#I won’t be starving for a good while I’m assuming

[food-lover9000]

WAIT. After lv 15 they don’t have any more affinity lv content for the global server..!

[crownedtargaryen]

Headcanons for Your First Time With Aemond, Aegon, Jacerys, Bran, Robb and Podrick

A/N : I’ve never written a headcanons post before so I have no real promises this will be any good. Please feel free to go to my ask box and recommend some ideas!

ALL NOTES (SHARES, LIKES, COMMENTS) ARE APPRECIATED!!

18+ NSFW content

Aegon

Without hesitation I can tell you this man is a switch

He would definitely start off harsh

He’d immediately go to tear your clothes off like you’re a whore h’s bought from a brothel

He looks at you like you’re a fresh piece of meat and he’s been starved for ages, absolutely craving every inch of your skin

You push him back and he’ll stare at you in shock, but then calm down

I’m assuming since you’re reading his you have a “i can fix him” mentality, so you’ve fixed him in this

he feels guilty at first, but you reassure him it’s alright and to be gentle, that you’ve never done this before

at you admitting he’s your first, he starts to rile up again, but is obviously swallowing it down

he’ll lift your dress and slip his hand beneath your undone corset, kissing over that fragile neck and leaving the filthiest bites on your skin

”You’re mine” he’ll demand against your earlobe “And I’ll make sure the whole castle knows that by the end of this.”

He’ll slip his fingers in, working your insides hesitantly. He’s not used to pleasuring someone else, more doing all this for his own pleasure

His movements are sloppy and reckless, but it feels good either way

It’s almost awkward, he stares at you at moments, trying to see if you’re feeling good

eventually you have to take charge of the situation, pushing him onto the sheets and working your way around his body

putting his dick in your mouth, watching as he whines and bucks his hips while panting like a dog in heat

you slip him in, your head tilting back. He mewls in pleasure, sitting up and guiding your hips, you stop him and tell him it hurts.

he listens, something you wouldn’t expect. You smile, petting his white hair and then locking lips with his, your bodies smothering each other as you ride him

you both are noisy, and he starts getting rougher with you, but you don’t seem to mind.

by the end of it all, he’s fucking you senseless until you’re on the verge of losing yourself, making a mess all over him as he does inside of you.

as for aftercare, he knows nothing of such. He merely gets up, wipes himself off, then lays with you and lets you cuddle close as he strokes your hair

honestly, the sex was good but he doesn’t seem to be educated enough. It’ll take a lot of it to get him perfect. ;)

Aemond

He’s a top and would NEVER let you overpower him

The entire experience is like a power trip, he tells you over and over that he owns you, and you believe it

but it took forever to even get him into bed

you’ve been set to wed for quite a while, but he’s so focused on the war and everything else that he won’t pay you ANY attention

and you HATE it

so, when the wedding comes around, you specifically request a bedding ceremony, which pleases his mother after some hesitation

at first he weirdly hesitates in touching you, instead he commands you strip in front of him.

as your corset and gown drop, a sly smile comes to his face as he licks his lips at the sight of your figure

he’ll move over and run his fingers down your stomach and to your lower lips, rubbing in a circle

where he learned this? God knows, but it feels so good you can’t dwell

your legs turn to jelly as he slowly strips himself from his garb, smacking your hand away when you attempt to assist

he’ll lower you on the bed with one arm, kissing down your collar bone and chest, licking over your nipples

”You’re gorgeous,” he’ll whisper in a deep and lustful voice. “All of this is mine.”

he’ll then push inside you without warning, stilling and looking into your eyes forcefully, his eye patch still on

”Isn’t that right.” He’ll growl, thrusting unto you with slow and rough smacks of his waist to your inner thigh

”Come on, baby” he’ll coo, holding your hands down and smiling so sly

”say it.”

you swallow hard then can’t utter any words, it feels amazing, like you were made for this very moment

he slows to a stop and chuckles at your whimpers, shuffling ur hips

”Say. It.”

“I’m yours” you’ll whimper, his smile growing. “I’m yours and yours alone, Aemond.”

You reach up to take his eyepatch off and he flinches, catching you off guard

”I don’t want to scare you,” he suddenly says, making you flush and smile.

”You’re perfect, a scar couldn’t scare me.”

He hesitantly let’s you take off the patch, his sapphire eye now visible. You hold his face and kiss the scar, feeling him twitch inside you at such a gesture.

He starts moving in and out, panting and letting out low grunts but not loud enough for it to trail outside of the room

He’ll grow into a pounding, enjoying pulling your hair and flipping you around like you’re a play thing

He’d degrade you, mixing them with praises and leave red hand prints from smacking your ass and thighs

He’d go for about 2-3 rounds before finishing up inside, and making sure you finished as well.

He’ll then clean you up with extra cloth and even give your cunt a few licks, then kiss you and make you taste both of your juices and the love you made.

then, he’ll arrange a bath and take it with you, not caring to clean up the mess on the sheets, urging a servant to do it for him as he holds you close in the water and says nothing

just rubbing your thigh and kissing over your shoulder with relaxed breathing as you wash his hair and face with peppered kisses between each other

Jacerys

A top. For sure.

he definitely likes to take control after you think you are, another power trip but much gentler

hes also like Aemond with he doesn’t do anything sexual until the bedding ceremony

but not because he’s too busy for you, oh no he’s made SO much time for you

he just has fun doing romantics rather than sexual things with you

every day is a new adventure, you almost forget your desires

but once the bedding ceremony starts, he’s got his hands on you in ways you didn’t think were possible

of course, he starts off slow, taking you from your garb without any haste

he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, but doesn’t seem all that interested in your body

no, he loves that pretty face of yours

he loves the expressions it makes, the noises that come out of those beautiful parted lips

he loves it with so much of his being that he’ll do anything to see those faces

so, he picks you up with a heated kiss and places you against the wall, looking to you eagerly as his kisses trail down. He keeps you up with just those strong arms on your legs

he loves how surprised you get when he places your thighs on his shoulders

oh he definitely knows his way with his tongue too

he’ll know all the right places, looking up to you as his tongue dances on your cunt and inside

he smiles, you can feel it in those lower lips of yours, when you tilt your head back and say his name

he LOVES it when you say his full name

not Jace, but Jacerys

he removes himself just before you can finish, kissing you and making you taste yourself on his tongue

he’ll place you on the bed so gently, his hands feeling over your waist and a giddy grin spread on his face

”You’re all mine,” he’ll whisper, raising a brow. “I want you to remember that. My wife, the barer of my beautiful children.”

unlike Aemond, he sticks to praises and loving terms

”Love” “Beautiful” “Pretty” “My goddess”

and you definitely feel like a goddess

he doesn’t insert just yet, rubbing it on the base of your lower lips and slit

he teases you, but not in painful way

you softly beg him

he loves it, he loves when you speak. Your voice is like honey to him, he wants to eat it up and drown in that beautiful tongue of yours

”Since you asked so nicely, Princess” he’d tease, shoving inside of you before running still and gentle

he def moves his hand down to work the clit. No questions asked.

he’ll kiss you only a few times, not wanting to silence you

he’d work you well. Slow at first, then a steady rhythm. Not too fast, but not insanely slow

he’d leave marks on your chest, in places only he can see

and when you’re done, he’d bury deep inside and let it out

as for aftercare, he’d pick you up once he’s recovered and whisper about how amazing you did

he’d clean you up and see to it you’re bathed. He doesn’t mind being sweaty and heated, so he doesn’t get in the bath with you

no, he instead bathes you like a servant

he’s so gentle with his touch, it almost feels ludicrous

then, he dries you off and takes one last moment to admire your beauty

then, he dresses you. He doesn’t let you do it yourself

he has trouble with it at first, even if it’s just a night garb

But once he’s got you clothed, he’ll take you back to the bedroom and get the sheets changed before holding you close and drifting to sleep after you

Podrick

hear me out, a soft switch

he LIVES to please you

Definitely has mommy issues and a mommy kink

since he isn’t of royalty he’d probably act on his desires when you show interest

he’d definitely only do it when you want to, but that doesn’t stop his tempting gaze

he finds you gorgeous, eyeing you down and smirking slightly to himself as he thinks the nastiest thoughts of you

and oh you love it. So much.

