#with fluff

[wiltingtu1ips]

i need more firelocke

[sunflouwerhabit]

EXTRA INNING 18: HOW DID I GET HERE?

“I undertook some massive undertakings this offseason. I joined Reddit!”

🕸️🕸️🕸️

spiders players reunite at spidey fest. chaos ensues.

and, eight years into his major league career, louis feels reflective.

15k.

[zero06iranosaurusrex]

so i decide to redraw my old younger baffy fanart that was done back then when i was in highschool damn...bruh i was always into angst side since the start into this ship idk what this au/hc was since i already kinda forget the descriptions of it...i mean it was already as old as my social media ages what i only remember was daffy greets bugs who sits alone on a wheelchair n invite him to play together or something like that

[sharpcroft]

So, I know you've done one shot requests for everyone's favourite professor before.... if you decide to take another, an idea of Aesop Sharp needing some extra help because he's stressed and his leg is acting up and the (innocent) offer of a massage turns into all sorts of spicy time that makes sure to get all the tension out. :)

Just an idea, of course! (Also, side note, I LOVE If These Scars Could Speak!!)

I have had this request in my inbox for an age and I am so sorry it has taken me so long to write this, anon! When the Day Three Prompt for Sharpuary came up, I didn't know what to do for "Wheelchair". But then I remembered your lovely message and request and knew exactly what to write. Hope you enjoy and thank you so much for your support and inspiration!

Without further ado... here is "Helping Hand" (18+, be warned!). Will cross-post on Ao3 later today 💜🙏

Wanted to add a quick note up top too to say that the way Epione's magic works here means Sharp's pain is entirely taken away. Don't want it it to look like in anyway I'm minimising his injury - I just couldn't bear to write a sad prompt and wanted his pain to be temporarily taken away!

Nurse Epione made her way down the winding stairs from the Hospital Wing and walked through the Faculty Wing hallways until she reached Professor Aesop Sharp’s door.

It was a comforting ritual at this point. Every Friday evening, she would come to see the Potions Master to update him on the additional potions and stock she required for the Hospital Wing, and would deliver him a soothing poultice for his leg. Though Sharp was talented enough to brew all the healing remedies he required, the poultice was a remedy of her own making through years of studying long-term magical ailments. 

After a year of working alongside her gruff but wonderfully generous colleague, she had offered to make it for him in exchange for all the work he put in to ensure the Hospital Wing remained fully stocked. He had resisted at first, but could not deny once he tried it that the poultice and various bath salts she brought with her were doing wonders for his muscles.

Epione reached the door at the end of the Faculty Wing hallways and wrapped her knuckles against the solid oak wood three times.

“Come in,” his voice called as if far away.

Epione opened the door and was greeted to an empty chamber. Setting down her supplies on a nearby table, she took off her gloves and over-layer. It had been cold in the draughty Hospital Wing but Sharp’s chambers were cosy and warm due to the roaring fire at the centre.

She was just about to call out for Sharp when she saw him emerge from his bedroom - pushing himself along in a wheelchair.

“I rarely need it, but sometimes after a full day of teaching during the winter months…” he tailed off. He had clearly caught her surprised expression.

She rallied, “I quite understand. I am only surprised to see you doing something so sensible to look after your own health. Forgive me if I am overstepping but you seem more like the type to overexert yourself to the point of injury.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he replied with a frown. An admission of guilt that indeed that was what he was usually like. He took the moment to shift in the chair, causing him to grimace in pain. 

Epione couldn’t help but immediately shift into healer mode.

Moving over to him, she placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. It felt like a bold move, but they were friends after all at this point, weren’t they? After a year of exchanging notes on the latest healing practices and talking late into the night over tea or Firewhiskey after a particularly bad week, she certainly hoped so.

“Aesop, is there anything I can do?”

He glanced at her hand on his shoulder and she retreated it nervously. His expression, though still understandably guarded, betrayed its sincerity.

