#the Rowan family

[alolanrain]

I made the Ta!au Rowan Family so jacked.

Like the main man, Caderyn Laurence Rowan, himself is a retired Master Gunnery Sargent of Sinnohs Marine Corps. He was basically adopted by the old Sinnoh Professor before him when the man came into his ship and found out that Rowan has extensive knowledge of Pokémon and a knack of questions.

His mind is brilliant and was his saving grace after taking a hyper beam from a really large Dragalge while trying to help his men during one of the very last battles between Sinnoh and Unova. He survived of course but not without being honorable discharge due to his extensive PTSD from the experience. Rowan took up the old Professors offer of training under him and quickly grew comfortable into the role. He holds the record of being the oldest Professor that has been given the title of regional Professor. He’s worked hard and healed harder to get where he is.

Physically Rowan is fine, as his best was damn straight supernatural compared to his other Marines and civilians, and is still considerable strong after taking the blast point straight. His somewhat-lover, the Champion that held the title longest before Cynthia, had taken him to a secret location to be healed by the last few experienced Aura users. The skin is the only thing basically damaged but he still has very strong phantom pains that can knock the Professor out for what seems like a week on end.

Ingo was a surprised addiction. Ash had tried too convinced Gary that the train conductor was perfect for the old man but Gary didn’t take it. Still Ash tried his best for the two to meet without giving his intentions away.

How Ingo and Ash truly get to know each other, before Hisui, is because Ingo is also a INL member as well. He’s strictly information gathering only so he starts teaching Ash the night after having the double battle between him, Cilan, and Emmett. Basically taking him on and giving him tips and tricks that’ll boost himself amongst other INL members. Not knowing that Ash had been specifically thought out to do the dirtiest work for them. The gesture is nice regardless but most importantly Ingo helps him finesse his moves, especially for assassin like work.

Hisui happens and Ash knows Ingo is missing, Cilan wasn’t to happy and made it very known to him, and he’s surprised to see the man with amnesia in the past. Ingo takes a very strong interest in Ash, more then anyone else amongst the clan and Galaxy member’s, and seems to remember a lot about him. Which makes Ash heart hurt for Emmet since Ingo still has trouble to remember the little things about his brother even with his returned memories. He regains his memories before Ash heads to the sea of all places, Irida brings Ingo to the camp earlier on then the game, and joins Ash.

It’s a sting for the Pearl clan as Ingo doesn’t lose his memories of them and Lady Sneasler but prefers the company of Ash and Pikachu regardless. It’s almost like an addiction since he wants to return to his own time so badly. Ash has some choice words for the Legendaries when he gets back. He still keeps his duties to Lady Sneasler regardless but makes it known to the Pokémon regardless if he believes she can understand him or not.

She doesn’t, not until Ash comes rockin’ up to the mountains for the first time. The closeness her Warden and the boy and Pikachu who smell so wrong and like the rift above the mountain gives her all the information she needs to know. Irida is pissed and mad because Lady Sneasler is now openly looking for a new Warden and it’s right back to the cat and mouse game before Ingo came. Sneasler is the pickiest out of all the Lady and Lords.

After Hisui Ingo can’t stand being around Emmet and the trains after a few months. He’s so used to quite and open air that all the noise drives him almost literally insane. Ash is somewhat an asshole and takes the chance to beg Rowan in letting Ingo move in the guise of helping the man’s thin as fuck mental and physical health. It’s very awkward between Ingo and Emmet but they both try.

The two eventually fall in love, Rowan see’s so much of both Ash and Gary in Ingo as well as himself when he woke up after the attack back all those years ago that he couldn’t help himself. Gary steps up a lot while Rowan kinda shifts his focus more on Ingo and for once someone’s attention isn’t so loud and demanding. Their soft motherfuckers and I adore them so much.

Gary Oak, I’ve talked about him in a previous post before, is the oldest out of the trio of kids-yes I said trio. And is very much a good Aid to the Professor. Rowan didn’t mean to start caring for Gary but that didn’t last long after Gary started to open up more to the old man, openly coming to see him as a role model and admitted he never had a good one back in Kanto. Delia and Daisy were the closest of good but even then it’s all shrouded in the absolute bullshit that reeks across Pallet Town. It’s also a nice funny fuck you to Oak.