When you finally admit your desires, he’ll ask if he can kiss you

he seems shy at first, gentle with his hands and movements

then, you show eagerness and desire. It drives him crazy

he’ll open your legs and work your cunt with his tongue

he loves. LOVES. When you scream and shake

he’ll pet your thighs and pump his tongue in and out at a steady pace while sucking on your folds and clit

he’d have to hold your legs down as you cum in his mouth, and he loves it

he’d try to get up and leave for a moment, but you stop him and plead for him to lose himself with you

he’s SO hesitant, but then strips from his clothes and gets on top of you

as he’s on top of you he’d softly go “Are you sure?” And wait patiently for your consent

when given, he’ll push in, and the sigh he lets out as his eyes roll back is mesmerizing

he’ll bite his lip, hard, and move slowly in and out, groaning and looking in your eyes, loving the sight of you

your faltering expression gives him confidence as he presses his hand on your clit and works it as he quickens his pace, making you roll your eyes back as well

he’d be too nervous to kiss you, just working you like he’s don’t this a million times over.

he’d cradle you after he busts outside, and finger you until you softly plea him to stop.

he’ll wipe you off and clean himself off, not thinking of bathing, just holding you close and not wanting to lose this moment.

he’ll leave soft marks on your shoulders and chest, obsessed with your breasts, and admire you with so much love

”I love you” he’ll whisper “I hope I can marry you soon.”

Bran

A bottom. I will not take criticism.

he doesn’t know where the clit is, and it’s not necessarily a bad thing. He’s just too inexperienced

When you first present the idea of exploration into sexual territory, he’s hesitant

he’ll look at you with a “me? You want to try with ME?”

When you insist that you want him, he’d flush and kind of pull away

when you ask why he’s so scared, he tells you “I’ve never tried anything like that before.” And then look at you, so lovingly and worrisome “I’m not even sure if *it* works.”

his eyes will widen when you say “There’s only one way to find out.” And he nods then verbalizes consent to trying.

He’s shaking as you help him lay comfortably on the bed, his eyes trailing you. He loves when you tease him.

you sit on his lap and roll your hips as your garb is stripped, and he eagerly reaches for you, but you stop him. He obeys, looking at you with pleading and innocent eyes

his eyes start on only your face, then his thoughts best him. He looks lower, eyeing your chest and sighing, a new hardness under his clothes. Then lower, and he lets out what almost sounds like a pitiful whimper

you’re flushed at his reactions, taking his hand as his gaze snaps to your face with a guilty look. You move his hand and guide it to your clit, where his breath hitches at the wetness below.

”Rub in circles, Bran,” you’ll whisper, watching as he swallows hard and licks his lips as he works you insanely well, surprising you. You whine and moan softly, his eyes blowing wide and his cheeks blood red.

he LOVVVES your noises holy shit

and he adores the way your breasts bounce as he pleases you

he would be fine doing this and only this the entire time, but is surprised when you move his fingers to your entrance and adjust them, then push them in.

he keeps them still, then you guide them in and out, his eyes going to your face as you sigh and groan. He moves faster, picking up the movement amazingly.

As you strip him from his clothes, he looks adorable while he’s flustered. Shuffling and eyeing your chest once more then your face.

he does NOT know where to look

you’ll reveal his cock, and it’s big. Much bigger than you expected on a man, it’s stands up straight and eager, twitching slightly. He looks HUMILIATED.

you reassure him, moving to his side and holding his head to your chest, he kisses over your breasts and groans, moving and licking over your nipples. He LOVVVVES this.

you jerk him off, seeing if he feels it. And oh he definitely does.

he grabs you, shuffling and moaning under his breath, it almost doesn’t make you wanna stop

but you steady to a stop and ride him, his eyes rolling back and his breathing heavy and uneven. He holds your waist, moaning your name over and over as you hold his arms and tilt your head back. He sits up all the way and kisses you

he loves how your lips taste, groaning against your mouth and even moving into a sloppy make out to muffle his pathetic whimpers.

he softly tells you he thinks he’s about to burst from the inside and you tell him it’s you being close to cumming. He doesn’t even think about it and without warning bursts inside of you.

hes definitely apologetic after the high wears down, but you shush him and cuddle close, not caring about a cleanup. You just want to be close to him, and he wants the same.

Robb

He’s a hard read, but I feel like he’d top you after being a bit unsure about his place in the bedroom

he’d definitely know where the clit is. I take no criticism.

he’d do it whenever you seem to show a lot of interest in it, and would sacrifice anything to keep you as his

he starts off slow, getting excited at just the sight of the garb sliding down your shoulders

his eyes are EVERYWHERE. At first, your face, in need to feel like he isn’t disrespecting you somehow, but once he sees your body he’s done for

he loves when you pull his hair, especially when you kiss him.

he’d finger you until you can’t function, smiling so wide at just the sight of your desires

he’d never push you into anything, just kissing down your body and leaving love bites all along your skin

he’s OBSESSED with the way your body follows his hands, and how you lean into him with such desire

he’s definitely a doggy style type of boy

dont get me wrong, he LOVES looking at your expressions, but he loves pulling your hair and seeing the way your back arches

he’d start off slow, rolling his hips in a gentle and easy rhythm, but when it’s not enough for you he hastily pounds you into the bed

he’ll bite. 100% he bites you and will whisper “Such a good girl, my pretty little thing… You’re all mine.” And would grip your ass, groaning softly in your ear

no hesitation or apologies, he cums inside and ENSURES you’re over your limit before he’s done

he’d take such good care of you. Washing you off, kissing the sore spots, massaging you, he’d even offer to give you some… “after treatment” with his mouth ;)

def eats you out after too, after he washes you off he goes for another round but only for your pleasure, letting your ride his face

he’ll then wipe you down and pepper you with kisses, dressing you and refusing to let you help

he’d then cuddle you so close, promising to love you forever and that he’d never let anyone hurt you, refusing to sleep until you’re sound asleep and he knows you’re safe.

[shipmistress9]

Made to Order - 5

Previous Chapter

AO3

The next few weeks fly by in a blur. At least three times a week, Violet stops by my shop, to see more samples of the flowers we make. It’s just an excuse of course, merely a justification to meet her again regularly, and I think she must have seen through it by now. But if she did, she never mentions it.

Her visits are never repetitive. Sometimes, she only stays for half an hour, her lunch break, and sometimes, she spends a good portion of her free day here. Sometimes, Liam is here as well and he jokes around, making all three of us laugh. Sometimes, it’s just the two of us, which makes the conversations softer, more real. Sometimes, she brings a book and reads, mostly when I’m busy finishing a cake in time, and she’s just content with being here. What always stays the same, though, is her generally good mood and the cup of hot chocolate I prepare for her without asking first by now.

We also talk a lot. Sometimes, I sit with her for a while, as long as I can afford it, and sometimes, we call through the entire shop when I’m preparing some dough or filing. We talk about everything, books and movies and music we enjoyed, things we despise, about things we experienced and things we dream of. I learn that she only recently returned from working abroad for six months, and I tell her of the time Liam played a prank on our father, making it seem like some evil creatures were messing with his paperwork.

