeks.

“What’re you talking about?” He asks, his arms tightening around you. “What’s wrong?” 

“Get dressed,” You whisper, kissing his forehead. You didn’t want to leave his embrace but you forced yourself to. “He won’t wait forever,”

“Who’s your brother?” He asks, following after you. You slipped back into your clothing.

“A dangerous and possessive man,” You tell him. “Don’t anger him, Dwayne. No matter what he says, just stay quiet,” You plead with him. “I’m so sorry,” You whisper. Dwayne pulls you into his arms again.

“Relax,” He whispers, kissing the top of your head. “We’ll get through whatever this is,” He said it with so much confidence that you relaxed. By the time Dwayne was dressed your brother knocked on the door.

“Max,” You greeted, reluctantly letting him in.

“Y/n,” He smiles broadly. “I have been looking everywhere for you... If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were avoiding me,”

“What would ever give you that idea?” You ask, tilting your head. “The fact that I move constantly? Keep a low profile? Run at the sight of you?”

“Well, you’re not running now, are you, darling?” He asks, caressing your cheek as if you were a child. Then he glances at Dwayne for the first time. “Because you knew you’d never out run me with him slowing you down,” Every instinct told you to keep Max away from Dwayne but you stayed still as your brother approached your mate. “I should be thanking you,” Max says, holding out his hand. “You’re the reason why I have finally found my sister after... how long has it been? 200 years?” Max asks.

“187,” You corrected him.

“Right,” Max smirks.

“What do you want?” You ask him.

“It’s been 187 years! Can’t a brother miss seeing his sister?” Max asks you. You don’t answer. “It’s time to come home, sister,” Max says. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself,”

Your eyes flicker from Max to Dwayne.

“I go, he stays,” You say. Dwayne’s eyes widen but before he could say anything Max laughs.

“Oh, no,” He shakes his head. “He’s coming with us to make sure you never leave again,” He says darkly.

Unable to do anything other than what Max’s wants, you and Dwayne return to your childhood home with your brother. There you explain to Dwayne what is happening.

“When I joined the family Max was already a grown adult. He had already had a wife and a child on the way but they both died due to fever a few months before I was born. My mother told me it changed Max forever. I don’t know how it happened but one night Max was no longer human. He killed our parents and turned me into the same monster. Only I wasn’t exactly like him. As a child, I showed potential of becoming a witch. My abilities only strengthened as a vampire. Max was obsessed with what I could do and did everything in his power to make me stronger. I was his prized possession but I wanted my freedom. He’s my sire, I couldn’t go against him but he never said I had to stay with him. When I found my loophole I escaped during the day when he slept. I’ve been searching for a way to break the hold he has on me ever since but haven’t been successful yet,”

“And now he has you again because of me,” Dwayne mutters. You smile, running your hands through his hair.

“Fret not, my love,” You whisper. “You only give me more strength to break free,” You said, leaning to kiss him.

Max wasn’t stupid. He knew what you were planning. You may have been strong enough to escape him but he knew Dwayne wouldn’t be. Max forced Dwayne to turn thus tethering your mate to himself. Now you didn’t only have to figure out a way to free yourself but Dwayne as well all the way staying with Max who made it impossible to search for answers.

You met David next almost a century and a half later. You met him on the road in between towns. Max was hunting for something, you couldn’t recall what as it wasn’t important to you. You, Max and Dwayne were hungry. The road was long and there were hardly any travelers.

David road amongst a group of soldiers. He was in irons to be taken to the king. The three of you tore though the soldiers but when Max went to feed on David both you and Dwayne protected him. You took on Max while Dwayne ripped the shackles from David’s wrist.

“Another?” Max mutters. You hated how quickly he had caught onto the reasoning behind your protectiveness. You hated that you had found another soulmate. One soulmate trapped with Max was enough but now there was another? How many more were to come?

David didn’t even know what was happening when Max forced him through the transition. The next few months were tense. You and Max were constantly at each other’s throats. Just because he kept you prisoner doesn’t mean you were completely compliant.

“You need to be more careful,” David muttered, looking over your injuries.

“I’m fine,” You told him. Your wrist was broken and your arm had burns. You’ve had worse. “They’re healing,” David stares at you with a bitchy face. “If I didn’t challenge him then he would know something is wrong,” You explained. “It’s just how things are. I push him, he pushes back, we come to blows, and then the next few weeks are calm,” You said.

“I’ve already tried getting her to stop antagonizing him,” Dwayne tells David. David glances at him but Dwayne keeps his piercing look on you. “It only encourages her,”

“He’s practice,” You told them both. “He doesn’t know it yet but he helps me get stronger. If I’m strong enough I can break the hold he has over us,”

“You don’t even know if it’s possible,” David said, his eyes reanalyzing your burns. He seemed emotionless but he felt relieved that you were healing quickly.

“I have to have hope,” You whisper, looking into his eyes. Gently, you lift you hands and cover his cheeks. “I won’t let us live our entire lives under his thumb,” You told him.

“We might have to,” David says realistically. Your shoulders drop.

“I refuse to believe that,” You snarl, marching away from him. Your entire life has been dictated by your brother. To think that your future would be the same way is heart breaking. You’d rather not live than be his slave for eternity.

You’re forced to stop walking when David speeds in front of you. You glare at him but he just smiles back at you. Your glare scared plenty of people but David and Dwayne were not among them.

“All I’m saying is that there might not be a way to severe his hold but that doesn’t mean we won’t find a way to escape,” He mutters, gripping your chin. 

“You and Dwayne are too young to run from him,” You whisper. “He’s your sire, you’d both return,”

“We won’t be young forever,” Dwayne says, coming up behind you.

“Eventually we’ll be strong enough to leave like you did and we’ll run and never look back,” David promises. “You will be happy,” He vows, pressing his head against yours.

“I love you,” You whisper, your fingers slipping through David’s blonde hair. The words are meant for both of them. David smirks and claims your lips while Dwayne nips at your throat.

Your third soulmate came with the name of Paul. He was a wild man, a street performer. You found him while having some time to yourself during the day. Being a hybrid meant you were able to be in the sunlight but it also meant that you never slept. You haven’t slept for centuries. You don’t remember what it’s like.

You grow bored easily so you often wander around. Max allows it because he knows you wouldn’t abandon David and Dwayne.

When you stumbled upon Paul he instantly captivated you. He preformed tricks and danced in the streets for coins. You didn’t tell anybody about him, not even David and Dwayne.

It killed you to keep Paul from your other to mates. Especially since you knew that he would be theirs as well. David and Dwayne aren’t just your mates but they belong with each other as well. You knew Paul wouldn’t just be yours but you couldn’t force him to succumb to such a life.

But as always, Max found out. Paul had been your sweet secret for barely a week. Max wanted to move on and you stupidly asked to stay. You wanted more time with Paul before you were forced to leave him behind.

Max surprisingly agreed. He agreed so willingly that you should have suspected it... but you didn’t. You were just too relieved and happy to see Paul. Only the next day Paul wasn’t in his spot. That night you found Paul with Max.

“You know, for a witch, you keep your mind open far too often,” Max chuckled before forcing you to watch Paul transition like he did with David and Dwayne.

You cursed yourself for being so stupid. You let your guard down in your happiness at finding Paul. Now you’re the reason your third mate is stuck with your psychopathic brother.

Dwayne and David were annoyed you kept their mate from them. Dwayne was furious. David understood, which lessened his rage, but was still upset. 

You prayed that Paul was the last one. You were responsible for ruining the lives of your three mates. You didn’t want to be responsible for a fourth. You hated yourself for not being strong enough to stay away from Dwayne and Paul. If you stayed from Dwayne and went back to Max you never would have crossed path with David.

