prompt where aunty alice and uncle matthew look after the blake’s children?
Matthew watched with barely-suppressed awe as his fiancée bounced the youngest Blake on her knee, a secure arm around the toddler’s midsection keeping him close.
Alice spoke to the child as an adult–no cooing voices or baby talk. She pointed to the illustrated anatomy book on the coffee table, repeating each bone name in careful, slow syllables. “That is the ulna, little one. And next to it? That’s the radius.” After pointing to the illustration, she pinched the chubby arms of the toddler in her arms and traced the corresponding bones.
Matthew sat back, simply taking her in. In the preceding months before Jean gave birth, Alice had murmured her insecurities about handling the baby. She whispered into his skin worries about hurting the fragile life she would be entrusted with; the fear she would somehow say or do something wrong; the worry that the child would sense her strangeness and hate her.
He had simply held her close and whispered reassurances to her, promising her that she would be fine, that the child would love her–how could it not? She had accepted his kiss but he could see the niggling fear and doubt that remained.
And now, with a babbling and happy baby in her arms, she was a natural and Jean had confided in him on more than on occasion, her son had called out for “Alish”–about as close to Alice as he could manage.
He didn’t know what their future held for them and now, after seeing the childish delight upon his love’s face as she held baby Blake in her arms, he hoped a child would be in the cards for them.
And if it didn’t, that would be alright, too. They had a young nephew to dote upon, after all. Perhaps he would encourage Jean and Lucien to require their babysitting services more often. There were 206 bones in the human body and he had a feeling his Alice would want to teach every single one of them to her nephew.
Can we get a snippet of calypso romance? Just a tiny bit. Pwetty pwease with sugar on top?
Intricate tattoos mar Calypso’s skin; they stand out against the rich brown, painting her waist, arms, shoulders, and legs with elegant white vines.
“Do you know what they mean?” she asks, raising her arm for you to get a closer look; each vine connects to one another, a single leaf or bud or flower in between them. “This represents every connection between me and my ancestors.”
You trace over the flow of paint across her shoulders, which lead to the tip of her fingers. “Who are these?”
Calypso grins. “My great-Aunt Nyma, who gave birth to my cousin Fahij. Fahij had two twin boys; Elias and Mohammad. Elias died…and Mohammed named his children after my mother’s Uncles.”
Calypso stares intently at you, her cat eyes inquisitive. You both say nothing for a while, the sound of your breaths filling the silence. Then, suddenly, Calypso speaks.
“Why do you like me?” she blurts out. The sudden question catches you off guard. Calypso pulls her arm away, waiting urgently for your answer.
You consider what you’ll say next, a plethora of reasons arising; then, you open your mouth to answer…
And Calypso swiftly places a warm hand over your mouth, eyes going wide.
“No, no…never mind. I don’t want to know.” She lets out a shallow sigh, then places her hand on your jaw, her thumb gliding over your bottom lip. “Just keep liking me. Okay?”
im gonna name my daughter “the babadook” and everyone’s gonna call her babs and every time she meets someone new they’ll be like “babs, that’s cute, is that short for barbara?” and she’ll have to look them in the eye and say “no it’s short for ‘the babadook’”
This is stupid but what if in one of the cycles the IPRE land on a world where the letter B is considered wildly unlucky and they won’t give their children names that start with the letter B and Barry has to go by Sildar Hallwinter for a whole year so the locals will be able to trust him and not consider him cursed
You murdered her. You killed her children. Now say her name. I will hear you say it. She was Elia of Dorne. Say it! Elia of Dorne! If you die before you say her name, ser, I will hunt you through all seven hells. (requested by jeyre)
After Vax is gone, Keyleth visits Whitestone more often. She still leads her people competently and wisely, but whenever she needs a moment of rest, a time without the weight of her world on her shoulders, she visits the castle. At first it’s to visit Percy and Vex, and then Vex, Percy, and the kids, later still it’s just Vex and the Kids. Keyleth becomes Aunt Keyleth as the kids grow up, and Great Aunt Keyleth after that.
When Percival V follows his grandfather into the natural sciences, studying engineering in Emon, Keyleth shows him around the city, shows him the Vox Machina fountain, his grandfather’s statue facing north-east, towards Whitestone, Vex at his side. Percival V asks if the one with the antlers is her.
Yes and No.
When he comes back to Whitestone with a plan to build a bridge from Tal’dore to Wynadir, Keyleth helps him to move the stone into place, taming the waters as the piles are driven deep in the ocean floor. The bridge stands for much of her life, a monument to engineering and magic. To the power that trust can bring to bear in overcoming separation.
When the tradition of naming the children Percival has long since ended, Keyleth helps Freddie to expand the bridge, to make it strong enough to support the weight of the new iron carriages, they aren’t teleportation, but they’re affordable, and they’re moving people in larger numbers than ever.
Emon grows into a city of history and industry, Whitestone shines as a beacon of ingenuity and hope, Westrun grows into a center of scholarship and craft, Vassellheim remains its conceited, pious self. And the Ashari, led by Zephrah return to the world stage, never forsaking their duty in guarding the places between the planes.
Throughout it all, throughout the rest of her Millennia and a half long life, Keyleth never forgets, never withdraws for long. She never forgets that Percy lives as long as Whitestone lives, and when things are at their darkest: at another funeral for her child (they’re all her children now and they’re all children to her now.) after the next big catastrophe leaves her reeling, still sensitive to the pain of others after all these years, she takes that phrase as her own. She will live as long as Whitestone lives, if Percy can make it through all these years then so can she.
And when she leaves the Material Plane for the last time, arm and arm with the man with raven’s wings, Whitestone remembers her- Aunt Keyleth, the woman who the city kept alive just as much as she kept it alive. When she and her friends, reunited after a thousand years, look back across the Astral sea, to check on the places that they loved she sees something that she never expected in her long, long life. For a thousand years beyond hers there is almost always a keyleth in Whitestone Castle. A Legacy in a Name.