And with every time I see her, I fall more for her. How could I not when she’s the smartest and funniest and just straight up most fucking brilliant woman I’ve ever met? When her smiles bewitch me time and time again, when her laughter is haunting me in my dreams. When my mind keeps wandering and wondering about what it would feel like to kiss her.

It’ll all end with her wedding day, but this is a truth I try not to think about too much. Which is easy as, aside from talking about the cake, neither of us ever brings it up.

. o O o .

“Okay, I’m ready,” Violet says, making herself comfortable in what by now became her place in my alcove sitting area. “I only had some vegetable sticks for lunch, and I’m starving.”

Chuckling, I place our usual cups of hot chocolate in front of her. “That’s a shame, really. If you just gulp down all the cakes then you won’t even know how they tasted.”

She wrinkles her nose, looking incredibly cute while doing so. “Guess I should show some restraint then. Or this whole tasting will have been for nothing.” She grins and I grin back on reflex. Interacting with her became so simple by now. Easy as breathing.

I leave her again to get the plate with the taste samples I prepared for her, and when I return, her eyes are growing wide.

“Oh, wow!” She stares literally with her mouth hanging open. “That’s… a lot of cake.”

I only allow myself a tiny smile at her reaction, even though inwardly, I’m grinning like an idiot. There are eight mini cakes on this plate, definitely more than I would usually choose for a tasting. But I long since gave up on pretending she’s just another customer. She is special to me, whether I want it or not. I keep reminding myself that she’ll marry in less than a month, but the words have lost their bite by now. As if they’re not real, just a dark cloud in the distance.

“Well, you only need to taste them all. Afterwards, I can help finish them off.” I hold up two cake forks.

Violet’s eyes gleam with mirth as she reaches for one, then glances down at the cakes in front of her. “Okay, these look absolutely delicious.” She pulls out a pen and a sheet of paper, a copy of the list she gave me a couple of weeks ago. “So, what are all of these?”

My lips twitch at how prepared she came. Violet, I’ve learned by now, is nothing if not organised. “I picked five variations directly from your list, those with the names behind them as I assume those are their favourites?” Violet nods. “Right so we have red velvet cake for Cianna,” I begin to explain, pointing at the according cake. “Black Forest cake for Dain, marzipan for Amber, vanilla strawberry for Nyra, and lemon cheesecake again for Dain.”

“That would be Dain’s father,” Violet explains, probably because she noticed my frown at her fiancé having two cakes on this list. “Dain Aetos senior.”

She wrinkles her nose again, more annoyed this time, and I stifle my comment about that man apparently being rather convinced of himself. Violet’s gaze switches to the other three cakes, then throws me a questioning look. “And what about these?”

“These are my additions. Not from the list but still some I think you should try. The first is a variation of the lemon cheesecake, with extra blueberries. Which elevates the taste immensely, in my opinion.” And adds a beautiful violet colour once the cake is cut, but I'm not saying that out loud. Instead, I point at the next slice. “This is chocolate cake. An old family recipe and a general customer favourite. And the last one… Well, let’s just say I have a gift of guessing which filling is someone’s favourite. And since this one wasn’t on the list, and you didn’t have a favourite there anyway, I thought you should try it.”

At that, Violet raises one eyebrow at me, but her lips quickly twitch back into a smile. “I’m already picking everything about the cake, so no need to put my favourite on the list when I can just choose what tastes best, anyway. Besides, who said mine isn’t among these already?”

I lift my hands in defeat. “Fair enough.”

She gives me another mockingly scrutinising glare, then turns her attention back to the cakes. “Well, then let’s get to it, then.”

She starts at the beginning with the red velvet cake, and I fight not to let it get to me as she moans at the feathery texture and taste, her eyes even fluttering shut in bliss. Fuck, I’ll never be able to get rid of this image again. “Oh, wow!” she exclaims. “This is… wow! I don’t know what to say. You really made this cake yourself?”

“Of course, I did.” I shake my head, snorting, even though I only have to act being offended a little bit. “What did you expect? That I run this shop just because I have nothing better to do?”

Her eyes fly open wide, and she almost chokes on the cake in her mouth. “No, that’s… I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t know. It didn’t really register that you’re a baker until now. Seems too ordinary for someone like you.”

I frown, about to ask what she means, but she already turned her attention to the next cake, so I let it slide.

This time, for the Black Forest cake, she doesn’t seem quite as convinced, though. “Something’s not right?” Did I mess something up?

But Violet shakes her head. “No, no, it’s fine. Perfect, I guess. I just really don’t like cherries in cakes. And I forgot for a hot second that those would be in there.”

I frown again, but this time, I don't swallow the question. “Why was it on the list when you don’t even like it?”

“It’s Dain’s favourite,” she shrugs, as if that’s a good enough excuse. Then she turns, somewhat talking to the cake directly. “But I’m sorry, Dainy-bear. You said I have free rein over the cake, so this is off the list.”

I press my lips together not to laugh out loud. Her antics are brilliant.

“I’m sorry,” Violet sighs. “I should have told you beforehand that I’m not the biggest fan of this cake. And…” She grimaces. “It’s even worse with marzipan. I’m sure your cake is amazing, but I hate marzipan.”

“That’s okay.” I let my own fork sink into the juicy cake. “Means there’s more for me.” And I mean it. I don’t mind that I made these cakes for nothing. I didn’t expect her to pick those, anyway.

That her Dain put them on the list regardless of her tastes is another matter. But I try to push my emotions down by reminding myself that she’s obviously happy and not troubled by her upcoming wedding anymore. If this is what she wants, then I really have no grounds to interfere.

The next couple of cakes are more to her taste again. According to her, the vanilla strawberry cake is delicious, though maybe a bit simple for a wedding cake, and I wholeheartedly agree. The lemon cheesecake seems to be her favourite so far, even though she’s visibly reluctant to agree with her future father-in-law despite him never knowing about it. And her little smirk when she cuts the lemon blueberry cheesecake tells me that she instantly made the connection about the colour.

“Okay, but these blueberries,” she mumbles with her mouth still half full of cake. “They really make a difference for the taste. The fresh sour aroma of the lemons with the sweet cheesecake is already so good, but combined with the fine acidness of the blueberry, it’s just perfect.”

Fighting my smirk, I accept that rational and perfectly accurate explanation for why, obviously, the version with blueberries is better.

“Okay, these were great.” Violet sighs contentedly, making a few notes onto her paper. “But what’s the deal with this chocolate cake?”

A sly smile tugs at my lips and I give her an offhanded shrug. “Give it a try.”

She throws me a bemused glance and I watch closely for her reaction as she puts the fork into her mouth. As her eyes widen as she chews, as she glances down with a puzzled frown and quickly takes another bite. This never gets old.

“By Amari,” she mutters. “This… this is….” She takes a third bite and lets out a sweet little moan that I’ll probably never get out of my head again. “This isn’t just a chocolate cake,” she exclaims, staring at me. “I mean… it is? But it’s by far the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had. It’s so… rich? Is that the word? How did you do that?”

My chest swells, at her praises but even more at her clear delight. “Sorry, can’t tell you that. As I said, it’s a recipe I learned from my grandma. A secret recipe.” I wink at her.

Violet snorts. “Okay, fair enough. But I get why this is a customer favourite. It’s fantastic.”

“It really is.” I take a bite for myself, and give myself a moment to just enjoy the taste. “It’s my favourite, too, by the way. So, does it make it onto your list?” I point at her paper.

When I look up, though, Violet is watching me with a weird expression on her face, but quickly turns her attention back to the cakes. “Ah, no, sadly not. It’s fantastic, but Dain isn’t a big fan of chocolate cake. I’ll just have to enjoy it while I can.” She takes another bite, a funny little smile playing around her lips.

She looks so damn pretty when she smiles.