“Unless you have any more magic at your fingertips beyond your miracle rubs then I fear it shall just be a long night or two ahead to recover. But I thank you - it is much appreciated.” 

Epione flushed. She knew he meant the poultices, but his mention of a ‘miracle rub’ had her thinking back to her days in healing school.

“There is something I could do… I haven’t tried in years but I was quite proficient at pressure healing.” Sharp’s eyes widened. So he’d heard of it then. 

Pressure healing was advanced magic - and something few could do. Her teachers at St. Mungo’s had said she had been gifted with hands for healing. With it, she could almost entirely take away pain in a concentrated area for up to eight hours. Sometimes longer. It was difficult to do, and required great concentration and skill. But she did have gifted hands…

Slowly, as if she didn’t want to startle him, Epione dropped to her knees in front of him. With unsteady hands, she placed her fingers on his knee.

She started kneading the muscles, working her way up from his knee into the tightly knitted flesh of his thigh. Everywhere she touched, she imbued a little shock of that light magic. It would act as a kind of instantaneous anti-inflammatory, injecting a feeling of a soothing cold balm directly into his wounds. Better and more direct relief than any poultice could ever achieve. 

Epione was pleased to see it was clearly already working. Sharp’s eyes had fluttered closed, and the tightness of his expression had eased as the pain worked its way out of his leg.

Indeed, she was so distracted watching the reaction on that handsome face that, without thinking, she began working her way up his inner thigh, where she suddenly brushed against him.

Sharp started, eyes flying open. 

“Goodness, what was I thinking? Forgive me.” She snatched her hand back and was ready to flee from the room - hell, flee from Scotland - in disgrace and embarrassment.

“Wait,” he caught her wrist, tugging her back. “Please… don’t go.” Epione looked up at him and caught his vulnerable gaze. Goodness those eyes were expressive. “Don’t stop.”

She took a shuddery inhale and it felt like time stilled. After a moment of hesitation, she sank once more to her knees in front of him and - with nervous hands - began pressing her fingers once more into the muscles of his thigh. Starting exactly where she had left off…

The groan of relief and a plea for more wrapped up in one long moan sounded like it was wrenched out of him by her ministrations. Any doubts about his regard for her melted away.

Epione ran her fingers in a path up and down his leg, skirting around his hard length and imbuing her touch with those little jolts of healing magic. The duel sensation was clearly driving him wild. Sharp gripped the chair arms so tightly she thought he might snap them off in an attempt to stop himself from bucking his hips up into her hand. 

After one not so accidental brush of her hand against his hardness, he snapped. Suddenly, he grabbed her and manoeuvred her so she sat across his lap on the chair. She could feel his hardness flush against her core - undeniable proof of what her actions had stirred in him. 

“Epione, how you drive me crazy,” he muttered the words to himself as he seemed to grapple with the indecision of where to place his hands on her. It was like he wanted to touch all of her at once. The small of her back. The curve of her hip. The back of her head. Weaving a hand through her hair.

Eventually, Sharp settled on placing a hand at her throat, caressing her jaw so he could tilt her head towards him for a blistering kiss that made her knees weak. It was a good job she was sitting draped across him, or she might have collapsed from the intensity.

She leaned into his embrace, and he took control once more. Taking his thumb from where it rested at her jaw, he traced a path across to her mouth and caressed her lower lip so she opened her mouth to him. His opportunity to further deepen their kiss.

Epione couldn’t help but squirm in his lap, desperate for more. More friction. More of him. More of everything that was this exquisite moment in his arms. 

He seemed to acknowledge this, bucking up and pressing into her as she ground down - all without breaking their embrace.

“Epione…” he murmured her name increasingly frantically against her skin as he moved against her, pressing kisses at every bit of her skin he could reach.

“Epione, gods,” Sharp moved his hands from her face to her hips to aid in this pursuit, and it was not long before she felt him tighten. Shuddering, having found his release. 