Ash soon came afterwards. Rowan liked the kid and figured out later on that it was Ahs who convince Gary to start working with the Professor before Ash even came to Sinnoh. It was quickly figured out that they were a package deal and Rowan was subjected to Gary’s angry rants at ungodly hours of the night, bent over paperwork and other shit, about how Ash threw himself off of this or that or how he and Dawn got into a stupid fight.

It’s hard for Ash to openly admit he sees Rowan as a dad. Calling him Gunney instead of Dad during more emotion or funny moments, other then that it’s just Professor. It’s harder for him to bring it up to Delia that he sees the man more of a parent to him then she has been in the past few years all because Rowan cares about his interactions with Legendaries. Both good or bad. All the while Delia tries to ignore the obvious. It’s not like he doesn’t want his mom, it’s just unfair to both of them.

Their a trio for a while but then Ash drags Dawn in after Hisui and it was over after that. Ingo and Rowan now have three wonderful adopted yet very stress inducing gray hair producing kids.

He just wished that Gary would encourage Ash and Dawns bullshit while Ingo uses the time to coach them all on how to properly beat the shit out of each other.

[lansangprincess]

HBH Bi Representation∘—✧₊

there's some discourse going around about the bi representation of Missy and Malakai being "pointless" since their current main partners (who they very well may end up with) are the opposite sex and I just want to voice out my opinion just so that it exists online that I heavily disagree.

Though sexuality is obviously about sexual attraction, queerness is an identity that exists outside of one's relationships and especially with Malakai and how he was exploring his sexuality at the beginning, I saw myself in all the uncertainty, in all the chaos, in all his overdramatic spiraling, to say the least.

They are more than their partners and I personally never felt like I was being misrepresented just because of who they were currently with.

But also, it's so useless for me to track how many hetero-presenting relationships there are on this show when the biggest representation win for me is that this actually feels like a queer community. The HBH characters feel more than a sum of their parts, compared to other shows/film where even if there are a few really good representations of queer people, the main group as a whole doesn't necessarily feel like that queer community my younger self was seeking all their life.

In truth, there are so many ways these characters could be romantically linked which would make for really interesting dynamics. And to me, every single one has a chance of becoming a plausible canon scenario which makes Heartbreak High such a groundbreaking show. I have my ships and my OTPs but I don't see how I could ever lose when the group as a whole truly feels like a super warm and safe and gay af found family regardless of who ends up with who.

[flight-128]

"WE'RE HERE"

[sonnykissed]

Erick Rowan is now the only remaining member of the original Wyatt Family 💔

My heart is going out to him on this day :(

[1asbrightasthestars3]

One thing I particularly like about the heartbreak high gang is that everyone there hates each other but they're like a big group of friends. (SPOILERS!!)

Let me explain.

Season one (1) . we got the obvious groups, Dusty, Ant and spider,

Amarie, Darren and Quinni,

Sasha, Missy and Harper etc etc

Then we can clearly see everyone's hatred towards Amarie, Spider refusing to sell her tickets and humiliating her every chance he gets, Darren first makes fun of her, Harper hitting her and not talking to her, Sasha and Missy not speaking to her and bully her as well , yada yada yada

But you can still see the moments where they are all together with her, it starts with Darren helping her fix her bangs, then we have Ant not being really mean to her.. more disappointed about what she did and the way he got in trouble with his parents, we got Malakai "befriending" her despite everything that's going on, overall you can see how despite everyone hating her they do help her when needed, for example the time dusty made that rumor about her and JoJo, everyone teamed up and helped. Another example of that episode is Amarie going over to Ant while he's working out and just demands him to buy snacks and shit, no questions asked. (+Missy & spider teasing him about eating at all)

And it's not just with Amarie, Spider protects Ant, Harper joking around with him about Darren and their fling, Ant and Spider hyping Missy up, all of them calling each other nicknames which simply will not happen if they didn't like each other at all, it will all just be mockery.

It's all very friendly when you really think about it. It's less like a class and more like a Hugh group of friends who hate each other but will secretly do anything to protect each other.