David had bragged about his plan to escape their custody. He said it wouldn’t have been his first time escaping the king. It only made you more sorrowful to know he would have been free but instead he’s a prisoner with a man he can never escape.

“Whatcha reading there, lovely?” Paul asks, plopping down beside you.

“A new spell book I found,” You told him. Paul hums, snuggling his head into the crook of your neck. You smile and run your fingers through his hair. He hums and slowly slides his body on top of yours. You laugh as he demands attention and cuddles in a way only Paul does. “I love you,” You whisper, snuggling him closer.

“Hmm, I love you too, beautiful,” Paul whispers, nipping at your skin. You smile closing your eyes. If you could, you knew you’d fall asleep in his arms. You wished you could sleep. You wondered what you would dream about.

While awake you dreamed of your life with your boys. Every few years you’d travel with them before settling down for a few more. You wanted a quiet life as much as you wanted adventure. You had eternity to have both.

You dreamed about visiting libraries with books for miles with David. You thought about the places to hike with Paul. You wanted to visit the oceans and seas with Dwayne. All of your dreams included your mates. All of your dreams had your brother dead and out of the picture.

“What are you thinking about?” Paul wonders.

“I’m plotting,” You whisper to him. Paul smirks, lifting his head to look at you.

“Who are we plotting against today?” He asks, although he knew the answer.

“The whole world,” You told him. “We’ll rule over everyone, have everything we want, and live a life of luxury,” Paul smirks.

“What a life,” He whispers, kissing you.

Paul had come along just under a century after David. Marko didn’t make you wait so long. He came barely a decade after Paul.

Paul had found him on the streets stealing food. Max had been with him. He was a vampire by the time he was brought around to meet you, David and Dwayne. Paul felt guilty since he had been the one to give Marko away to Max. You spent the night reassuring him that he wasn’t the one to blame. If your history has taught you one thing it’s that Max will find any potential piece of happiness and either trap it or ruin it completely.

It was a rare night where Max let you and the others out of his sight. You and your mates made the most of it. Your mates terrorized a local town. You weren’t a vicious eater like they were. Your witch side allowed you to stay more in tune with your humanity and in touch with nature.

Even if you weren’t as vicious as your lovers you didn’t berate them nor try to control them. You knew it was in their nature, you knew they enjoyed it. You prayed for the victims and whispered spells to help their souls find peace but you didn’t try to spare any lives. Your mates were always being controlled by your brother, you weren’t about to do the same thing during their one night of freedom.

You felt a sudden presence behind you. A smile came to your face as an arm reached around you to present a handful of your favorite flowers. You leaned your head down to smell them.

“For me?” You whisper. Marko steps around to face you, his hands till clutching the flowers. He doesn’t say anything but he grabs a single flower and tucks it into your hair behind your ear.

“Beautiful,” He whispers, grinning a bloodstained smile. You were the only spotless one. All of your mates, David included, he was usually a little cleaner than the rest, are covered in blood. “You hungry, little flower?”

“Is there anyone left?” You ask, tilting your head. “You boys have quite the appetite,”

“Do you think we’d let you go hungry?” Marko asks, grabbing you hand to kiss your knuckles. “What kind of mates do you take us for?” He questions, smirking. You gasp when he sweeps you off your feet, holding you against his chest. He nuzzles the top of your hair briefly before spinning you toward the others. “Oh, boys!” He shouts for their attention.

Paul was mid feed when he pulled from the woman’s neck. Excess blood dripped down his chin and you couldn’t help but to lick your lips. Dwayne was dragging his victim toward the others while David was keeping an eye on everything. He had already fed and took pleasure watching the others feed. He was seconds from coming up to you when Marko beat him to it. Even then he was tempted to steal you from him.

“Our lady is hungry,” Marko grins, bumping his nose into the side of your head.

“Come share with me!” Paul shouts before any of the others. “She’s got a little life left,” Paul growls, holding the human close. Marko reluctantly releases you.

You move toward Paul. Instead of biting into the woman your hand wraps around the back of his neck. You pull him close and lick the blood from his chin. He steps even closer as your tongue glides over his lips.

Allowing the human to drop to the ground Paul takes you into his arms and kisses you. The kiss makes your head spin. His scent is mixed with the scent of blood. Before you could help yourself you sank you fangs into his neck.

His head instantly falls back. He moans deeply, his fingers digging into your hips. Your hand leaves his neck to go into his hair. You pull his head even to the side sinking your teeth deeper into his neck.

“How’s he taste?” Marko whispers, coming up behind you. You retract your fangs and lap at his neck.

“Sweet,” You mutter. “Delicious,” You added. Marko hums pressing you more firmly against Paul.

“Just like you,” Marko whispers in your ear before leaning over your shoulder to kiss Paul. Your hands roamed Paul’s side as you listened to the two of them. 

Your eyes wandered over to David, who was watching you like a hawk. Dwayne appeared behind him. You whined quietly as you watched them tend to each other.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Paul mutters. “We haven’t forgotten about you,”

As much as you hated it, you were finally coming around to the idea that you would never escape Max. You had been trapped with him, with your mates, for nearly have a millennium. Maybe David was right. Maybe there was no escaping them.

At this moment Dwayne would most likely be the only one strong enough, old enough to withstand the pull between sire and sired. It would take centuries more before Marko would be strong enough. Even then, Max would find a way to keep you close.

It wasn’t all bad. You had your boys. You felt complete with them. You loved them with everything in you. With them, you could manage a few more centuries with your psychotic brother.

“You’re a hard woman to find,” 

When you spun toward the voice you couldn’t believe who you were seeing. Almost two centuries before you found Dwayne you found another man. A wizard strong enough to escape death.

“Ezekiel,” You whispered. “What are you doing here?”

It was day time. Your mates and brother were asleep in the den. You were out having a small taste of freedom like you usually did when the sun rose.

“Looking for you,” He says, moving closer. “I have something for you... Something you’ve been looking for a long time,”

“No,” You whispered. Ezekiel nods smirking.

“I found the spell,” 

A wide smile breaks across your lips.

“It’s experimental,” He warns you.

“How experimental?” You wonder.

“The spell has only been cast once and everyone died except for the caster,” He tells you. “Now, I’ve learned that you have found your mates and that your brother has sired them,”

“If I cast the spell they’ll die,” You whisper.

“Yes,” He whispers sadly. You close your eyes as you feel the hope you’ve been clinging too disappear. Ezekiel sighs and smooths your hair down gently.

Ezekiel had stumbled upon you a long time ago. You had yet to leave your brother. He was intrigued by you. He had never met a hybrid. He offered to be your teacher, to get you away from Max and you accepted. The two of you ran away together, not romantically. Ezekiel is twice your age but looked far older. He became a father figure since you couldn’t remember your own.

You stuck with him for nearly two centuries. You got separated when you found Dwayne. Ezekiel hadn’t gone with you to the city for some reason, you couldn’t remember. What you do remember is the determination Ezekiel had to severe the bond between you and Max. He wanted you free thus looked for the spell as determined as you were.

“Come with me,” Ezekiel says. 

“What?”

“Leave your brothers, your mates and come with me. Just for a little while. We can work with the spell. We can test it out until we find a way to kill Max but leave the others alive,”

“I can’t just leave,” You told him. “They’re my mates. They’ll never stop hunting me. They’ll think the worst happened or that I betrayed and abandoned them... No, I can’t do that,” You shook your head.

“Y/n,” Ezekiel says, turning your head to look at him. “I’m old, darling, I’ve fought death for two millenniums and I don’t know how much is left in me,” The tears pooling in your eyes begin to descend. “I don’t want to die knowing that you are still trapped. Come with me and I vow that we will figure this spell out. I vow to return you to your mates and when that day comes we will kill Max once and for all,”

[husbandohunter]

May I request a Childe X Reader fanfic where the reader has been pushing herself too hard lately and so Childe has to forcefully get her to rest? ty

By my side [Childe x Reader]//Genshin Impact

Synopsis: You were an artist and he was an adventurer. Two people from vast backgrounds and Childe just wants to spend some time of his busy life with you. However, things didn't really go his way...at first.