They stilled, overcome by what they had just done. Sharp said nothing, and merely rested his head against her chest. She blushed at that and their proximity as she tentatively stroked his hair.

It was only then that she realised she was straddling a man with a serious leg injury, and that this couldn’t be comfortable or aiding his recovery in the slightest. Epione made to jump away, but Sharp merely held her tighter to him. Head still resting against her heaving chest.

“Are you feeling… better?” She asked shyly, cheeks flaming at what they had done and the accidental sauciness of her question. God, she hoped he didn’t regret this.

He laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her temple, “I am quite well thanks to you. Quite well indeed. I think I shall accept your helping hand more often when I am indisposed in future.”

Epione buried her face in the crook of his shoulder from embarrassment. She felt the rumble of his laugh as he simply held her tighter. 

“Now, why don’t you help me take off my robes and you can rub in that poultice for me? I’m sure your steady healing hands would do a far better job than I ever could.” Epione smacked his shoulder in jest. 

“I can’t believe you’re teasing me like this! You are an incorrigible patient, Aesop Sharp.”

And with a cheeky smile that made him seem so much younger all of a sudden, he wheeled them both towards his bedroom - their shared laughter all that was left in their wake.

[acrewofmonsters]

Yes, this is another post! A bit angsty? Yes Jason mostly involved? Also yes I'm proud to present to you, how everyone approaches Jason if he's having either a mental breakdown or panic attack! Be prepared for fluff too. Bruce: As someone who has had a lot of bad shit happen to him as well, Bruce does his best in being there for Jason and despite each other having their differences, Bruce's hugs help a lot to keep him grounded to this reality. He also is quite the man of many words of comfort. Dick: While he does try his best, Dick often just sits next to Jason with an arm around him after covering him with a weighted blanket and making sure he has tissues and tea. Sometimes he says something, but it's hard for Dick to say anything in fear of hurting him. Tim: At first if Jason approaches him to help him, Tim might be a bit cold while being under the impression that Jason is just there to pester him about something but upon seeing Jason in such a state, he'll do the technique of saying five things that he can see, four things he can touch, three things he can hear, two things he can smell and one thing he can taste. This helps most of the time, and Tim lets him stay near him or he turns on a movie while covering him with a weighted blanket. Damian: Surprisingly the little demon cares for Jason, teaching him breathing techniques and meditating or having Jason focus on his breathing and matching breathing patterns. Afterwards, Damian has Jason eat something while having him drink a lot of water. Then they just hang out with Batcow and the rest of the animals. Duke: He'll worry a lot and visibly too, but he remembers a few things he learned online and from the others like the 5 Things method but Duke knows Jason likes singing so he'll sing something calming. Bonus points if Jason sings along too. Sometimes they'd sing 'Not Today' from Twenty One Pilots Cass: She'd catch on to the early signs of panic showing on Jason's face and in his body language so before it gets bad, she'll remind him to breathe and remember that he is in a place of love and acceptance with people who love him as a brother and would fight as hard as they could to help him and find him if he went missing. Her hugs are nice too. Stephanie: Pep talk champion, and bad jokes are great medicine. Most folks would take the calm and careful route but sometimes Jason just needs Steph who doesn't take that route and actually has something good to say instead of being careful. She'll also hang around him a lot with the offer of going outside for a walk or a moment of quiet in the library. So far he picks the moment of quiet in the library. Alfred: Top tier, he's had to manage with Bruce so he knows the tips and tricks to ease Jason from what's ailing him.

[fandomsbyladymelodrama]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

@salzrand​ - Bedtime stories <3

[leiawritesstories]

In The Evenings

A companion to THIS PIECE, which was written for Rowaelin Month 2021 and garnered some, uhhh, discontent for how it ended. I hope this makes up for it.........

Word count: 3,138

Warnings: language, implied Maeve, mentions of non-MC death, implied smut

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

Aelin walked out of her office at two-thirty, as per usual, waving her goodbyes to her coworkers because she was still on the phone with a client.