We also see it in season two (2) . For example Ant kissing Malakai's cheek, congratulating him about his new relationship with Rowan or Darren supporting Malakai after coming out and helping him figure out his feelings for Rowan. And after they break up we can see Missy coming over to Malakai, helping him get over the breakup although they aren't really close. Or them dropping everything to help Quinni (while I can promise you if it was my class they would leave her there to rot)

In conclusion, they are all very important to each other's lives and I find that really beautiful because at the end they do help each other when needed and if we're being real that wouldn't have happened in real life.

(tell me I'm not the only one who sees that.)

[codchrist]

There will be never be another Six man tag feud like The Wyatt Family vs The Shield

[braywyattforever]

“They’re Here”

Monday Night RAW - 17/06/2024

[platonic-fo-quotes]

S/I, T-posing in the doorway: Greetings, [familial f/o].

Familial f/o, not looking up from their coffee: Good morning, problem child.

[thornebelrose]

I'm reviving my account to say my life is complete, I have seen the Wyatt Sick6 debut, this is my personality now, goodnight

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

WHAT LOVE DID THEN, LOVE DOES NOW [r.l]

“What love did then, love does now: gnaws me through.” — ‘dialogue between ghost and priest’, sylvia plath

pairing. rowan laslow x vampire!reader

warnings. swearing, mention of blood + death, spoilers for wednesday s1

summary. after you find rowan bleeding out in the woods, you have no choice but to turn him. 

word count. 2.3k

>pt1, pt2, pt3

i. 

You’re picking a piece of grass off your shirt and begrudgingly picking up the cotton candy you dropped on the floor, when you smell something. 

It’s sweet as syrup, rich like chocolate and absolutely delectable. You haven’t smelt this much of this thing in a long time; at least not for the last two and a half centuries or so. 

It’s blood. And a lot of it. From the sweet taste on your tongue, you know it’s human. 

If it was this much blood, and from a human… it dawned on you that someone had probably died, one of the other Fangs had drank for too long — or both. If it's both, you thought, fang digging nervously into your bottom lip, the normies might burn you all to a crisp in the morning. 

You began to run towards the smell. 

The origin of the blood is far, much deeper into the forest than where you’d begun running — just near the popcorn booth at the Harvest — and when you finally skirted to a stop, leaving a trail of dust behind you, you couldn’t see the familiar festival lights anymore. 

“Hello?” You called out, cupping a hand around the side of your mouth to maximize the volume. “It’s [Name] [Last Name]! You know me!” You said, edging closer to the scent. “You don’t have to be scared! I can help you!” 

If one of your fellow vampires had accidentally killed a normie, they’d be skittish, prone to escaping. You didn’t want to frighten them. 

Finally, you appeared from behind the multitude of trees crowding you, and stumbled into a clearing. 

However, instead of seeing a scared vampire and a dead or unconscious normie like you thought, there lay an unidentifiable mass, bloody and twitching. It was on its stomach, limbs flayed out in various positions. Blood gurgled all around the body’s middle half, quickly oozing out. 

The smell was so sickly, so saccharine and cherry, it didn’t smell good anymore. It felt almost diabetic. Nauseating, even.

However bloody, however sweet, it didn’t matter. The corpse felt like nothing more than a cruelly murdered slab of meat.

The sight of the corpse made all the hairs on your body stand up. You barely withheld a scream. It begged to tear out of your throat, terror thrumming through your bones. Instead, you held your breath, leaning down near the corpse, and lifted it onto its back. 

Still with his familiar glasses — now cracked and tangled in his hair — lay Rowan Laslow, lips turning blue. His face, barely identifiable, was covered in long scratches, one particularly long one stretching from his right cheek down, disappearing into his shirt. 

His stomach was positively destroyed. It was what could only be described as a large tangled mess of various organs and escaping blood, because although he had been a telekinetic, he had still been mortal. 

You willed yourself not to shriek; not to run away. 

Firstly, you checked for a heartbeat. 

Your cold fingers found Rowan’s limp wrist — which had begun to freeze similar to yours, except he wasn’t going to heal — and you wrapped them around. 

After a second: a faint heartbeat pulled through. But it was ragged, dragging along like feet on the sidewalk, almost inaudible and entirely weak. 

Just barely - just barely he was alive. But you couldn’t even begin to know how to save him. 

Atleast, not in the typical way. Not in the human, medical definition of saving someone. You only knew one way you could save someone with this severe of wounds. 