(Childe x F!reader. Its all fluff)

(A/n): Perfect request anon. I too, would like to have a Childe in my life. Been getting 5-6 hours of sleep on average 😃😁. Yeah kind tossed some extra ideas with artist s/o, its a perfect reason for anyone to be busy.

============================

Once recieving the permission to take a week off from his diplomatic duties, the first thing Childe thought of was none other than his lovely significant other.

The harbinger knew quite well what lays ahead of his ventures to Liyue. During his quest for the archon's gnosis, he encountered many interesting events, such as meeting the rumoured traveller hailing from afar and a broke yet courteous man who turned out to be the ultimate ruler of this very country he walks upon then there was the battle against a dead god until he revived it using the sigil of permission. All of them were great additions to his story as Ajax the hero, something he always wanted to pursue since childhood. In which, also gave him something nice to write about when preparing letters for his siblings living back home. But little did the harbinger know that he'll one day bump into the heroine. A little too soon. Through your little art shop, he met you, a sweet and audacious woman with plenty of humour. That was how it all began.

While he strides down the streets between Liyue's exquisite buildings, Childe suddenly stops in his tracks and looks up to the sky. There, was painted a scenery of an evening dusk, sun rays relfected across until red and orange hues cast a river stream that led to the ends of the world. He watched the birds follow that streak like it was a path made for them to fly towards. A new adventure. You would have loved to captured this in your pictures.

And then he wonders, what might you be painting right now?

"Hey babe, I'm home~"

In a sing-song voice he calls out to you by your nick-name. You knew that Childe was an active member of the Fatui and that his time was limited, hence he made sure to write to you as well. Of course long distant relationships only makes the waiting more anticipated. When he does pay a visit, you'd run straight into his open arms, leaping off your feet to engulf him in one enourmous embrace. Then his hands will hold against your waist as he spins your round and around in the air, stealing the laughter out of your lungs before planting you back on the floor. Sometimes Childe would consider that being far away wasn't be such a bad idea as long as he was able to experience this, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. However...

"That's great."

He was met by a response similar to the wintry grace of Snezhnaya.

Huh?

All the fantasies he had from earlier shatters in the background as he stands there frozen. You didn't even spare a glance to the entrance, eyes still glued to the large canvas displayed at your front, too busy to even care. Childe clicks his tongue between the awkward silence with an uncertain expression. When there was no signs of initiation on your part, he shuffled his way to where you were and observes from behind.

"Well you're particularly quiet today," he muses to himself, placing a hand over his hip, "I guess that painting of yours must be really important then."

It was obvious that he was trying to nudge you into his favour. Something that you've found endearing was how quickly your boyfriend can be when he's in a needy state. So you quickly twisted over to peck him on the cheek before going back to work.

"That's better," Childe satisfiedly grins, "So who is this project for?"

"It's a commission requested by a wealthy family serving the Qixing. They're really influential in terms of the market and can really give me a competitive edge. I have to get it done in five days."

His tone flactuates as he squints his eyes, "Five days you say," he disliked the news of your schedule taking over his own, Childe only managed to take a week off and after that, he'll be away for quite some time, "Why don't you take a break? From the looks of your progress, it seems to me that you've been working on it for hours. I've got plenty of interesting stories to tell and you know, nothing can compare to sharing a warm meal within your company," he leans down to your ear level, "How does that sound?"

Several seconds went by as he waits for some sort of reaction, "Oh. Right," you blurted out and the harbinger only smiles, "I made some food earlier this morning. You can go help yourself if you're hungry."

Today was not his day.

Childe pulls out the wooden chair and slumps into the seat, a defeated huff escaping his mouth as he stared at the crystal shrimp placed on the table. It was hastily wrapped by plastic, most likely cold for a while, just like the romantic evening he had planned in his head. Normally you'll be sitting on the otherside while listening to the many tales he went through along the way. Although painting was your passion, it was undeniable that you also enjoyed his kind of lifestyle if you ever had the choice. He was rather surprised on how someone ambitious like him would end up with such a simplistic person but quickly accepted it as life was meant to be unpredictable, just the way he likes it. As Childe entertains you with his stories, he'll listen to your giggles amidst eating the homecooked meals that you both prepared together.

"I wonder if she ate already," he mumbled to his lone self. You most likely did but Childe knows you well. Artists are obsessed and they can go as far as to neglecting their own health for the sake of their masterpieces. Hence, he made sure to remind you to eat properly through the letters he wrote to you.

The harbinger takes a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. The cupboards were slightly opened, metal pots were still displayed on the stone stove and the stench coming from the sink....

Childe pushes himsel up to see what was the cause.

Not even the dishes were washed.

Running his fingers through his bangs, he sighs wearily, "Old habits die hard huh?" And above all else, when artists are obsessed they also forget how disorganized they can become. Childe begins to roll up his sleeves before taking off his gloves. At times like this he'll have to pitch in and take care of it for you, "Looks like I'll be here for a while."

Throughout three sunsets and three moonrises, Childe had no option but to observe you from afar, minus the few attempts he made to regain your attention again. How you would go to bed much later than him, waking up before he opens his eyes and the effort he put into making your food only left with too many leftovers. It wasn't that you were unappreciative, instead, your mind had become too focused that your body was considered a second priority. Like anyone else, Childe genuinely thought you possessed great talent and supports you wholeheartedly. He loved it when you painted pictures just for him as if they were scenes coming out of his hero story, reminded by his adventures, capturing every detail. However he also needed to learn how to deal with this stubborn side of yours.

"Hey babe, I just finished preparing our dinner. Don't you smell that? Such a rich aroma, you should go eat."

"I'm busy."

Your diet were just small bites, the rest being substituted by coffee. Childe could clearly tell that you weren't getting enough sleep either as there were dark circles forming underneath your eyes and slowly, he was starting to become a little irritated.

Three hours passed midnight but you were still awake in the same place doing the same thing. Childe leans against the doorframe with arms folded, already changed into his sleeping clothes. He clears his throat to break the silence, "Ahem."

Your wrist hangs in mid air by the sound of a strange visitor, it was your boyfriend. Gaze in a daze, you lazily turned your head, "What time is it?"

"Way passed the sleeping hours as you can see," he points with his thumb at the table clock in a half-hearted manner, "You should already be in bed by now and don't think you can coax yourself out of the situation this time," his eyes parted in slits as he added with a smile, "Otherwise I might just have to force you myself."

You shook your head, "Give me one more hour? There's some finishing touches I really want to add so," clasping your hands together, you beamed sweetly, "Pretty please? I'll finish up soon."

"Oh really?" Childe challenges, head tossed back like he was interrogating you instead, "I believe that was also what you told me yesterday. And the day before? Adding up all of those days that would be.....four in total?" He deliberately counts upon his fingers before facing you again, this time his expression was slightly more serious, "As much as I find your determination remarkable, there are moments when you need to consider a sufficient amount of rest and this just isn't going to cut it."

"Four days already?!" You exclaimed, "Jeez, I don't even know if I'm halfway done."

Pressing his lips together, Childe glares in an acutely deadpanned countenance, it was also his time too, "Can't you ask this commissioner to extend your due date to next week? In your case, mora shouldn't be the issue since, well...you're dating me anyways."

It's true. Childe was the main reason why you didn't have to live as a starving artist. He had all your expenses fully covered from the marketing aspect to your residence, you simply chose to work out of pure will.