I also take another bite. Apparently, we’re just finishing this cake off directly, and I’m certainly not complaining. “He doesn’t like chocolate cake? What does he think is the basis for Black Forest cake?” Is he one of those guys who's ‘too manly’ to enjoy something as simple as chocolate cake? If so, he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought.

“But it’s not pure chocolate cake?” Violet tries to explain, but then shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know. There’s certainly more to Black Forest cake than just the chocolate. The cherries, for example.” She shudders.

Yep, her Dain is an idiot.

“Then he and all the guests will have to miss out on this cake. Their loss.”

“You’re not exactly suffering from a too small ego, are you?” She throws me another grin.

I snort. “When it comes to my grandma’s chocolate cake? Certainly not.” We exchange another look, then we both burst out laughing. It’s so easy to joke around with her, so simple. Natural, even.

“Okay, one cake left,” Violet eventually says, returning back on topic. “Will you tell me now what it is, at least? Or do I have to go into this one blind?” She eyes the last cake with the nondescript white frosting with a suspicious look.

I hum, pondering, but where’s the point in keeping her in the dark for a few more seconds? “It’s raspberry mascarpone.” I can’t even say what it is or how it works. But sometimes, I get these distinct impressions about which cake would fit someone. And so far, I never missed.

Violet suddenly goes very quiet, though. “Raspberry mascarpone?” she almost whispers, every hint of a smile wiped off her face as she gazes down at the cake.

Unusually tense at her sudden mood change, I watch her cut a piece, slowly, and bring it to her mouth. What’s up with her? Is there something wrong with this kind of cake? Did I make a mistake there? It even seems like her hand is trembling, too.

Violet chews quietly, her eyes vacant. Then her lower lip starts to tremble and a moment later, tears roll down her cheeks. “Ah, shoot. Sorry.” She quickly wipes them away. “That was…” She trails off, shaking her head.

“N-no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Even though I have no idea what just happened. “Is… everything okay?”

Violet sniffs, but a small smile returns to her face. “Yeah, it’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting this.”

Chewing my lips, I ponder what to do. I know I probably should let it rest. But when have I ever listened to that voice of reason when it comes to her? “And what was it? If I may ask.”

She swallows, absentmindedly eating another bite. “It’s… my dad. He died when I was very young. I only have a few memories of him, but one of the most vivid ones is how he always used to make what he called desert breakfast on the Sundays my mum wasn’t home. Probably to distract us from thinking about where else she might be.”

Right, she’d mentioned she grew up in a military family.

“And this is what he always made for me. Raspberries with mascarpone. Not in a fancy cake like this, but… it tasted just like this.” She sniffles again, but with a smile this time. “So you really don’t have to apologise. In fact, I should be thanking you—” she laughs, short but true. “—for essentially giving me a Ratatouille moment.”

“Well, I guess you’re welcome then,” I reply, trying to ignore how my heart is brimming with happiness for her. “So, which one would you like for your big cake?” I ask to change the topic back to something more sober. For her and for my sake alike. “The raspberry mascarpone then?”

Violet takes a moment to think about it, but then shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. This is… I don’t know. Too personal for this huge event.”

I nod, understanding, even though this again makes me resent her Dain. Her wedding day should be special, dammit. Having this cake as a reminder of her dead father could be a comfort, maybe a way of having him there with her. But instead, it seems like she doesn’t really care much about their big party at all, this memory of her father too precious to sully it with this show of appearance.

“I think…” Her gaze roams over the other cakes. “I think the lemon cheesecake is the best choice. Also, this will make the Colonel happy, that the cake he so graciously pays for is exactly to his liking. Now, do we use the version with or without the blueberries?” She ponders, eating another piece from each cake.

I hesitate, but ultimately can’t hold back. “If I may make a suggestion?”

“Sure!” She looks up at me expectantly, her usual happy smile back on her face. I’m happy to see it again, but equally happy that I got to see her tears, as well. That she opened up to me.

I quickly focus on the cakes again. “If you pick the one with blueberries, it would also fit the decoration. You and Liam decided on purple orchids as the highlights, right?”

“Yes!” Violet straightens. “Do you think he could match the colour to this blueberry cake?”

“He’d be offended you even asked that,” I snort. “Well, since I’ll be making the cake after he makes the flowers, the hue would vary, I guess. But normal people wouldn’t notice much of a difference.”

Violet giggles; Liam’s and my squabbling is always good to make her laugh. “Then that’s settled. Lemon blueberry cheesecake it is.”

“Perfect!” I don’t need to put this into her order form, not directly, at least. As if I would forget anything when it comes to her. As if I could…

We finish off the cakes, talking about this and that again. I take over the marzipan, leaving the Black Forest cake for when Liam comes home from his classes tonight. Meanwhile, Violet visibly enjoys her raspberry mascarpone cake, and I make a mental note to always have at least some tartlets with this filling conveniently lying around for her. She deserves a treat for all the crap her fiancé puts her through.

“Mmmhh, I really could get used to this,” she sighs as we share the other cakes. “Not for every day, or I won’t fit into my dress anymore. Let alone any other clothes.” She chuckles. “But just… getting to eat such delicious cakes every now and then, just because and without any special occasion.”

“You’re welcome to stop by anytime you want, you know?” I lean forward for a piece of chocolate cake, the one closest to her, but this time do not retreat.

Shit, am I flirting with her? I shouldn’t be doing that. But I also shouldn’t have said that in the first place. It’s too big an opening for her to worm her way deeper into my life. And yet, I don’t regret it. I know it’s stupid, but I want her to stop by, to keep stopping by even after her wedding.

“Maybe I will,” Violet hums, smiling in a way that’s hard to interpret. “Just to get more of these delicious treats.” She mimics me, picking some of the red velvet cake and not leaning back again.

“Not that I would prepare those for you specifically,” I lie. “Just to use up any left-overs.”

“Of course,” she smirks, as if seeing right through me. “But I don’t mind any left-overs if they taste like this.”

She manoeuvres another piece of strawberry cake into her mouth, and I’m having a hard time looking away. Fuck me, that mouth. In an attempt to regain at least some composure, I get some more cake on my fort as well, no idea which one I picked, and aim for my mouth without taking my eyes off her—and miss spectacularly. There’s enough on my lips to know it was the lemon cheesecake, but most of it landed right next to my mouth, right in my face.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the absurdity of the moment feeling like time has stopped. And then we burst out laughing. I should probably feel embarrassed and there’s a hit of it, too, in a distant corner of my mind. But how could I feel bad about something that makes her laugh so beautifully, makes her eyes sparkle like this.

“Just great,” I snort, reaching for a napkin. “How to make an utter fool of yourself without even saying one word.”

“At least the mouth was involved.” Violet watches me clean up, her mouth hidden behind her conveniently placed hand. “But I don’t know about the utter fool. Some could say it’s endearing, not being perfect all the time.” Her eyes gleam with mirth, and I snort, shaking my head at her.

She doesn’t mean it, not like that. She can’t.

I put the napkin down, fighting to keep my thoughts straight. “I’m far from perfect. Right now, I’m trying to think of something to say to save my dignity, and come up entirely empty.”

She chuckles. “No matter what you say, with that bit of frosting still on your face, your dignity is screwed.”

I really am making a fool of myself. “I missed something? Shit.” I reach for another napkin, but she beats me to it, standing up to lean over and bring her hand to my face.

“Yeah, right here.”

With her palm on my cheek, her thumb wipes at a spot right below the corner of my mouth. And I freeze. Her touch, while soft, sends a shock through my body, so much more intense than that first little brush of fingers so many weeks ago. I can’t breathe, can only stare at her face, so much closer to mine than ever before. I gaze into her eyes, even prettier from up close if that’s possible, seeing the equal surprise about our sudden proximity mirrored there. Inhale her surprisingly floral scent, as if it’s trying to make good on her name. If I only do so much as lean in a tiny bit, I could kiss her, and right now, I don’t know whether I have the strength to pull away.