You knew you’d have to turn him. 

The mere thought rendered you still. You sat frozen, fingers still curled around his skinny wrist, mind whirling. 

You couldn’t turn him, you couldn’t - you couldn’t subject a human to the life you’d been born into. To top it all off, vampires hadn’t turned people in centuries. Most of you hadn't even dranken blood in the last three centuries of your life.

You couldn’t do that. 

Suddenly, Rowan’s hand gripped your own, fleeting strength pouring into the desperate way his nails dug into your dead flesh. 

“…Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “please … help… help me…” He cried out in pain, his tone the definition of misery. His shrieking ended with weak, sniffling tears.

It felt as though lightning had shot through your brain. What were you doing, sitting beside a dying man and thinking about how you couldn’t handle him dying? 

In one fell swoop, you lifted him up onto your lap, pushed aside his mussed hair, and positioned your fangs along the crook of his bloodstained neck. 

Then, you bit. 

And you felt your teeth sink into his flesh, carefully, slowly, the tips of chiseled bone curling into his frail, thin skin. His shallow breathing quickened, and when your bottom fangs bit him parallel on the other side of his neck, he whimpered. 

You grimaced, tasting his bloodstained skin on your lips, and you held your bite there. You let your saliva enter his blood stream, waiting long enough until you were certain you had infected him.

Then, you pulled back, and watched as his body began to repair itself. First, your bite wound on the left side of his neck let one rivulet of blood slip out, before it went through every stage of healing tenfold fast: fresh wound, scab, pink scar, then two dark brown dots artfully positioned were all that were left. It looked like he had merely gotten a tattoo.

After that, came the big stuff: the monstrous scratches on his face healed in mere moments, leaving behind barely visible scar stripes; his organs untangled themself, pulled back into his stomach and were put together like a puzzle; his abdomen grew muscle and flesh and skin, stitching itself together until he was complete, again. Several patchwork scars ran horizontally down his stomach — where… whatever had killed him, had attacked. 

Soon enough Rowan was completely whole, barely scarred with regular breathing.

You tentatively picked out a shard of glass out of his hair — from his decimated glasses — and the energy in your body escaped you. Your shoulders slumped, and came to your feet, carefully hoisting Rowan onto your shoulder. 

Despite now being a vampire himself, his weight still amounted to nothing. Soberly, that mere fact made you remember how you’d just turned him. 

You had just turned him; one of the mortals you saw be born and grow up and die in a matter of decades that felt like minutes to you; a human being. 

You felt like you could throw up. Instead, you traveled through the shadows back to Nevermore. 

-

He’s gasping, gasping like he’d been drowned. Then he’s coughing, a worrying mix of asphyxiate and dry throat, so you hand him a glass. 

Without looking, he downs it, expression softening with relief, the sweet liquid satiating his senses. 

However, when pulls the glass away from his lips, he lets out an ear-striking scream. 

Rowan drops the glass. And it explodes on your dorm floor, thick, cherry coloured blood splattering beneath your feet. Blood slips off his lip, onto his shirt, and you can see the blood climbing the cracks of his teeth as he shrieks. 

You press one hand to his mouth, silencing him, and your other hand reaches up to your own, a single finger in the middle of your lips. 

“Shh!” You say, and his eyes go even wider. Buggishly so. You gesture around the room: it’s your dorm in Karnstein Hall, a place he is very obviously not allowed to be. Thank god your roommate graduated last semester on early admission to university. 

Rowan’s eyes follow your hand, circling around the room. After a moment, he calmed completely, lying lifeless and faint like you’d sedated him. 

Relieved, you pulled your hand back, and leaned back in your plastic desk chair, sighing. “Do you remember what happened?” You said hesitantly, watching Rowan blankly stare at his hands. 

There came no response. Instead, Rowan suddenly jumped up from his place on your bed, tripped over the sheets and scrambled for the door, voice calling out for help like an animal’s dying cry. 

As quickly as Rowan had jumped up, your left leg made an aim for his abdomen, sending him rolling across your dorm floor. His back hit the wall with a light thump, and your hand balled up the fabric on the back of his blood stained t-shirt. You lifted him up by the scruff, bringing him to eye level. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you what happened. You almost died. Do you not remember the Harvest Festival? The forest,” You say, boring your eyes into his own. 