"I don't want to always rely on you so much," you confessed, "This commissioner could turn my whole career around. If I'm able to gain his favour, maybe I'll get promoted to a court painter for the Qixing! Who knows when there will ever be a chance like this again," pumping your fists, you spoke purposefully, "I'll pull an all nighters if I have to!"

Childe brings his hand to his forehead, you looked as if you were nearly about to collapse and yet still considering the option of an all-nighters? The harbinger should've detained you days prior before.

"Hm? Childe, what's wrong?" He suddenly falls deadly quiet and you watched him walk closer towards you, "What are--"

Hooking an arm behind your knees and the other at your back, your boyfriend lifts you up in one full swoop as he tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Guess we'll have to do things the hard way," he remarks cheerfully.

"W-Wait," you flailed your arms and kicked your legs but to no avail. Childe was an experienced combatant indeed, "Put me down! I have work to do."

Your protests fall upon deaf ears as the harbinger carries you to your room. You were oddly lighter than the last time he carried you, the strength less vigor than before, it was obvious that your body was in need of relaxation. He suddenly thinks there was a possibility that you would maintain this habit while he was absent.

I should probably visit more often.

Using his free leg to nudge the door open, he places you upon the shared bed in a gentle manner. You winced at the impact of the soft sheets, surprised by how much it affect you.

"There we go. All done. Man, you really are a stubborn one, aren't you. Makes me a little worried since I can't spoil you all the time."

He quickly invited himself to the empty space on your bedside and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you close and feeling you whole. Childe made sure there was no escape once putting his chin above your hairline so that you could feel his warmth as much as possible.

"This is--" you stuttered. His tactic was enough to make your limbs soften and you could almost hear him smirk into the distance, "This is cheating..."

"You think so?" He comments as if pledging innocence, "I don't know babe. Where I come from those who take the initiative are the ones who end up claiming the prize," pulling back, Childe takes the opportunity to observe your pouty face, "I don't make the rules. It's just how it goes."

You wanted to argue back but he suddenly took the bedsheets and covered both of your bodies with, completely trapping you with his presence. He snuggles into you further as if you were a bear made of linen and you felt the drowsiness taking over your mind. The way he gently pats down the back of your head was enough to instantly lull you into a deep sleep.

"Cheater," you mumbled.

He laughs softly, the rumbles emitting through his chest, "I love you too babe."

Even after you've let go of your resistance, Childe continues his actions until he was sure that you were resting. He had been longing to touch you like this since living a chaotic life only made peaceful moments much sweeter, "You're such a hard-worker you know that? I'm proud of you but you have to know when to call it a day," he whispers, "If not, how can I go on trips while knowing that you're still refusing to eat properly?"

You closed your eyes and said nothing in return. All your senses were too cloudy to come up with a reassuring response. Childe listens to the way your breath evens as you intake his scent during the process. It smelled like the soap you used in the showers, lotus leaves mixed with his own unique musk. You could only focus on him. His comforting embrace. His slightly accelerating heartbeat because you were together with him.

Letting out one final yawn, you succumbed to his spell and allowed your energy to drift away.

The corners of his lips tug upwards, "Sleep well princess."

Childe reaches over to your desk drawer and shuts off the alarm clock before turning over to face you again. He couldn't fall asleep immediately, not when he had to consider taking care of the commissioner who gave you an impossible deadline. But that will be saved for another day, for now, he observes in silent serenity.

If he were to quit his job for a year, what would his life be like?

Peaceful. Something opposite of what he was living right now. Something similar to the life he had back home. As you arrange the many paintings in your little home, he'll offer to help you among the places you couldn't reach. Without a doubt, Childe was far taller in comparison. Taking strolls into the streets and trying the new dishes the merchants came up with. Then in the evenings, you'll both go to dinner dates while listening to the storyteller revealing the rumours of the legendary Tianquan Qixing. Although Childe loved the adventurous life he led, he had to admit that your domesticity and family-bringing atmosphere was a tempting idea.

Maybe one day.

He lightly takes a strand that had fallen over your nose and tucked it smoothly behind your ear. The soft snores coming out of your parted lips caused his gaze to melt. And so he steals them with his own, placing a chaste goodnight kiss.

One day I'll be sure to bring my family here with us.

Closing his eyes, he joins you in your slumber, hoping to see all that he envisioned in his dreams.

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV- Part 1

I've seen a lot of the memes going around, but I'm not funny enough to write that, so here's my addition to the trend :p

This is part one, because I had a lot of fun with this and want to do it more.

- - -

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

- - -

Sometimes, it was odd for the residents of the Dream SMP to be reminded of the fact that the constant state of chaos that their server was in was not, in fact, reflective of every server.

"Why did we move here?" One woman in Snowchester whispers to another as the sirens go off for yet another nuke test and they duck down into their bunker.

The other shrugs. She doesn't have an answer. No one does.

Things started out all right, the people supposed. There weren't any wars, at least. Some of those who lived on the server before the Revolution could remember back far enough to tell you about the first true conflict, between Dream, the creator of their home, and TommyInnit, a sixteen-year-old who could yell shockingly loud, even for a teenager. Dream fought against Tommy and Tubbo (yet another teenager), and it seemed to all be in good fun.

Some will tell you now, though, that the signs of tension were already there, and when Wilbur Soot joined, those tensions only escalated.

One moment, things on the server were normal, the next, there was a Revolution.

"Did anyone else hear Dream shouting about 'white flags' this morning?" One person would ask their friends, and receive nods in return. "Anyone know what it's about?"

"A Revolution," one would respond. "Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are starting a new country."

"Oh," the first would hum. "How long until they get completely crushed?"

"Eh, I give 'em a week."

It was only a week, but it did not end the way anyone thought it would. Instead, L'Manburg gained its independence after TommyInnit gave up his discs once he lost a duel with Dream.

"Is the L'Manburg cabinet missing someone?"

"No, I don't think so. Anyway, did you hear that Dream just declared that Eret is to be crowned king?"

"...Can he do that?"

"He's Dream. He can do whatever he wants."

After the Revolution, when the server finally had more than one ruling faction, more than one place to live, things seemed to pick up a bit. President Soot, with Vice President Innit (VP Tommy, the people called him), ruled over L'Manburg, and called it a place of freedom. When word spread to other servers, people came to see for themselves.

And often, they stayed.

It was peaceful, for a while.

"President Soot announced he's holding an election," one man said to his wife one day.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Said it was for democracy." The man snorted. "He and Innit are the only party running, though. Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me."

"Darling, I know you're still salty about losing the war, but there's no reason to talk bad about a child," his wife said.

The man wrinkled his nose. "Still."

It was peaceful during the campaign.

For a while.

Then, though, Quackity announced that he was running for president, with GeorgeNotFound, best friend of Dream himself, as his running mate.

"This feels like a sitcom," one girl says as she watches the debate reruns with her friends.

"At least it's entertaining," her friend replies, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

And, for the people of the Dream SMP, from both L'Manburg and the Greater SMP, it was entertaining.

Until the election results came in, Schlatt was declared the winner, and President Soot and VP Tommy were banished.

"Dude, dude!" One teen says to their friends, running up to meet them on the Prime Path.

"What is it?"

"I just saw Technoblade join the server!"

The arrival of the Blood God shifted something in the people of the Dream SMP. When he joined Pogtopia, the rebellion being led by the two ex-leaders of the country, the people felt something settle within themselves.

All of a sudden, choosing sides wasn't as simple as where you live.

It was what you care about.

As the son of the ex-president burned down the old flag, the people of the Dream SMP, of (L')Manburg and of the Greater SMP, realized suddenly that they had to make a choice.

Without even wanting to, without doing anything to deserve it, they would have to fight.

Some people went to Pogtopia, some stayed in Manburg, some in the Greater SMP. Those in the latter two stayed where they were because they wanted to stay out of it.