Without my help, my eyes drop down to her lips, shimmering with that pearly sheen, and my own lips part on their own accord. My heart’s beating like a riot of dragon wings, my breathing shallow and quick, and if my senses don’t betray me completely, she fares little better. Letting out the tiniest of sweet noises, Violet’s eyes fall closed and she leans in even further.

And I can’t fight it anymore.

I move to breach the last distance between us, to surrender to my failure and give in to what I desire most—when a tiny light startles me. I don’t know where it came from, maybe a car driving by and throwing a random ray of late sunshine into my shop. Only to get caught and reflected on her hand.

On the stone in her cheap engagement ring.

Sucking in a harsh breath, I pull back, all but jumping out of my seat. Getting as far away from her, from the temptation, as possible.

“I-I’m sorry,” I gasp, looking anywhere but at her. “That was…”

But I don’t get to finish the sentence. Because before I can utter even one more word, Violet runs out of the shop, the door falling shut behind her.

. o O o .

AN: Uh oh... That was close... 😶

I'm not entirely sure yet whether the end of this story fits into one chapter or whether it's goign to end up getting split again. Knowing me probably the latter. 😅 On another note, I have Violet's backstory about what happens here loosely written out. Should I add it at the end, maybe as an epilogue where the tells Xaden about it? 🤔

Next Chapter

[princessmisery666]

Personal Vegas - Part 2 - No One's In The Room Mini Series

Series Summary: Jake and Ryleigh find themselves stranded in a remote location when a mission goes sideways. Injured and dependent on his help, she gets a glimpse of the man beneath the façade of ‘The Terminator’. Once they are rescued, the bubble of their personal Vegas bursts, and Jake struggles with new emotions while Ryleigh hopes he will finally see the man she came to know when no one else is in the room.

Summary: As much as Jake would like everyone to believe he's the terminator, Ryleigh doesn't buy it. Stranded for a few days, she tries to discover who he is when no one else is in the room. Jake worries about being vulnerable and doesn’t make it easy for her.

Warnings: angst, cheating mentioned, bad family relationships.

W/C: 3.2k

Characters: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, Ryleigh ‘Rodeo’.

Pairing: none for part 2.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch

Graphics: made by me on canva.

Catch up here.

Personal Vegas

Jake set the table, including a jug of water and a tumbler of whiskey for himself, leaving the bottle in the middle. Dishing up the chili into bowls, he heard Ryleigh’s stomach grumble and quietly chuckled. She must have been starving for her stomach to be protesting the way it was.

When he’d reappeared from his shower, she was sprawled out on the sofa, features relaxed, a steady rise and fall to her chest as she slept. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her, but she needed to eat and move to the bed, which he assumed would be more comfortable and better for her wound in the long run.

“Ryleigh,” he whispered, gently shaking her shoulder, “wake up. Dinner’s ready.” She shot up so quickly that he had to jump back to avoid headbutting her, her gasp getting lost in the sound of the movement. “Easy, easy,” he soothed, “it’s just me.”

She looked around, eyes finally landing on his face, and she seemed to remember where she was.

“Your stomach has been talking to me for the last ten minutes,” Jake informed her, “wanna eat here or at the table?”

“Table,” she replied, voice still groggy with sleep as she rose to her feet. “Ow, fuck,” she yelped, lifting her weight off her leg, and Jake was quick to take her arm to help steady her. 

“Sit down,” he suggested sternly, his arm wrapping around hers and supporting a portion of her weight.

“I can make it,” she protested stubbornly, “I forgot for a second, that’s all.”

He helped her to the table, shaking his head along the way, helping ease her into the chair and making sure she was comfortable before taking his seat across from her.

Jake waited with anticipation, watching as Ryleigh shoveled a spoonful of his Grandma’s special chili into her mouth. He wanted her to like it. He needed her to know he wasn’t the one-dimensional asshole everyone thought he was. Sure, it would be good for his ever-expanding ego, but sometimes it was exhausting to constantly be ‘on’. It was no secret he wanted to impress her, but only enough to get her into his bed, so the need for her to see him differently surprised him. He didn’t have time to put much more thought into the reason behind it before she’d finished savoring the first bite. 

“Mmm. It’s good,” she hummed, eyes slipping closed. “How’d you learn to cook like this?” 

He hesitated, his spoon dragging through his bowl. It’s not as if it were a secret, but it was a detail about his life. It was personal, something he’d never shared with anyone, and if he offered the information willingly, it opened him up to further questioning.  

She sighed, chewing and swallowing three more spoonfuls in silence. “I told you I’m afraid of needles, and no one else knows that. Not the dagger squad, none of our superiors, no one. But you won’t tell me one little thing?” she asked. “Who hurt you?”

“I’m the terminator. It’s impossible to hurt me,” he countered, sipping his whiskey. 

“Come on, Seresin,” she coaxed, “we’re gonna be stuck here for a few days. Let’s get to know each other a little better. I wanna know what makes you tick.” 

“Fast and loose women and even faster jets,” he smirked.

“You wanna pretend you’re that shallow? Go ahead,” she shrugged, “but I don’t believe it.”

“Why do you care?”

“I wouldn’t say I care. I’m curious.” Ryleigh explained. “We’re partnered for work, and it would be helpful to know things about each other. Why don’t we play a game, and whatever we say in this cabin never leaves here.”

“Like our own Vegas?”

“Exactly,” she said, reaching over the table and offering her pinky finger. 

He shook his head but latched onto her promise. What harm could it do? She’d have no proof to back whatever he revealed or lied about. “What’s the game?” 

“Let’s pretend this is our first date, and we’re getting to know each other.”

He wagged his brow, “Or we could just skip to the fifth date and really get to know each other.”

“It takes you five dates? I never took you for a prude, Seresin.” 

“Touche,” he laughed, grinning. “That tells me a lot about you that I didn’t know.”

“Whatever,” she chuckled, “So c’mon, whose is the chili recipe?” 

“Grandma’s. It’s not the exact recipe, I didn’t have all the ingredients, but it's close enough. She’d put on some Sam Cooke, and she’d teach me all she knew,” he recalled, smiling fondly. “But it never felt like she was teaching me, y’know? We were just having fun.” 

“Is that the tune you were humming, Sam Cooke?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, the most genuine she may have ever seen from him. “It helps me remember.” 

“Are you close with your family?”

The smile fell, and he sighed, “This is dumb.”

“I’m not close with mine,” she explained, recognizing the revelations had so far been one-sided. “My dad skipped out when I was still in diapers. So it was just my mom and me, but she was too busy chasing emotionally damaged men she thought she could fix. She moved me all over the country. The only one that lasted more than a couple of months was Maverick.”

Jake felt the shock on his face, and her smirk showed genuine pleasure that the revelation stumped him.

“Yep,” she nodded, “I lived with Maverick and, lamentably, Rooster for the last three years of high school. When the inevitable break-up happened, Mav told me to look him up when I was ready to be something other than my mother’s daughter. He’s the reason I joined the Navy.” 

“So you and Rooster?” he implied.

“Jealous?”

“Maybe. But of you, Rooster is one fine-ass dude.” 

They laughed together, and Jake had to admit - if only to himself - that he liked not being at each other’s throats. 

“See, I know so little about you. I don’t know if you're being serious or not,” Ryleigh stated when the laughter teetered off naturally.

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, we’re just close friends. Rooster’s not my type.”

“What is your type?” 