Still there was no response, but when he went limp, fighting spirit quickly escaping him, you set him down on his feet. 

Then, his eyebrows shot up, climbing higher when he hastily pulled up his shirt — revealing nothing but bare, pale skin, and completely intact flesh. 

“But— I thought I—“ Rowan stuttered over himself, an alarmed expression tugging at his delicate features. 

“I saved you,” You said in a mumble. His expression turned immediately curious, as well as awed and thankful, but you felt anything but deserving.

“I saved you, Rowan, and you’re not going to like it.” Prepared for this, you snatched the cheap handheld mirror off your desk and lifted it up at him. 

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could say, shamefully looking at your feet. 

His face paled, even moreso than it had been before he’d turned and after he’d died, and he looked ready to faint. 

There was nothing in the mirror. Absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t see his reflection, and he certainly couldn’t see the scars casing his entire being. Before, he had looked flimsy and demure; now he looked positively ruined. 

“You turned me?” He said, tone a mixture of disbelief, despair and ire. It all culminated in his familiar shaky whisper. His face however, was desperate; a certain melancholy mirrored in his eyes, a direct opposition to how his voice wavered.

“You almost died,” You repeated, leaning closer to him. “I found you choking on your own blood for fucks sake.” 

Your fingers found themselves on Rowan’s neck, and he flinched, before squeezing his eyes shut gingerly as you traced the bite wound you’d made just the night before. “I’m sorry.” You said again, avoiding Rowan’s eyes. 

“But it was either this,” You said, finally looking up at him, “or getting hoisted six-feet into the grave.”

At the mention of ‘six feet’, something dawned on Rowan. “Something — something attacked me that night.” He climbed onto the edge of your day bed, contemplating. 

“What?” You said, brows twisting together. “Attacked you? In — in Jericho? Do not tell me it was a bear, Rowan, you are a telek—“

Skillfully, his powers pushed you back, a frown on his face. Without knowing the new extent of his powers, he threw you against the wall — which he had never been able to do to Vampires, at least not while he was still alive — and the both of you were rendered speechless.

He paused, mouth hanging open. You rolled around  on the floor for a moment, recollecting your dizzy vision. “Same powers. New limits, Rowan. You’re a vampire.” Was all you said. 

“I…” Rowan’s mouth opened and closed, “I — it — it wasn’t a - it wasn’t a bear, okay?” he decided on saying instead. “It was - I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t so simple as an animal.”

You bit your lip, and sat up from the floor. “You’re right. No bear does what it did to you last night,” You said, painfully remembering the image of Rowan’s destroyed abdomen and clawed out face. 

Rowan flopped completely flat on your mattress. “Besides… that thing, Wednesday Addams was there. She — I,” he sighed looking suddenly ashamed, “I tried to kill her, and she was trying to tell me I was in danger. She was talking about the thing that attacked me and I…”

“Back up,” You said, incredulously, “you tried to kill her?”

He grimaced. “Not my brightest moment. My mother, she… she was a seer — a powerful one at that — and she drew a picture, thirty years ago, of Nevermore destroyed. Wednesday was in that picture — as well as Crackstone, for whatever reason — and I just… went ballistic.” 

You pressed two fingers between your eyes. “Okay. Okay, you had your reasons. Totally fucked up ones nevertheless, but still, reasons.” 

“She thinks I’m dead.” He said numbly. 

You shook your head. “We can deal with that stuff later. Right now,” You said, getting up, “We need to explain away all of this.” You gestured to his bite and being in your room in Karnstein Hall.

“Not the truth?” Rowan said hesitantly, slipping off your daybed. 

“Gods no, Rowan. At least not for now.” You bit your lip, tapping your feet. “I know, and you know, that Weems isn’t going to do anything about… whatever that that thing was, even if we did tell her.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding. “Alright then. You got any bright ideas?”

“I have something in mind,” You said, hesitant, “but you’re not going to like it. I mean, you’re really gonna fucking hate it.” 

Rowan rolled his eyes, “Shoot. You already fucking turned me, what’s the worse it can get?”

-

Turns out, it gets worse. 

You sat positioned extremely close to Rowan, hands dancing suggestively across his thigh, face inching closer to his. “We want to spend eternity together,” you said, a toothy smile stretching across your face. 