“Yes, Ms. Ond, your manuscript is in review.” A pause. “No, it is not finished yet. We agreed to a three-week minimum editorial period, remember?” Pause again, a flat frustration coming across her face. “Ma’am, I can show you the contract you signed when you brought in this manuscript. Three weeks at minimum. It has been fifteen days.”

“But I am so used to a two-week editorial period, as has always happened,” sniped the high-pitched, rather annoying voice in Aelin’s earbuds. 

“Again, Ms. Ond, our mutually agreed-upon contract is three weeks. If it will make you feel more at ease, the manuscript has nearly finished editorial review and should be ready for you in two days.”

“Eighteen days is still too long, Miss Galathynius, for a prestigious author like me who is used to a two-week process.”

“I understand your complaint, Ms. Ond, and unfortunately, I cannot currently do any more than promise you eighteen days. Good afternoon.” Aelin hung up before the woman could bitch at her any more. “Fucking gods,” she grumbled, hitting the elevator call button. She hated Maeve Ond with a passion, yet somehow, she was the only editor at her publishing firm who had successfully dealt with the rather famous author’s bitchiness for the entirety of her career. Maeve had walked into the building one day five or six years ago with her first manuscript, had met with the editor-in-chief and at least half the editorial staff, and when her manuscript was accepted, had worked her entitled way through four editors before being assigned to Aelin.

Aelin had been relatively recently promoted to editor and was already famous in the firm for her take-no-shit attitude. Her attitude towards Maeve was no different, except that she phrased everything she said differently and smiled and bullshitted her way through their conversations so that the woman wouldn’t throw, for lack of a better word, a tantrum. And somehow or other, Aelin had stayed Maeve’s editor for four years and three shockingly successful novels, though she herself had barely been able to get through the pages without laughing at the sheer vapid idiocy of the plots. 

“Maeve again?” Lysandra, the chief of the publicity department and Aedion’s wife, which practically made her Aelin’s sister-in-law, came up next to her and waited for the elevator.

“Unfortunately yes,” Aelin groaned. “The woman just won’t let me do my job in peace. First I’m not giving her enough feedback, then I’m giving her too much, then I’m carelessly speeding my way through, and now I’m going over the contract timeline.”

“Holy hell!” Lys exclaimed, “I do hope you shoved the contract in her smug little face.”

“We agreed three weeks, its been fifteen days, and she’s all over my ass for going over the contractual deadline when it literally isn’t even close.” Aelin took a deep breath, her venting calming down. 

The elevator doors opened with a ping, and the two stepped inside. Lys hit the button for the garage. 

“You going to pick up the kiddos?”

“Yeah, they’re all done at 3.”

“Aeds and I are always willing to have them sleep over.” Lys rested her hand an Aelin’s shoulder. “If, you know, you need any...personal time.”

“Thank you, Lys,” Aelin sighed. “I...I actually might just ask if you could have the kids tonight. It’s Friday, it’s been a long fucking week, what with Maeve and all that, and I just feel like I need some, well, personal time.”

“Say no more.” Lysandra wrapped her into a hug. “Bring them by whenever you’re ready and we’ll keep them as long as we need to.”

“Then they’re yours until Sunday,” Aelin smiled, returning the hug. “You’re the best, Lys.”

“Any excuse to have a cousin sleepover,” Lys grinned. 

~

Aelin dropped her kids off at Lysandra and Aedion’s a short time later. All three had squealed with excitement when Aelin announced the sleepover.

“All weekend, Mommy?” Bran asked, practically jumping in his booster seat.

“Yes, Bran, and please sit still, for the love of all things holy.” He calmed. Somewhat. 

“Do I have to bring my homework?”

“Yes, Lyria, Uncle Aeds and Auntie Lys can help you if you have any questions. And if they can’t help you, then you know Mom’s number, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She settled back, content with that answer. Her eyes lit up again. “Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I practice on their piano?”