“Assholes like you,” she said, reaching over to clink her glass against his, which he obliged in good spirits. “If we weren’t colleagues, I’d have let you take me to bed that first night we met, and then I’d have kicked myself for falling for the excessive charm and Hollywood smile.”

He winked, “good to know.”

“Never gonna happen, Seresin. So c’mon, you deflected. Are you close with your family?”

He sighed around the lip of his glass. She’d given him an insight into her life and revealed things he didn’t know. He should return the gesture. But how much was he willing to divulge?

The silence stretched, and she stared at him expectantly. She’d extended an olive branch. All he had to do was accept it by giving her something. But the proverbial cat had his tongue; it stuck to the roof of his mouth like overcooked oatmeal.

She shook her head, clearly disappointed, “Maybe you really are the terminator.”

He’d made the claim himself, sometimes thrived on it, and took pride in being emotionless or, at least, appearing that way. The way she made it sound like a slur, though, got under his skin. “Why are you even here if you hate me so much, huh?” he asked, not attempting to hide his ire.

“Cause the Great and Mighty Hangman,” she said, puffing her chest as if she were him, “decided he wanted to try a two-seater. Someone had to be your WSO. So everyone drew straws. I lost.”

“Sucks to be you,” he jeered, standing up to clear the table.

She followed, collecting the used glasses and taking them to the sink. She shoved her full weight into his shoulder, pushing him aside. “Where I come from, the cook doesn’t clean. I got this.” she leered at him, daring him to challenge her. 

He decided against it, grabbing the whiskey bottle and taking it to sit on the couch.

He liked Ryleigh, not just in the sense of trying to get her into his bed but as a colleague and a person. She was smart, funny, and stuck up for the little guy - usually, when Jake was teasing one of their fellow aviators - she wasn’t easily offended by his jokes, and gave as good as she got. If he’d thought opening up to her could have paved the way for her to his bed, perhaps he would have, but she wasn’t that easily fooled. Revealing a personal detail wouldn’t have made her swoon and drop her panties like most women because she wasn’t most women.

However, could opening up, even just a little, make them a better team? Anything that could advance his career was a good thing. So why was he so apprehensive about telling Ryleigh something real? He found no answer in the amber liquor or by the time Ryleigh finished clearing up. He’d drunk a fifth of the bottle as she passed to sit in the armchair directly opposite him. 

“See, you learned something else about me,” she said condescendingly.

“Why do you care about getting to know me?”

Ryleigh sighed. “I can explain it to you, but I can’t understand it for you.” He flipped her off but didn’t comment, so she continued, “Because we work together, I like to know who's got my back. Plus, I know a lot of guys like you, dated most of them. I wanna know if there is something more underneath that hard exterior.” 

“There’s some trauma there,” he said, “wanna talk about it? My shoulders are good for crying on.” 

“Fuck you, Seresin,” she snarled, “but that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You put on a good show, devil may care attitude, but I think deep down you care more than you let on. You’re a womanizer because you crave affection and love and think one-night stands will give you that. Maybe it does, for a minute. You tell them just enough to show them you're not just a pretty face, whisper sweet forget-me-nots in their ears, and on the rare occasions you stay until morning, you promise to call. Sometimes you do, but there’s always some bullshit excuse why you can’t meet up again, so you ghost her. You're afraid to get close; let anyone know the real you because you’re scared when they do, they won’t like you. So you play the asshole, make reckless decisions, and reject everyone before they can reject you. But all that trauma, all that baggage you have, you bring it into the air, too, and it’s dangerous. That’s why we call you, Bagman.” 

Fuck. He managed to keep his expression neutral, but his heart rate increased, and he felt the tickle of emotion that threatened to blur his vision. Everything she’d said hit so close to home that he pondered if she was some kind of psychic. Or was he really that easy to read?

Instead of reacting in a way he thought she’d take pleasure in, he smirked, “You think I’m pretty?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, “of everything I said, that's all you heard, isn’t it?” she shook her head, rising to her feet. “Everyone has a weakness. Yours seems to be that you think you don’t have one,” she said, walking toward the bedroom. “I’m going to bed.”

Ryleigh lay staring at the ceiling. She should have learned her lesson by now - don’t engage with a fool. But she’d tried, she honestly had, but Hangman clearly didn’t recognize a peace offering when it was extended to him. She’d been curious about him since they met, and, as she confessed, she wanted to know what made Jake Seresin, Hangman.

The persona of his call sign couldn’t be who he was, in the air and on solid ground, but after this evening, she was beginning to wonder.

She heard him shuffling around, doors and windows rattling, so she assumed he was checking they were locked, water running, probably brushing his teeth, the toilet flushed, and then silence.

She strained to listen, wondering what he could possibly be doing. Seconds before she was ready to investigate, he called her name softly from right outside the door.

“Yeah,” she called out just as quietly.

“I need your help.” 

Had he not sounded so sincere, she’d have expected to open the door to find him nursing a hard-on that required her help. What she found wasn’t anything she’d have ever expected.

Hangman frozen in place, wide eyes fixed on the floor.

“Seriously,” she snickered, following his line of sight, barely containing the full-on body laugh. She looked from the spider to the terrified expression of the half-naked man. “You’re scared of spiders?”

“Yes,” he said, gritting his teeth, gaze never leaving his adversary. “Yes, I am. You’re afraid of needles, and I’m afraid of spiders. THEY’RE SMALL AND UNPREDICTABLE AND RUN REALLY FAST, OK?”

She bit her lips to keep from laughing. Jake Hangman Seresin, full of bravado and seemingly sculpted by marble that she admired while he kept an eye on the enemy, was afraid of a spider not even the size of her thumb. 

“Happy now?” he asked, finally meeting her eyes. “You know something about me-oh fuck. Where did it go?” he jumped to press his back against the wall, scanning the hallway.

She wanted to laugh so desperately that her stomach muscles hurt from restraining it, but she knew he’d never reveal anything to her if she did. “He scurried into the bathroom,” she told him, taking his hand. “I promise.”

He seemed to freeze again, looking from her face to her hand but hesitated only a second before interlocking their fingers and allowing her to tug him into the bedroom. He comically fast slammed the door shut as if that could stop the minuscule creature from entering. Regardless it seemed to calm him, and he climbed into his bed without further comment.

Ryleigh followed his lead and climbed back into her bed. The silence seemed deafening, which was odd. They were supposed to be sleeping; silence was required for such a task.

As the sun had set, the temperature dropped, and the furnace either couldn't keep up or was on a timer. The room had lost some of its warmth, and Ryleigh shivered. She pulled the blanket tighter around her, but it was thin, and she wondered if there was a supply closet with a thicker comforter. 

“I can hear you shivering from over here,” Jake grumbled. 

“It’s cold,” she moaned, teeth chattering. “The quilt is thin.”

He sighed, slipping out of his bed, and she lifted enough to look over at him as he pulled the quilt from his bed and threw it over her.

“May I?” he asked, lifting both sheets.

She scooted over to give him more room. He accepted the silent invitation and slipped in behind her. An arm draped over her stomach, pulling her back against his chest. He was like a portable heater; warmth radiated from him. 

She fought a contented hum, instead snipping, “Of course, you're the big spoon.”

“You wanna lie on your bad leg?” he asked tightly. “We can swap.”

Ryleigh smirked, enjoying that she had irked him. “No, just shut up and go to sleep.”

His hot breath tickled the base of her skull as his breathing evened out, but it was obvious he wasn’t sleeping or even trying to. The wind whistled outside, and he pulled her tighter against him as if it had made her colder.