It didn't change anything, in the end.

In Manburg, they watched their president (Emperor) fall further and further into alcohol, yelling at his cabinet and talking of expanding into territory that they had no right to.

In the Greater SMP, murmurs of King Eret's attempts to assist the Pogtopia rebels filled the alleyways.

In Pogtopia, people sat and watched the decline of the man that they had all once believed in. As Wilbur Soot slowly devolved until he was no longer recognizable as the man who had once led people to freedom, the residents of Pogtopia ate potatoes farmed by a man famous for his bloodlust and pretended that they were sleeping somewhere warm.

The day of the Manburg Festival, though, things felt better. Other than ex-president Soot and ex-VP Tommy (Wilbur and Tommy, the two insisted. No one listened), everyone, even the rebels in Pogtopia, were invited to attend. The people wandered through the stalls playing games, watching as Soot's son attempted (in vain) to drown Technoblade, buying food, and chatting with people from other factions, friends and family that they hadn't spoken to in weeks.

When the time came for the speeches, before the true festivities were set to begin, everyone was feeling good about the day. People congratulated Secretary Tubbo for a successful event, and offered him small words of encouragement for his speech coming up. The teenager would grin at all who spoke to him, and looked (rightfully) proud of how well he organized and decorated the festival.

Secretary Tubbo gave his speech, and people clapped, and then fell silent as President (Emperor) Schlatt laughed, asked for his Vice-President's assistance, and encased the teenager in a cage of concrete.

And then he called Technoblade to the stage.

And then, in front of the people of the Dream SMP, a teenager was executed in a spray of color that shot toward the sky.

Fireworks rained down on the people in the stands, then, and, regardless of where they were from, the people of the Dream SMP ran.

The Pogtopia ranks grew that day, and a nineteen-year-old who claimed to be a doctor without showing any credentials forced four other people to help her heal VP Tommy after he fought Technoblade in a pit, egged on by a man who once might have called himself his brother.

"How is this kid not dead yet?" One of the helpers asked, looking at the unconscious teenager's face.

"Pure spite?"

The first hummed. "Sounds about right."

One day, a bit after the festival, the people of Pogtopia woke to find Vice President Quackity walking through the ravine as if he owned the place.

One resident was noted to rub his eyes, blink three times, and then say, "It's too early for this shit," before heading back to bed.

A surprising number of people followed his lead.

Finally, the day of November 16th came, when Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit vowed to take their country back.

"I heard President Soot is planning to blow up L'Manburg," one Pogtopian woman mentioned to her friend as they suited up and prepared to fight, as they had signed up to be part of the forces.

"That's stupid," her friend replied.

"Bet you ten diamonds he blows something up."

"Fine."

As the country of L'Manburg blew sky-high, one woman was seen following another, screaming that she wanted her diamonds.

When Pogtopia won the war, the forces from both sides sat outside of the remains of the van as President Soot, VP Tommy, Secretary Tubbo, Dream, Technoblade, and many more, all piled inside to confront Emperor Schlatt.

They emerged fifteen minutes later, and Dream announced to the crowd that Schlatt was dead.

There was no time for the news to sink in, as they played hot potato with the presidency, going from VP Tommy to Wilbur Soot to Secretary Tubbo.

"President Soot is leaving, do you see that?"

"Probably going to the river to celebrate the win, if you know what I mean."

"Literally shut up. Never speak again. I hate you."

As the newly-inaugurated President Tubbo finished his speech, the people felt a wave of relief wash over them. Maybe the server could finally be peaceful once more.

Then, there was the tell-tale hiss of explosives under their feet, and the people ran as the ground beneath them fell away.

Stories of what happened next are conflicting, to say the least.

Words of President Soot dying in the explosion, of him turning the blade on himself, of another man killing him.

"He had wings," people who saw the man said. "Blonde hair, a green hat and robes. He stabbed Soot with the guy's own sword."

Technoblade apparently gave an incredible speech, and anyone who was there to witness it lamented that they hadn't recorded it.

Then, two Withers flew through the sky, and blood ran down the newly-exposed stones, and people who had never experienced death on the server before finally knew what it was like to die.

Afterward, though, when the anarchist had fled and the ex-President lay dead, President Tubbo, with VP Tommy by his side, stood and addressed the people, and made promises of a brighter future, and the hope and determination in his eyes was enough for the people to hope that maybe he was right.

("Whoa, cool wings, dude," a resident of L'Manburg said to their newest neighbor, a man in green with wings, burned across all the feathers, sprouting from his back. "Wait, what happened to them?"

"Oh, I was protecting my son from the explosion," the new resident replied.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Is your son all right at least?"

"No, he died just a few minutes afterward. His last life, too." The man sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, he probably deserved it."

A beat. "What did he do?"

"Well, you may have heard of him. Wilbur Soot? He was the president here before Schlatt, I believe."

"...Holy shit, you're the bird man that killed President Soot!"

"Yeah, mate, that's me."

"...He was your son?"

"...Yeah."

"...What the fuck is wrong with your family?")

[author-morgan]

"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" with eivor please... Maybe he rescues reader from the order after they had been used for different experiments or something

i am so sorry for how long this took, but I had to come up with the right plot bunny to pair with the prompt for some angst(tm). here you are, i hope you enjoy and don't mind the touch of Havi and Frigg, or in which Havi makes a promise to his sweet Frigg and keeps it even in the next life.

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

SÝNIN CIRCLES IN the clear sky above the longhouse of Ravensthorpe, and then you know your husband is not far now. Soon Eivor Wolfsmal will be back in your arms, where he belongs. The raven descends, coming to perch on your shoulder, nudging his beak against your temple —as much as you’ve missed Eivor, you’ve missed Sýnin in equal measure. Things could get surprisingly lonely without a tetchy raven around to croak at all hours of the night, steal your hairpins, and beg for treats. Reaching up, you scritch the blue-back feathers on his belly and are rewarded by a low, gurgling croak. “Have you been behaving yourself?” Sýnin bobs his head, but you have a gut feeling he’s lying for the chance at a few extra treats.

Taking to the docks, you watch along the river bends for the sail and masts of the longship. The blue-and-back sail and shields turn from the west —squinting, you can see him standing on the curved scorpion tail, looking onward to home. With a nervous smile, you rest your hand over your belly, knowing soon it will start to grow. You’ve much to tell him since he’s been gone the past weeks, building alliances with Saxon nobles across England.

“Eivor, my love,” you call, meeting him at the edge of the dock as he steps off the longship. His smile is tired but relieved when he looks upon you with Sýnin perched upon your shoulder —the best ‘welcome home’ he could ask for. You open your arms, embracing him as the crew disseminates among the settlement. Eivor pulls back, his hands —rougher than you remember— cupping your cheeks.

There’s something different in your expression, a new glow surrounding you that he cannot place. Regardless of his racing mind, he leans forward as you urge him down with a hand at the nape of his neck. It’s been weeks, and he sighs against your mouth, the burdens of the world washed away by your touch and kiss. “Walk with me?” You ask, holding fast to his hand. He nods, offering his arm. Word of the recently secured alliance can wait; he has been parted from his wife too long.

You lead him past the longhouse, the people of Ravensthorpe smiling as they see Eivor has returned and know what it is you’re going to tell him. Once Valka confirmed your suspicions, it hadn’t taken long for word to travel by way of two mischievous children.

Everyone is happy; and happy for you and Eivor, knowing you two had tried to conceive many times. Stopping beneath the great tree past the Seer’s Hut, you turn with a smile —hand settling on your middle. “I’ve good news to tell you.” Eivor lifts his brow, and your smile only widens as you reach for his hand, pressing it against your belly. He sucks in a deep breath, heart thudding in his chest and ears as he looks to you, his clear blue eyes wide with joy and surprise. You nod, resting your hand over his. “I am with child.”