“Of course, sweetie, you can show them everything you’ve been learning.”

“Yay!” Lyria was very proud of her piano progress, now that she was in the Second Grade Book. “I can’t wait to show them!”

When the Galathynius van pulled into Aedion and Lys’s driveway, they themselves had been waiting on the porch, their six-year-old son Emerson running around in the yard. Aelin let her kids out and into the house, carrying some of their luggage. Aedion grabbed the suitcases from her. 

“No no no, Ae, you let me take care of those.” He took them down to the kids’ rooms. “Want a drink?”

“Aeds, I have to drive home, and it’s barely even five o’clock.”

“So?” He grinned. “It’s still five.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Aelin laughed, giving her cousin a hug. 

“If that means ‘the best,’ then yes, yes I am.” Aedion chuckled.

She smacked his shoulder. “You take good care of my kids now, Aed.”

“How come Lys doesn’t get told that?”

“Because Lys knows better than to drink around the children, of course.”

“Right, right, gotta wait until the young ones are in bed before we adults can have any...fun.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Child,” Aelin laughed. “All right. Kiddos!”

Her three ran out. “Yes, Mommy?”

“Have fun and be good for Uncle Aed and Auntie Lys! I love you.” She hugged and kissed each of her children. “Lyria, don’t forget to practice, their piano is a lot nicer than ours. Bran, please don’t come home with another serious injury from falling out of the tree. Enna?”

“Yes Mama?” Her four-year-old’s big blue eyes latched onto hers. 

“Sleep well, my little love. Bye, kiddos! Enjoy the weekend!” Aelin waved as she pulled out of the driveway and headed off. Back home, she kicked her shoes off and let out a great sigh, relieved to have some peace and quiet for once. 

She drew herself a hot bubble bath and soaked there until the water turned cold, then decided to call for Chinese takeout rather than cook herself a meal. Turning on her favorite playlist, she danced around her bathroom in a face mask and her towel, probably looking like a complete loony but not giving a shit, because who else was home to see it? Nobody. Besides, she needed some self-care time. 

Almost an hour later, her skincare done and dressed in sweats and one of Rowan’s t-shirts, her golden hair combed out and tossed up in a clip, Aelin made her way downstairs, writing notes in her planner. She wished, she really fucking wished, that she didn’t have to work on Maeve’s manuscript over the weekend, but to appease the snotty bitch, she would. 

And the fact that today marked two and a half years since Rowan’s disappearance didn’t help. Not in the slightest.

Honestly, all Aelin wanted to do for the weekend was look over her photo albums and cry and drink a shitload of wine and sleep and try to force the pain into the back of her mind, but she couldn’t. Couldn’t, because she was an adult with a successful job and a mom of three. And however much she desperately wished for her other half to be there by her side, watching their children grow up, he was gone. The air force had seen neither hide nor hair of him for two and a half years. 

Tamping down those thoughts, Aelin turned back to her planner, scribbling in the blocks where she would work on the manuscript. 

A knock sounded on her front door, brisk but polite. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was probably her takeout. About damn time, she thought, either they’re swamped with orders tonight or the traffic was terrible, because it never takes this long for takeout. Planner and her journal still tucked into the crook of her arm, she went and opened her front door, grabbing her wallet out of her purse. 

“Hi, thanks so much, don’t worry about the longer delivery time, I can pay either cash or card, whatever works b--” Her sentence cut off abruptly when she looked up at the man on her front porch.

Who, though he was holding her takeout order, was decidedly not a delivery boy.

“Rowan?” Her voice a choked, heaving gasp. 

“Fireheart,” Rowan breathed, his eyes brimming. 