“Right, sweetheart?” You said, winking at Rowan. 

Extremely perturbed and trying harder not to show it, Rowan smiled tightly. “Of course, my love.”

“So… you turned him?” Weems said, incredulous.

“He asked first,” You said with a shrug. 

“I asked first.” Rowan conceded painfully, grimacing so much he hoped Weems thought it might be his disgusting, lovely joy. 

Weems' right eye twitched, and Rowan shared the sentiment. 

[cc-tinslebee]

they just like them fr

[bunnieswithknives]

Discord server started talking about punk Rowan and I couldn't help but pitch in

[lachlanzeez]

being wednesdays sister and everybody falling for you pt2

parts: [1] [2] [3] [4]

_____________________________________________________________

kent knew he had to do something, to get everybody away from you. So he decided he was going to use his siren song

My jolly sailor bold

upon ones summer's morning i carefully did stray down the walls of wrapping where i met a sailor gay

conversing with young lass who seem'd to be in pain saying: william, when you go i fear you'll ne'er return again

my heart is pierced by cupid i disdain all glittering gold there is nothing can console me my jolly sailor bold his hair it hangs in ringlets his eyes as black as coal my happiness attends him attend him wherever he may go from tower hill to blackwall, i'll weep and moan all for my jolly sailor, until he sails home

Wednesday went away, telling you she would be back she just needed to tell thing about something.

Kent sang as he got closer to you. You looked at him and started to walk towards him. The closer you got, the bigger kent's smirk went up. What he didn't know was that the rest of the gang were glaring at him.

next he felt himself get pushed back into the lake, turning back into a siren. He saw you get out of your song, looking around confused. Wondering why you were going near the water.

How dare he use his siren song on (name)?!? rowan thought. He was walking past and got stopped by bianca and xavier. Later on enid and ajax cam and joined trying to see if they can get you alone.

once they did they were all going to talk to you until kent decided he wanted to use his siren song on you. They were so angry, because they wanted to earn your love by loving them back. Not by a siren song that will make you not trust them ever again. Rowan got so angry he pushed kent into the pond, stopping the song and getting you out of the song.

Then wednesday came out seeing her friends glaring at something in front of her sister.

" you all like my sister!?"

______________________________________________________________

xoxo

-lachlan zeez

[loooongfurby4444]

What I think Paul’s family tree looks like

Also Gary would totally take his partner’s last name.

[leiawritesstories]

A Memory of Your Love

Rowaelin Month, Day 19: Telling the kids about their tattoos

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: none, it's sappy melty fluffy goodness (i swear)

Enjoy!

@rowaelinscourt

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

“Mama.” The small voice was accompanied by a series of rapid knocks on Aelin’s partially-open office door. “Are you very busy, Mama? Da said you’d be busy.” 

Aelin set down her quill and turned away from her desk, finding her second child, her son, poking his head through the crack in her door. “No, my boy, I’m not busy.” She stood, digging one hand into the small of her back–gods, sitting down for too long was terrible for her spine–walked over, and opened the door. “Come in, Bran. What do you need?” 

Bran–Prince Brannon Whitethorn Galathynius–shuffled into the office, uncharacteristically quiet and shy. Normally, he was the most vivacious of the royal children, always with a laugh on his lips and a prank brewing in his mischievous mind. He got that from his mother. “I want to practice with the knives,” he said slowly, haltingly. 

Aelin nodded. “And do you need someone to go with you?”

Sheepishly, he nodded. “Yeah. Da said I can’t be there alone, not yet.” 

“Not yet,” she agreed. “When you’re a little more comfortable with the blade work, or maybe when you’re a little older, then you can go alone. Just not yet.” 

He frowned. “Why not? All the other boys my age go out into the yard by themselves.” 

“Ah, but they’re with each other, no?” 

“Uh…yeeeeees?” 

“That’s right, my son.” Aelin cracked a grin at her son’s slight flush. “You’re welcome to train with them, you know.” 

“Don’t want to,” he mumbled. “I’m not good enough.” 

“Now that’s just horseshit,” she scoffed. 

In her mind, Rowan flinched. Fireheart!