“I’m close with my sister. And my mom, when my Dad isn’t around,” Jake admitted to her back. “My life was planned out for me. School, Navy, pilot, admiral. But I fell for my high school sweetheart, Amber.” He paused as if reliving the memory, and Ryleigh held her breath. “I changed all my plans to follow her across the country. My Dad disowned me - told me I was wasting my life, and I was no son of his to be throwing away my future for a girl. I got a scholarship, so I didn’t need his money. I worked three jobs over the summer to save enough to buy a car and put a deposit on an apartment. I wanted to surprise Amber. I showed up at her house in a beat-up old Jeep, ready to start our life together. I walked in on her fucking her brother’s best friend. I took that Jeep straight to the recruitment office and never looked back, but my dad never forgave me.” He took a deep breath, and Ryleigh felt the pain in it as if it were her own. “Nothing was ever good enough after that, I graduated top of my class at Top Gun, but my score was ten below the guy the year before, so not good enough. I have two confirmed kills, two more than him, but I can’t tell him that because it’s classified, and he’d see it as a breach of confidentiality and, therefore, treason.”

She waited for a beat in case he wasn’t finished, but the only thing to be heard was the howling wind. “Now it all kinda makes more sense,” Ryleigh said as if she’d just discovered the meaning of life. “Cheaters are not a reflection of you. And your dad is a jackass. He’s not supposed to disown you for your decisions. People aren’t supposed to claim to love you and then betray you, Jake.” His muscled arm across her stomach tensed and remained while she continued. “You pushing people away or acting like an asshole just means you’ll get more of the same results. But ultimately, you’ll end up alone and sad. Eventually, you’ll need to let someone in.” 

He remained quiet and tense, and she wondered if she may have angered him.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me Jake,” he noted in a hushed whisper. She laughed just as quietly; he was probably right. It was quiet for a long time, and she could practically hear the cogs turning in Jake’s brain. 

“You up for another game?” he asked. 

“Sure.” 

“How about while we’re stuck here, we play at being friends.”

“I’d like that,” she said without hesitating. She cupped the hand over her stomach with her own, pulled it to her mouth, and kissed his palm.

He dipped closer, kissing the base of her neck, breathing his words into her skin, “Night, Ryleigh.” 

“Night, Jake,” she said, and his tense muscles relaxed.

Part 3 - Vacation Plans

Series tag list open - send me an ASK / comment or reblog.

Tag List Info can be found here

Master Lists: Top Gun Maverick // All The Fandoms

[dirtbag-linecook-kyloren]

“You really look like shit,” Rey tells him as she plops into the booth across from him, moving linens and silverware aside to lean on the table. “You’ve worked every hour we’ve been open for the last five days. Please, go home. I don’t care about the overtime, I care about the fact that the bags under your eyes are scaring customers.” Hux shakes his head, not even looking up from the page in his thermodynamics text book he’s highlighting. “I’m two hundred dollars away from my tuition and the payment is due at midnight,” Hux tells her. ”If I don’t work this shift, I won’t graduate on time. So unless you have a pile of money hidden in this restaurant, you’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.” He doesn’t look up, but assumes Rey is drowning in the silence. “You look bad enough I’d almost pull it from my own wallet. Couldn’t you get an extension?” “The bursar waits for no man, woman, or stressed server,” Hux tells her drily, choosing not to share that he’s already at the end of his extension. With enough tears, the bursar will, in fact, wait for a man. He’d filled out three different forms and practically signed his firstborn child away for the extra seven days he had to get his shit together, all while trying to prepare for midterms. “If I have you some concealer, would you wear it?” she tries, and after a moments consideration and a sigh, he nods. “You’ll have to apply it, but if it gets you to leave me alone for the next hour until my shift starts, you can make me over after I clock in.” And then, thankfully, Rey leaves him be, lets him crawl back into the depths of his research and try to forget how little he’s got for groceries after his tuition is paid, and after that, his rent looms in the distance. If Hux weren’t working at a restaurant, he would surely have starved by now. As it was, French fries and strawberries weren’t the ideal diet for a grown man, but he makes due with what he’s got available for free. In theory, his shift starts in sixty minutes. If they stay slow after that, he may be able to keep studying during service and get his presentation finished what he gets home. Hopefully, he’ll be able to roll into bed at three in the morning and wake up at seven, giving him four precious hours of sleep before his eight AM class. Turning the page, Hux is so lost in the scratching of notes that the presence now sitting across the table form him is no more than an afterthought. Perhaps Rey, trying to make him over off company time, or another server who decided that desperation and sleep-deprivation provided excellent ambiance for rolling silverware. It’s not Hux’s favorite, but he truly doesn’t have the time to do anything about it. A plate slides across the table, just hitting the top of his text book, and Hux reaches blindly, grabbing a piece from it. Normally, it’s Phasma, trying to get a plant into his body via carrot medallions or blueberries. This time, it’s puff pastry wrapped around some sort of cheese, herb, and bacon mix. It’s more effort than she normally puts in to feeding him, so Hux takes the time to look up and thank her, only to find that Phasma is not sitting there, neatly cut finger nails tapping against the table. Instead, Solo is staring at him, a mix between blank and bored. “You don’t eat enough,” he says. “Low blood sugar leads to fainting, which is an incredible workplace hazard.”

---

fuck this is so funny to me but also now I want to make brie and herb roll ups this sounds good as hell

i don’t think bacon would actually suit the flavors though I’ll probably swap that out when I edit but for now it stays until I test it out. gonna have to buy my ass some parsley

[faithfromanewperspective]

Religious hurt, ministry burnout and all in between set to 5sos5 // Prologue: You don’t go to parties

I realise this is a rather strange thing to do, what I’m doing. I realise most listeners to songs don’t apply them to the things that I do. But I went through a lot, and this album is like none I’ve heard before: it celebrates and laments and everything in between the power of simple human connection and I won’t lie: it changed my life. It gave me back the pieces and tools to take my life back from a rogue machine of parts that was sucking me dry yet I couldn’t find head or tail of nor differentiate it from the hand that was feeding me, keeping me alive. In some ways, I owe it nothing: the $19.99 I fully paid on my debit card to iTunes that probably gave the four dear humans who created this album maybe a dollar each. In some ways I owe it everything. And so this letter is for you, the strange conglomeration of fandom and random humans I’ve connected to and who don’t know my face or my real name but I enjoy baring my whole heart to. It’s the mark of an artist I suppose. It’s the early symptoms of the fever dreams that allow practical neighbours with my childhood to come up with the visceral imagery that makes up these masterpieces: four voices, and a handful of instruments. I don’t have something nearly as brand-new and original, but this is my voice. And this is how YDGTP gave back my life.

Picture this: it’s 5am. Somewhere, certainly not where I am, but it might as well be when I’m far too tired for 10, 11pm when I’m barely over 20. I’m feeling stuck, overwhelmed, unable to go home, clock off, head to bed. I’d say I’m on my couch but that’s an optimistic statement to assume I have the ability to make it to something soft to lay down my head. I don’t even own a couch.

I’m supposedly somewhere that’s home to me, but if I had any sense in my head I’d kick me out. Out to where? I have no idea.

I wouldn’t even admit it to myself then, but I knew somewhere that I was happiest when I got up before the sun. 5am, after seven to eight hours of sleep. Maybe more, when I’m so tired and drained. In the early hours of the morning (and I feel like I’m betraying this song by saying it) before the world has risen with its expectations, if I can get my life together then, I’m prepared for when I have to interact and feel their energy. I’m also prepared to get my needs met, which they obviously aren’t, or I wouldn’t still be here now.

How am I feeling? Don’t get me started on that. I’m starving, empty, longing for something I haven’t felt satiated in for quite a while. Longing for a bygone time that wasn’t any good, because if I could go back now I could do better with the information I have now. And yet, the world is moving past, the people from that era drifting further and further away. Whatever it is I’m holding my breath for, is starting to feel like I’m waiting at an intersection where the gaps between the cars are getting smaller and smaller and each time I see one I could maybe go in I don’t. I wish I had gone in the previous one, because it was much safer compared to this. That’s basically what my life’s like. I’ve got the last five years running out my mouth. Won’t you relive it with me? Won’t you fix them with me?