Everything in Aelin’s arms crashed to the floor as she all but threw herself at her husband, her lost husband, standing on her porch. Rowan caught her effortlessly, wrapping her into his arms, somehow managing not to drop the bag of takeout. She buried her face against his chest, drawing in a lungful of his  ever-so-familiar scent, pine and snow and a hint of spicy deodorant. Rowan’s face tucked against her damp hair. Sobbing, Aelin tugged Rowan into the house, letting him kick the door closed behind them. 

When she had recovered her capacity to speak, she tilted her head back, still clutching her husband as if he would disappear, and gasped, “How?”

“The long version or the short version?” Rowan’s lips crooked halfway up. 

“Everything.” Releasing him, Aelin picked up her things, laced her fingers through his, and pulled him out to the living room. She left her stuff and the food on the dining-room table and curled onto the couch with Rowan, half-fearful that if she left his side, he would vanish. 

“Well, it started with an engine failure.” Rowan’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. “I was somewhere in airspace over the Pacific, and one of my engines cut out. We went into a flat spin, headed down, the engine burning and sparking a catastrophic fire, and it was all I could do to hang onto the controls until my partner yelled at me to get my head out of my ass and eject. So I did, and I made it out in time, but...” He trailed off, his eyes going hazy. Aelin stayed silent, waiting. Rowan swallowed harshly. “He didn’t make it out of the blast zone. I saw his hatch open, saw him start to eject, and then...then the plane blew.” He cut off again, his voice choking. 

Aelin ran her hands up and down his back. He buried his face into her hair, his shoulders shaking, hot tears dripping onto her head. “I’m so sorry, Ro,” she murmured. “So sorry.”

“So I made it down to the water,” Rowan continued, his voice still broken, “and I got picked up by a passing carrier. Turns out they were friendly, but the catch was that they were on a long patrol; their assignment wouldn’t be done for another year at least. They took me on as part of the crew, though, me obviously being military. So there I was, out on a patrol in the middle of nowhere, no way to contact you or the air force or anyone. For a year. When the carrier was relieved, we docked in Argentina, and the crew let me go and thanked me, gave me some money and some clothes. I went into the suburbs of Buenos Aires and got a hotel room, intending to go out the next day and get a phone and call you and HQ and tell everyone I was safe and alive and where I was.”

“Intending?” Aelin hadn’t missed that detail.

“Here’s what actually happened. I went out the next day--thank God I didn’t have any of my documentation on me, it had been zipped into my jumpsuit and so I still had it--intending to go buy a phone, made the mistake of showing some of my money at a marketplace, got mugged and had all my money and the phone I’d just bought stolen, and went back to the hotel flat broke. I had paid for a week there, so there I stayed for the next six days, thinking and thinking about what to do. I barely spoke any Spanish, I was just an ex-air force American with no money and almost no hope. When I checked out, the owner somehow could tell I was lost, and he spoke enough English to talk to me. He couldn’t hire me, not having the resources, but he pointed me to a repair shop that was hiring. Reputable, he called it, the owner was honest and wouldn’t cheat me or ask too many questions. So I went to see him. And bless Señor Alvarez, he hired me practically on the spot.”

“So you worked for him for what, a year and a half?”

“A year and four months. He and his esposa let me stay in their spare room for free until I had enough money to pay them rent, and even then, they tried to refuse my payments. But I had to contribute, to repay them for their kindness. I lived and worked there for a year and four months, saving and saving until I could buy a plane ticket.”

“What about a phone?”

“Well, the thing about this part of the world is that there was barely any reception. Ever. Even so close to the big city.”

“I see.” Aelin twisted her wedding ring around and around her finger. “A year and four months. Gods, Ro, what about the other eight weeks?”

“I came back to the States six weeks ago, and because I didn’t know if I was still in the air force, I had to call my commander. When I did, I got flown to my old base almost as soon as he knew where I was. And I stayed there for five weeks, while command ‘made sure I hadn’t turned traitor.’ I wasn’t allowed to call anyone, to contact anyone outside the base. I’m so sorry for that, Fireheart, I wanted so fucking badly to call you, but I couldn’t.”