Eivor is silent for a moment, gathering his words and emotions. He looks down at your belly, then back to you —overjoyed and uncertain. This is a moment you’ve only ever talked about; that he’s dreamt of when the gods were kind enough to let him have a good dream. “I’m going to be a father?” Eivor breathes, though it sounds more like a question. You nod again, eyes gleaming with tears as he rests his other hand on your stomach too. His smile too large to be hidden under his shaggy golden beard. There’s another moment’s pause, then Eivor slips his arms around you, bringing you into a tight embrace —his face tucked into your neck.

You lose track of how long Eivor holds you in his arms as if it all is only a dream and he may wake at any second. Stepping back, he takes your face into his rough hands, brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. Eivor dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours before your lips meet —gentle and loving but still burning with fervor from the weeks of being parted from one another.

“You’ve made me the happiest man in Midgard,” he admits. You lean into him again, taking another kiss before he settles onto one knee in front of you, level with your belly. Eivor rests his forehead against your front, his hands loosely holding onto your hips. “Rest easy, little one.” Smiling, you brush back his golden hair —half-unbound from his warrior’s braids and knotted. “I will protect you and your mother.” It’s a promise.

“EIVOR,” RANDVI CRIES as he enters the longhouse, tears still fresh on her cheeks. She should not have let you go riding outside of Ravensthorpe alone, especially knowing you were with child. He clasps onto her shoulders, steadying her so she can gather her senses. “It’s Fulke.” The script is fresh in her memory, having read it a dozen times over to be certain of the ill-boding tidings. Randvi shakes her head, unable to meet her friend's concerned gaze. “She’s taken more than just Sigurd.”

“No,” Eivor breathes, but Randvi presents the scroll as proof. He skims the words —his worst fears coming to fruition. Not only did Fulke hold his brother captive, but now the conniving bitch had stolen you away too. You. His wife. The mother of his unborn child. He’d sworn to protect both of you with every breath in his lungs, and now it is an oath broken.

The sudden anger boiling under his skin is so hot it burns the fear freezing him, turning to determination. Eivor crumples the parchment, his expression twisting —no god can save you now, Fulke. “Send word to our allies.” Randvi nods, stepping back to the writing-table at the edge of the map room. “I will burn all of Wessex if I have to,” Eivor grits out, hands turning to fists at his sides as he leaves the longhouse to gather his men —a part of him feels as though he has walked this path before.

HAVI STRIDES THROUGH Fensalir with a deep sadness in his heart, but his agony cannot compare to that of his sweet Frigg. For three days and three nights, his queen has asked for solitude, and though it pained him to keep away during such times, he and the others respected Frigg’s wishes. Though Havi would not leave his dear wife to grieve alone, sending Huginn and Muninn to keep a watchful eye over the Queen of the Æsir. The two ravens are perched upon a stone bench at the edge of the fen. Thor glances over his shoulder at the approaching footsteps —his expression is weary and grief-stricken as he looks upon his father.

Gently, your son releases you from his tight embrace and rises, stepping back with a silent promise to return soon as he greets his father with a solemn nod before leaving. Havi pushes back his hood, seeing the white flowers spring from the earth with your tears. Baldr will be remembered —in deeds and songs and the blossoms brought forth by his mother’s tears. He kneels, reaching for your hands, and slides the bloody sprig of mistletoe free from your grasp. Through weary eyes, you look upon your husband —his expression twisted into the same display of forlorn grief. It makes your heart ache even more to have pushed him away, for he too lost a son. “Frigg,” he sighs.

“Havi,” you cry, falling into him. He swathes you in his black cloak, tucking you against his chest and holding you tight —a vow of retribution on his tongue. Loki would be punished for this crime. For all the realms felt the bitter void left by Baldr’s absence, and all wept, save for a giantess whose unshed tears doomed your son to Hel. The grief and anger simmering in his blood turn to something else —determination. He will not have his sweet Frigg endure this pain again; his one-armed embrace tightens as he cradles the back of your head. “I will not let another of our children fall,” Havi swears, lips brushing over your temple. “Not until our twilight has come.”

HE TWISTS HIS hands into Fulke’s leather-and-cloth armor, throwing the madwoman to the muddy and blood-slick ground. Fulke spits blood, pulling herself away from Eivor Wolfsmal on hands and knees only to find herself surrounded by his men and allies. All their weapons drawn, trained on her. The price for taking the Jarl of Raven Clan and Eivor’s wife is one to be paid in blood, and there is nowhere for her to run. She will have to suffer the wrath. “Where is she?” Eivor roars, kicking Fulke onto her back. He kneels, knee pressing into the bloody gash on her side, one of his throwing axes withdrawn and held high above his head —ready to strike.

There is no fear in her eyes, only bliss. Her work in this world now complete. “You made a choice,” Fulke laughs, choking on blood, “you chose Sigurd.” She coughs, blood-tinged spittle spattering against Eivor’s face, washed away by the pouring rain.

He roars, teeth bared and eyes burning hot with the rage of the gods. Lightning splits open the sky, thunder cracking like a great whip against the earth. “I will flay the skin from your bones and feed your eyes to my raven,” Eivor hisses.

Her smile is bloody —victorious. She knows you are leagues from here, and now the only ones who know are dead or dying. Eivor Wolfsmal could search the land for years and never find the seaside cave on the shores of Cent. “You’ll never find her,” Fulke says. One final victory before relinquishing herself to darkness and her wounds.

Eivor rises, his shoulders heaving and expression twisted. There is no time for a reunion when Sigurd limps from the fortress —clutching the stump where his hand and wrist once were— reinforcements from Wincestre draw nigh. The cry of war horns and drums echoing above the storm. He turns to Dag and Hrefna, eyes flitting over to his brother, unfit to fight in the coming battle. “See him back to Ravensthorpe,” he tells them before shifting his attention back to his allies. The day is not won yet, and Eivor will not rest until he has his beloved back in his arms.

ABOVE THE BREAKING waves of the sea, there is a whisper on the howling wind. Eivor looks to the sea below, then to Basim —his scouts working tirelessly since the siege of Portcestre nigh a fortnight ago to find leads. The culmination of their work leads him and Eivor to the southern edge of Cent to a cave guarded by Fulke’s acolytes. Eivor knows the gods are with him this day, as plain as if the Allfather whispered the affirmation into his ear.

The echoes of battle fill the air, and through the slivers of light above, you see shadows moving and hear the unmistakable cry of a raven growing closer —Sýnin. Rousing from uneasy rest, you clamber to the upturned bucket at the cell’s center, dragging chains behind you. Trembling, you clutch your swollen belly, then step up onto the bucket, fingers finding purchase on the metal grate above, slick with blood and excrements. Sýnin appears at the edge of the grate, his beady eyes staring down at you in the darkness, tilting his head this way and that. He hops up and down —talons clinking against the metal— before squawking wildly.

Eivor’s focus shifts from the dead littering the beach when he hears Sýnin inside the cave, and for the first time in weeks, you hear your name in his voice —a desperate plea. “Eivor!” His name is only a soft, airy rasp, not strong enough to carry with the raven’s calls. “Eivor!” You cry, this time louder, but your voice is broken, throat raw from days screaming and crying at the hands of Fulke and her enforcers. Sýnin’s squawks grow louder, mingling with footsteps.

The wave of relief almost shatters him when it hits and washes over his body and mind when he sees you —alive. Eivor reaches through the lattice, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve got you now,” he breathes, the torchlight showing the tears glistening in his clear blue gaze. You nod, smiling with cracked lips —thanking Frigg and Freyja that your prayers did not go unanswered. Eivor urges you to step down and aside, and when you do, he rears back, slamming the butt of his axe against the rusting lock, breaking it. With a sharp cry, he throws open the grate, sliding down into the darkness with you.