What? she snarked. You know he’s heard worse from those hulking brutes you call friends. “Bran, you are good enough. They aren’t going to make fun of you.” She ruffled his hair affectionately. “Yes, I’ll go practice with you.” She winked. “Anything to sneak away from the boring paperwork.”

That made him snicker. “Are you going to make Da do the paperwork, then?” 

“Maybe.” She led him out of her office and down towards the training yard. “It’s good for him to pretend like he has responsibilities every once in a while.” 

I heard that.

I know. She blew her grumpy buzzard an invisible kiss. 

Bran was at the door to the training yard. “Come on, Mama!”

“Just a minute,” she laughed. “I can’t train in this dress, it’s too frilly.” She ducked into a side room and changed into a loose, comfortable tunic and pants. “All right, I’m ready.”

“Come on!” Bran pushed open the door and bounded out into the training yard, running for the fenced-off area used for knifeplay. “I beat you, Mama!” 

“You did,” she laughed, catching up with him. “I must be getting old.” 

~

For a good hour, she sparred against her son, working with him on his form and his technique, especially taking a chunk of time to show him how to throw a knife. Bran had been wanting to learn that skill for a while, and she decided he was ready, no matter what his overprotective father and uncles thought. 

Bran drew a deep breath, locked his turquoise eyes on the target, exhaled, and released the knife. It sliced through the air and embedded itself in the ring just outside the bulls-eye. “I did it!” he screeched, jumping up and down in thrilled excitement. “I did it, Mama!” 

“You certainly did,” she praised. “I don’t think I could have done any better.” 

He beamed. “Dare you, Mama!” 

“Oh do you, now?” Challenge sparked in her bright eyes. “Stand back, B. I don’t want to hurt you.” She took her mark on the chalked line, inhaled, locked her eyes on her target, tipped her arm back, and launched her blade. Her tunic slipped, partially exposing her shoulder–perils of wearing her mate’s clothing rather than her own–but her knife flew straight down its intended path and buried itself right next to Bran’s knife with a thunk. “How’s that, Your Highness?” she teased. 

Bran sprinted over to check the target and came back with the biggest, brightest smile plastered all over his face. “Mine was closer!” 

“No!” Aelin exclaimed in contrived shock. “I really am losing my touch!” She grinned down at her son. “Congratulations, Bran, you’ve just out-thrown your queen.” 

His attention flicked from the target to his mother and back again, a question creasing his forehead. 

She knelt and met his eye level. “What is it, my son?” 

“Your tattoo,” he said, unexpectedly. “I know you have one, I just…it looks like wings. Why is it wings, Mama? Shouldn’t it be fire?” 

Aelin was quiet, thinking through how much to say. I can’t just brush him off.

No. We knew we would have to tell them eventually.

Right. Just…how much?

As much as you want. Rowan sent reassurance pulsing down the bond. We can talk to him and Lana later tonight, both of us.

I’d like that. With Rowan’s strength at her back, she took Bran’s hands. “Da did it for me.” 

His childish face lit up with interest and wonder. “When?” 

“Before…” She trailed off, her gaze going distant for a moment. “Before we settled. Before you and Lana were even thoughts in our minds.” She noticed his furrowed brow, and she squeezed his hands in comfort. “Da and I are going to tell you and your sister about it later tonight, because you’re old enough and you deserve to know more of our story. I’m not dismissing you, I promise; you just need to wait for a little longer, okay?” 

Slowly, he nodded. “Okay,” he replied. “Can I ask you one more thing?” 

“Of course.” 

“Did it hurt?” 

“Some,” she said, honestly. “But your father was with me, and that made it easier.” 

~

Rowan wore a sleeveless shirt to dinner that night, the soft gray linen exposing the defined grooves of his muscles and the full breadth of the script inked down his arm. Aelin chose a dress that dipped low in the back, low enough to display the wings unfurled across her shoulder blades. She frowned as she laced the silken material up the side–it was almost at the point where she couldn’t wear it in public, else it would reveal too much. Just to be sure, she turned to the side and checked her profile, relieved when her reflection showed that the skirt still billowed out high enough to conceal the swelling of her abdomen. 

Stunning. Her husband padded up behind her on near-silent feet, slid his powerful arms tenderly around her waist. His tattooed hand splayed over her stomach. “How much longer?” 