“I understand, my love,” she replied. “Clearly they realized that you are no traitor, since you’re here.”

“Quite.” Rowan raked a hand through his cropped hair. “Once they realized I am no danger, they released me, and I was finally able to retire. Like I promised you before I left, Fireheart, I’m done. Now that I had access to my bank account again, I used my personal savings account to buy a train ticket here.”

“Train?”

“I...I haven’t been able to fly ever since--since what happened,” Rowan admitted, his voice cracking. 

“Oh, my buzzard,” Aelin whispered, enfolding him into her arms, “I understand. I do. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” Rowan cried into her shoulder, looping his arms around her. She held him as he cried, her own tears dripping down her face. 

When he’d calmed, he sat up, cupping his hands around her face. “Gods, Fireheart, I missed you so much. Every day I wanted to be with you. Every. Day.”

“I almost couldn’t bear it,” Aelin breathed, “waking up every morning without you. I missed you at my side, missed you as our children grew and had their firsts and you weren’t there to see them.” Unable to hold back any longer, she surged forward and brushed her lips tenderly against his, the kiss a question. Rowan’s hand slid to the back of her head, pressing her closer, as he fervently returned the kiss, his lips opening against hers. Aelin threaded her hands into his short silvery hair and kissed him deeply, two and a half years of yearning for his presence at last dispelled. 

“Speaking of our kids,” Rowan groaned when he pulled back, his chest heaving, “where are they?”

“Sleepover at Aedion and Lys’s,” Aelin panted, equally breathless. “Mom wanted some me time this weekend.”

“How about some us time?” Rowan inquired, his eyes darkening despite his innocent tone.

“Sounds wonderful,” Aelin hummed, hovering just a breath away from his lips.

~

They went to collect their children together, Aelin driving the minivan. Over the weekend, she’d completely abandoned all her plans to work, instead spending practically every waking moment with Rowan as they learned each other’s bodies once more. He told her the story of each new scar and mark her questing fingers discovered, and she told him everything about the children, everything he had missed in the last two and a half years. 

When they pulled into Lys and Aedion’s driveway and parked, Aelin turned off the van and reached across the console, grabbing Rowan’s hand. “You ready, my buzzard?”

“Always, my Fireheart.”

They went up the front walk together, hand in hand, knocked on the door, and heard at least two sets of little feet running to get it. Enna and Bran opened the door, arguing about who got there first, and looked up to see--

“DADDY!” Enna squealed, throwing her little self at Rowan, who picked her up and tossed her in the air, making her shriek with delight. Bran latched onto Rowan’s leg, quickly getting hoisted up himself. Lyria came running when she heard Enna, starting to cry when she saw her mom and her dad in the entryway. She wrapped her arms around Rowan, though she barely reached his waist.

Lys and Aedion bolted into the entryway seconds after the kids, Emerson in tow. Their jaws dropped at the sight of Rowan, strong and healthy and alive and in their entryway, holding all three of his children, Aelin smiling hugely through her overjoyed tears. 

“I can’t believe it.” Aedion’s voice went hoarse. “Welcome home, brother.” He wrapped Rowan into a manly hug, the two tall, broad men clapping each other on the back. Lys echoed his sentiments, hugging Rowan fiercely. Rowan returned his in-laws’ affection, his own throat tightening. 

“Thank you,” he breathed, the words laced with emotion. “Thank you.” For being there for Aelin and the kids, the unspoken words in his eyes said. For everything.

The Whitethorn Galathynius family returned home that evening a complete family for the first time in two and a half years. Aelin let Rowan put the kids to bed, smiling as he carried an already-sleeping Enna down the hall to her bedroom. He returned to their room and closed the door softly, his footfalls hushed against the thick carpeting as he crossed the space to Aelin, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She leaned back into his embrace, his warmth, a brilliant smile on her face. 

“Welcome home, Ro.”

~~~

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