Hands trembling, he unlocks the manacles around your wrists and the shackle around your ankle. Each has left your skin red and raw beneath. Eivor gathers you in his arms. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says, lips brushing against your temple. You nod, eager to be rid of this damp and foul hole in the earth. Sýnin takes to your shoulder as soon as you are free, nudging his head against your temple and cheek. With a tired smile, you lift a hand to scritch the dark feathers of his underside as Eivor pulls himself free of the cell.

Eivor kneels, reaching for your hands, his thumbs brushing just above the broken skin on your wrists, and as you lean toward him, he swathes you with the coarse wool of his cloak —forehead pressed against yours. He feels the dampness on your cheeks as you press your face against his scarred neck. "I won't let anyone hurt you again,” he vows, “you're safe now.” One of his hands settles on your stomach, and you cover it with yours, holding him tightly with the other. “You’re both safe,” he whispers, and it’s only when he feels a light twitch against his hand that the realization breaks him. “I’m so sorry, my love,” Eivor chokes.

You draw back from his embrace, seeing the tears streak his face and the guilt clear on his expression. “Don’t blame yourself,” you plead, cupping his scarred cheek. “Please, don’t.” Eivor nods, though guilt still weighs heavily on his heart and will until he sees you safely returned to Ravensthorpe and tended to. He turns farther into your hand until his lips brush the center of your palm —a soft kiss, another promise.

Sýnin croaks, splashing in a puddle, and breaks yours and Eivor’s trance, reminding you both that you’re still in a cave, far from home and where you belong. He slides his arms beneath your knees and around your shoulders, rising with you. “You’re safe,” he repeats, more for himself to hear than you. Eivor breathes a deep sigh when he steps onto the beach, holding you close in his arms. Sýnin flies overhead, as do a pair of ravens — the same pair Eivor has seen in dreams of late. He smiles as he sets on the path carrying you up the cliffside, knowing Havi and Frigg had both heard his prayers.

[taglist:  @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

[whimsicallyreading]

For Day 29 of Rowaelin Month

“A song fic-“

The song- “Always Been You” by Quinn XCII

CW- Mentions of miscarriage and divorce

"I can't believe you right now."

Rowan looks at his wife in frustration. She's sitting at the end of their bed, staring listlessly at the wall. The skirt of the red dress she's wearing is wrinkled, and his heart aches when he notices the mascara marks on her cheeks.

"Aelin," Rowan tries again to reach for her, but she leans away from his grasp.

"No, Rowan. I'm done."

Rowan takes a long swing from the beer in front of him. The time on his phone alerts him that he's spent most of the evening sulking at his bar.

The guys had invited him to dinner, but Rowan hadn't felt like going in light of his current situation. Instead, choosing to meander to the shady little pub they'd passed by coming from the airport.

His lawyer had sent him numerous emails. Documents to sign, agreements to approve, and papers he needed to read through before sending them to the judge.

Divorce was a pain, and Aelin wasn't making it easy.

"Hey, bud. I thought I might find you here." Fenrys slides onto the barstool next to his.

Rowan sighs and rubs the lines forming on his forehead. "Well, I thought it was obvious I didn't want company."

"Too bad. Drinking alone isn't a good look on you." Fenrys raises a hand and motions for another round of beers. "How are things going with ya know?"

"Shitty. She's never paid a dime of rent on that apartment, but she wants the lease signed into her name and for me to front the first four months of rent." Rowan cracks a peanut between his finger. He has no intent to eat the growing pile in front of him. He just craved the satisfaction of breaking something.

"Well, have you talked to her about that?" Fenrys frowns in sympathy, knowing how equally attached both parties were to the little rental.

Rowan laughs mirthlessly. "No, she said that it was better if our conversations were mediated. I always knew Aelin was catty, but she's acting like such a-"

"Don't." Fenrys gives Rowan a severe look. "I know you are upset, but don't start saying shit you'll regret."

Rowan pauses and reluctantly nods his agreement. It's the alcohol talking. He knew the problems that had festered his marriage were predominantly his responsibility.

He takes a deep breath, but a heaviness seems to keep the air from reaching his lungs fully. The weight was slowly becoming too familiar, starting the day Aelin had presented him with the papers.

Rowan wishes he'd done more. Wishes he'd paid more attention and seen the signs of Aelin's unhappiness.

The day Aelin had broken down in their bedroom had been a cold wake-up call but by then? It was already too late.

"You missed our anniversary Rowan." Aelin shouts and pulls her heels off angrily.

Rowan picks up a shoe and tries to hand it back to her. "I know. I'm sorry. It's not too late, though. We can still go out? There's still time to salvage-"

Aelin turns away from him and seems to fold in on herself. Rowan wants to reach out. He wants to hold her, but something dark is building in the air.

"I don't want your leftovers, Rowan," Aelin whispers. "That's all I get anymore—your leftover time. Your leftover attention. Whatever leftover resentment you bring home from work."

"Aelin-" he tries to cut off her depressive spiral, but she's not finished.

"You used to call me during the day." Aelin's voice cracks, and he realizes she's crying. "Every day, you would call me on your break. Now you don't even call when you leave town."

"Baby, just listen to me." He puts his hands on her shoulders, but Aelin breaks his grasp to turn around and look at him.

"Is there someone else?" Her eyes are wide and vulnerable. So unlike his regular Aelin."

"What?" His brain is struggling even to formulate a reply. Rowan's lack of response only causes Aelin to worry more.

Something in her cracks. There's a quiver to her lips, and her face drains of color. "Oh. Oh no."

"Aelin. I swear there is no one else." Rowan finally says, but it's too late.

"Is," Aelin presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Is it because I lost the baby?" She sucks in a hiccupping breath. "You've always wanted kids. So did I, but my fucking body doesn't work."

Aelin closes her eyes, and Rowan knows she's speaking more to herself than him, but her words gut him just the same. "My body doesn't work right. I keep giving us false hopes and wasting money on pregnancy tests. Of course, you would look for a woman who can give you what you want."

He's surprised by the sudden flare of anger in him. "Don't put words in my mouth. That will never be your fault."

They'd known right from the start their journey to parenthood would be a long one. Aelin had a family history of complicated fertility. It had seemed so trivial when they got married. Yet even knowing there could be issues, nothing quite prepared them for the pain of a miscarriage.

Aelin sniffles, unable to force back her grief, "But you resent me. Don't you?"

Rowan doesn't reply.

"It's rough," Rowan admits out loud. "I let a lot get left unsaid. I was hurt and pushed her away. Now she won't even speak to me without a lawyer present."

Fenrys nods, "It's all probably for the best. Once this is over, you guys can put this drama behind you."

"I wish it were that easy," Rowan knocks back the rest of his beer. He grimaces at the drink. It's not taking hold quickly enough.

Fenrys raises an eyebrow. "You both will be able to shut the book on this chapter of your lives and move on? Considering how bloody you two have been fighting, it sounds ideal."

They sit in silence. Fenrys takes the peanut basket away from Rowan and picks at the shells. The bartender comes by, and disgruntledly eyes Rowan's pile of crumbs as he orders a whiskey neat.

Fen was like his little brother, but Rowan found it hard to admit his real problem to him aloud. "I still love her."

The basket goes flying over the side of the counter, and Fenrys chokes on his beer. "What?"

Rowan can't look him in the eye, "We lost a baby. It was early. Aelin didn't want to tell everyone. Three years we tried to get pregnant, and finally, a test comes back positive. She was so happy."

"Shit," Fenrys says quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"It was there, and then it was gone. I thought Aelin was fine. She cried for a week, but then it was like a switch flipped, and she was back to normal." Rowan clenches a napkin in his fist. "I was devastated. It hurt like hell, but I didn't want to send her back into a depression." Rowan shakes his head at how stupid he'd been. "So I put some distance between us. I didn't want her to think I was upset with her."