“Another few weeks before we tell the children.” She laid her hand over his. “At least a month before anyone else even suspects.” Lest we…lose them.

“Of course.” Rowan dipped his head and brushed a whisper of a kiss across her pulse point. I love you, he murmured into her soul. 

Aelin melted into him. As I love you. 

Lana and Bran were full of anticipation and eager chatter at dinner, both children more than willing to ramble on about their days. Bran seemed to be back to his usual mischievous self, busily flicking tiny crumbs and a pea or two at his sister when he thought nobody was watching. Lana returned the favor by gradually increasing the heat of her brother’s chair, silverware, and even clothes, making him squirm in mild discomfort and drop his fork with a yelp when he picked it up and it nearly burned him. 

Unsurprisingly, though, when dinner was over and they moved into the small, cozy, private living room reserved exclusively for the family, both Lana and Bran went quiet, settling down onto the small sofa and watching their parents expectantly. 

Aelin settled into her chair and spoke first. “So you want to know about our tattoos.” 

“Mhmm.” Lana nodded. “Well, I know about Father’s. Mostly.” 

“Do you?” Rowan wore a half-grin. 

“Uncle Lorcan told me it’s a record of your life and a memory of your love.” 

“Uncle Lorcan talks too damn much.” 

Aelin snickered. “Admit it, buzzard, that was a very lovely description.” 

Rowan grumbled. “Fine. Lorcan can be civil once in a while.” He nodded. “Yes, that’s the most basic description of my tattoos.” 

“You did them yourself, right?” Bran asked. 

“Mostly. Gavriel helped, a little.” 

Bran tilted his head. “And you did Mama’s?” 

“He did,” Aelin confirmed. “Both times.” 

“Both times?” Lana and Bran chorused, wearing twin expressions of disbelief. 

“Both times.” Aelin shared a long, laden look with Rowan. “This set–” she turned around and let her children see the full expanse of the ink scripted across her back–“was done just before we kicked the shit out of the Valg once and for all.” 

“Language,” Rowan sighed, teasingly. 

Aelin huffed a laugh. “Says you. Like your father’s, my tattoos are my story. All of it–who I once was, who I became, who I am now.” She whispered under her breath, and two of the symbols glowed blue for a few seconds. “Those are your names, my loves, in the Old Language.” 

“That’s us?” Lana breathed, both awe and tears clogging her words. 

“That’s you,” Aelin murmured. “Your idiot father also wrote a whole entire spell into my tattoo–didn’t even think to tell me, oh no–in yet another language.” 

“It was a protective measure!” Rowan protested. “And it worked, didn’t it?” 

“Oh, all right, it did.” She laced her fingers with his. “Your father is boring; all his tattoos are just Old Language.” 

“Can you read them?” Bran asked. 

“I can.” A yearning smile curved Rowan’s lips. “It’s been a very long time since I spoke the Old Language, but I can read it, yes.” 

“What’s this one?” Lana pointed to a sequence of characters on Rowan’s bicep. “It repeats a lot. There, and on your forearm, and on your neck, too.” The firstborn Whitethorn Galathynius always had been perceptive. 

“It says Fireheart,” Rowan murmured. 

A crooked little smile lit Lana’s face. “That’s…extremely sappy of you, Father. Aren’t you supposed to be the hardened old warrior?” 

Aelin burst into laughter. “Oh, my daughter,” she wheezed. “Never change, Lana love.” 

“I’m trying very hard to be unimpressed,” Rowan intoned, his lips twitching with the effort of holding back his merriment. 

Lana giggled. “We’re all thinking it.” 

Rowan laughed. “I suppose we all are.” 

Bran’s smaller hands touched the ink spiraling up his father’s arm. “When I grow up, I want tattoos too!” he declared. 

Aelin and Rowan shared a very long look. 

“Maybe you will have tattoos,” Aelin told her son, running her thumb over his knuckles. “If you do, know that you carry the weight of every name and event written into your skin.”

“Even the ones that hurt?” 

“Especially those ones.” Aelin gathered her children close. “It is the weight of the people we have loved and lost that guide us through life. They are always with us, even when they fade.”

[legacyshenanigans]

It's all kicking off at the Gaunts 🤣

This is so dumb, I make no apologies,

Marvolo, Rowan, Ominis, Rerek and Aleister Drama haha