"I didn't feel better," Rowan sips the whiskey, relishing the warmth. "It made me mad that she got over it so quickly, and I couldn't. I didn't realize that I was growing that space between us. I didn't understand how much guilt she harbored and that she tried to be strong for me. Not until she broke."

"We fought. I said all the wrong things. Aelin couldn't take it anymore, she left, and I didn't stop her." Rowan leans his head on his hands and elbows against the counter. "She's the love of my life, and I watched her walk out the door."

Fenrys sucks in a breath and sighs. "You are my best friend, and I mean this in the most loving way possible. Why the hell are you here?"

"What?" Rowan looks at Fenrys annoyed face.

"Get out of here. Go. I'll tell the boss you have ebola or some shit." Fenrys fishes his wallet out and throws cash on the bar. "I'll even cover the tab. Just leave. Now."

"What? I don't understand?"

Fenrys looks at Rowan like he's stupid. "No offense, but you are about as interesting as a brick wall. The fact you caught a girl like Aelin is astonishing. If you love her, are you honestly going to let her go on being miserable?"

"She's not miserable," Rowan scoffs.

Fenrys laughs bitterly. "You forget I'm pals with Aedion too? Aelin winds up at his house almost every evening crying her eyes out. You two are still hopelessly in love. You're just dumb and badly in need of a good conversation."

"Aelin is upset?" A sense of disbelief washes over him.

"Yes! She misses you, but she's under the impression you are off sleeping around." His face saddens. "I told Aedion you weren't. He knows I go on all of these trips with you. Aelin's just upset you're gone and needs to believe in something that can help her let go."

Rowan stands up, swaying. "I have to go."

"Hell yeah, you do. Give Aelin my love," Fenrys waves as Rowan vates the bar like a hawk out of hell.

Aelin sets the stack of papers in front of him.

Rowan had been camping out in his office ever since there disaster of an anniversary. He'd texted a few times, but every time they talked, it was like relighting a fuze. Things weren't getting better.

"What are these?" Rowan asks without looking up from his screen.

"Your ticket to freedom," Aelin sits in the chair across from him.

She looks thin, thinner than she did when Arobynn was her foster father. It physically hurts Rowan that he's causing her that kind of stress. Glancing at the papers, she slapped in front of him. His blood becomes like an ice river through his body. "Aelin-"

"I'm not the one for you. That's apparent now. I won't hold you hostage in a marriage that you aren't happy in." Aelin blinks, and a tear slides down her face. He wants to wipe it away, but he's beyond angry. She was giving up on them.

"If this is what you want," Rowan slides the papers towards him and pulls out a pen.

Rowan is racing the familiar paths to their apartment. He doesn't care that it's almost four in the morning. The plane ride between Perranth and Ornyth is mercifully short, but he can't force himself to wait another minute.

"Aelin," he yells through their door. "Baby, answer me. Open the door."

Rowan's fists tap a consistent rhythm on the door, and his heart skips a beat when a bedraggled Aelin finally appears. "Rowan, do you know what time it is?"

She's in a pair of grey flannel pajamas, not one of her usual silky numbers. Aelin's eyes are red around the edges, and her face is still dewy from the excessive amount of lotion he knows she loves to put on. Rowan knows all of her routines. All of her favorite outfits, comfort movies, and best memories. He knows the scar she has on her left hand from an abusive foster father. Rowan remembers how the bridge of her nose wrinkles when she's upset in the same spot her cousin's does.

He knows everything about her, because not only were they husband and wife, they were best friends.

How could he have let that go?

Before Aelin can ask any more questions, Rowan has swept her into his arms. "I missed you so damn much."

"Rowan, have you been drinking?" Aelin asks in a voice cracked with emotion.

His hands are running up her back, and his knows burrows into her hair. He's always loved the smell of her jasmine shampoo. "Fireheart, I never resented you for losing the baby."

"Rowan, I don't want to talk about this," Aelin tries to push him away, but he squeezes her into his chest, and she melts.

That had been his mistake. He should have held Aelik like this and never let her go on pretending to be happy. How could he know everything about this woman and not have seen past her facade? She'd suffered. His own pain had blinded him.

"Aelin, I've made so many mistakes lately." Rowan rubs the back of Aelin's neck the way she likes, and he can feel the sobs starting to build up inside of her. "But the greatest shame of my life is not being there for you when you needed me. I was stupid, Fireheart. I'm not going to be stupid any longer. This separation can't go on, we aren't any happier for it, and I can't live knowing I'm away from the other half of my soul."

Aelin cracks, and he can feel the tears wetting the front of his shoulder. "You were never home. I thought there was someone else, someone who could give you the things you wanted because I can't."

Her whole form is shuddering his arms, and Rowan squeezes tighter as if he can hold her broken pieces together. "It's always been you. I don't care if we adopt or never have any kids at all. All I need is you, baby. You are all I've ever needed."

Suddenly, hands are in Rowan's hair as Aelin crushes their lips together. The kiss is frantic, a relief of the stress they'd carried upon their shoulders.

"I missed you too," Aelin whispers in between kisses. “Gods I mussed you so much.”

The rest of their night is filled with soothing words, frantic kissing, and murmured apologies. Rowan kisses the tears from her cheeks and Aelin looks into his eyes like she’s home. Nail dig into skin as they promise never to be apart again.

For the first time in months they sleep in the same bed. Rowan sinks into a deep restful sleep with his wife in his arms once more. He loves the way her cold toes search out his heat. How Aelin fits so perfectly against his chest. When he wakes up and she’s still there, his heart nearly features from relief.

After months of pain, it's the beginning of their walk towards healing.

The days after aren't perfect. They had legal issues to sort back out, more problems to lay bare to the sunlight. There was arguing, but it lacked actual heat, and they didn't walk away feeling unloved at the end. No longer did they fight to land barbs. Their bickering now served to work towards solutions and to express needs.

Between struggles, the love began to grow back. Rowan kept his job at work, and when he was home, it was about them. He started calling her on his breaks again, and it always astonished him how much he missed the sound of her voice. They both strived to communicate their feelings better and actually listen instead of reacting.

Aelin surprised him with romantic dates, and Rowan read pages of her favorite books to her at night. They danced in the kitchen and laughed at their favorite shows.

Fixing their marriage was hard work, but Rowan and Aelin didn't mind. The separation proved that neither of them wanted a life without the other. It was to whatever end, and they wouldn't accept anything less for them.

On one Sunday morning, Rowan opens his eyes and realizes that Aelin isn't on her side of the bed. Panic surges in him, and he looks around to make sure her things are still there.

They are, and the tension eases from his shoulders until he hears soft crying from the bathroom. Darting out of bed, he grabs Aelin's bathrobe and knocks on their bathroom door. "Aelin, what's wrong?"

Had he screwed something up? Was she sick?

The lock clicks, granting him silent permission for him to come inside. Rowan pushes the door open and finds Aelin crying on the side of the tup. With gentle hands, he wraps her robe around her and throws an arm over her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Aelin looks up at him, a radiant smile on her face. "Look."

Rowan glances down to her clenched fists and-

He blinks, once, twice. Aelin laughs at his dumbfounded face, and it breaks his paralysis. Rowan grabs her around the waist and spins her around the cramped bathroom, the positive pregnancy test clattering to the floor.

Aelin's arms wrap around his neck. The emotion in the room is raw and bittersweet, but there's a hopefulness that can't be denied. Rowan holds her tight as they process the news. When they break apart, the love between them is palpable. They had another shot at this, a fresh start.

Hards times would come and go, but good days were never far behind for them. Because for Aelin and Rowan, it's always been them.

And that's all they needed.