Because I still think about the times we were heavy. It sucked, but at least there was connection, something that I’ve run completely dry on now. Racehorse tripping on the dirt that you’ve got on me. I never felt included, loved, but sometimes being insulted is just as good as it means I’m part of the gang. They don’t do that anymore: is it because I’m too fragile now, or because they’ve moved on from me? Vulture circling above of what’s left of me. Because I’m a carcass in the hot sun, at least that’s how I feel. Slowly, not slowly at all actually, rotting.

We go stupid every night, and it was meant to be fun. But.

What a tragedy. Because I’m still here in the darkness, back where we started. It set everyone else up to move on, why can’t I? Everyone else goes home and goes to bed and doesn’t suffer the consequences of the night disabling them forever, going back to the start again and again and re-living it and changing what they’d do because I know better now than I did then, time ticking by me and getting more and more behind. I can’t help the fact that I’m behaving the way that I am.

You make me a heartless monster.

So set this to a fun beat and go dance. Everyone I ever knew is standing in my house. (Are they real, or are they ghosts of people I feel like I failed, when I was never given the resources to be everything they needed?) Maybe I’ll be alright, maybe I’ll be able to put together whatever makes me feel better, maybe, maybe, I said as I invited them, filling up my heart again and again with relational one-night stands and superficial connection just to feel the high for a little while, it’s kept me going for decades. Kept me moving so I can forget that I had it the way I liked it once and I never appreciated it, I didn’t know that I had to. I didn’t know how much it meant until I lost it. I thought I was just fielding distractions, fatal attractions, but maybe the only attraction that was fatal was the one to the world of ableism and the solutions that they said worked for them when I know I need more connection than this superficial world, even one that says they worship something else, lives for something more, can offer. I wonder who I’m looking for.

But you got out. You don’t go to parties anymore.

It’s easier to get manic than depressed sometimes, maybe because I’m already depressed and I learned from young to act like I’m not feeling it. To think of others, think of ways I can help, prioritise hope and isn’t this what I’m doing here? Working towards solutions, why oh why did it go so badly? So I focus on the ideas, I let them stack up in my brain like a tap that’s running at full blast into a tiny plastic cup and when it drowns me just for a little while I get high and life is exciting and come up with good ideas of the world I imagine could be where I’m not alone, up in the clouds I’m not the only one dreaming of this dream. All my friends are up on mars. We’ve been travelling. It’s such a simple explanation and so exciting and it’s exactly how I should be feeling when I’m pouring myself out into something I care so much about, something centred on helping people, as if in a divinely inspired book we have all the solutions for all the world when we read it through a lens of science and adaptive management that constantly re-evaluates the fruits of what we’re doing and doesn’t let silly traditions that sap our energy get in our way. Shoot for mars. Why, oh why, does no one else stand with me here? Why am I still longing for that kind of teamwork, belonging, purpose?

So I lost my limit. It’s hard to find it when I’m so perpetually starved for the thing I need, that I try to make sure everyone around me gets. I’m dumb and I’m passionate. I care. And what’s the sacrifice of one person in the scheme of things? It’s not an accident. I was the one who took my foot up off the brake. Another lonely night.

It’s easier to put a smile on my face and go through the motions to this happy beat, yearning, pouring out the passion and love I wish I received on others.

Fill it with the best country drum solo I ever heard.

And remember where I am. Longing for connection. Where are you? Where is the one who I’m looking for?

But I know. You don’t go to parties anymore.

And that’s why I need to leave.

[crowfeatherquill]

Wasting

“Oh, you’re awake. Thank the Maker, I was really starting to worry, there.”

Alistair’s voice swam into focus along with the rest of the world a few moments after Elyon stirred and forced himself up to sitting. His body screamed in protest and, as he always did these days, he took it under advisement with no intent to change course.

Everything felt unsteady and his head was pounding. It wasn’t until he moved to try and assess relevant injury that he realized he was naked.

Alistair was staring. He should say something. He tasted bile in the back of his throat.

“Unless the guards were kind enough to tattoo an escape strategy between my shoulder blades, I don’t think staring at me is gonna do us any good getting out of here, do you?”

He heard Alistair clear his throat and felt the weight of his gaze shift away. He allowed himself a quiet breath of relief.

“Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to-- it’s just…” he shifted, “You look…well, you look like death, if I’m honest.”

“Yes. Well. I did just get beaten to unconsciousness by some very zealous castle guards and then dumped unceremoniously in a dungeon fortress. Can’t imagine that’s a good look on anybody, but I’m glad to know I carry it off particularly badly, I suppose.”

“I- alright, look.” Alistair’s tone was sharper than Elyon had ever heard it, and it made him want to cringe away. “I know we have this thing we do where we just. Dick around and never actually face our problems head-on. And I-. I’ll even take credit for starting it. I don’t…like. When things get all serious and grim. Sucks the hope out of the room, it’s like I can feel it, but-. Beside the point. Not important. This…I don’t think this is a laugh-off, El. I can see your spine. That’s…not normal.”

“What would you know about Elven physiology,” Elyon scoffed. It was a weak defense, but the other option was talking about it, and he honestly thought he’d rather die. “Maybe this is just what we look like. Maybe when I get older I’ll sprout horrible spikes and-”

“Oh, would you can it, Elyon, I know what a starving person looks like! You’re not some alien creature, and I’m…” he paused, took a deep breath, and when he started again, his voice was softer. “I’m not letting you out of this one. Sorry.”

Elyon let his forehead come to rest against his knees, keenly aware of his skin stretching against his muscles and bones. He felt…hollowed-out. For the first time in what he assumed was a very long while, he felt a sharp pang of hunger twisting in his guts like a knife.

“Alright. Fine. What do you want me to say about it, then?”

Even his voice sounded empty. He could feel Alistair’s eyes on him again. He didn’t turn to meet them.

“I…I dunno, I guess just- why? I mean, I’m not the biggest fan of trail ration and mystery stew either, but I just- I can’t wrap my head around-”

“You don’t want me to answer that.” Elyon cut him off, sharply.

He heard Alistair’s train of thought stutter to a halt, and for a moment, he hoped there would be no reply. The one that came was worse than he would’ve ever thought to anticipate.

“If you don’t want to talk, fine. We won’t. That’s. That’s fine. But I can’t help wondering what Zevran would be thinking right now if he could see you like this.”

For a moment, Elyon was overcome with enough white hot rage to turn around in a sudden burst of motion. When it faded, it left him dizzy.

“That-” he gritted his teeth against a sudden upswell of nausea. Battled it down. “That…was low. Even for you.”

“Worked, though.” Alistair’s shoulders shifted in an unapologetic shrug. “Figure you could try and get it through my thick skull while it’s just the two of us, now, or have the whole camp down your throat about it later. ‘Scuse me for wanting to save you the trouble.”

Elyon scraped his tongue against his molars until it felt indistinctly raw.

“You really. Don’t want me to explain this,” he said -- one last desperate attempt to keep his damage to himself. “It’ll put you off stew for the rest of your life.”

Alistair snorted.

“If I haven’t been put off it yet after all the bad stew I’ve had to endure, I don’t think--”

“It looks like fucking gore. Alright? It’s. It’s chunks of meat in goop, and I can’t…it makes me want to hurl. So I just. Don’t bother anymore.”

Alistair frowned at him, pensively, and he dropped his head back down to his knees. On top of everything else, he didn’t need to watch his closest friend lose respect for him in real time because he could handle slaughtering darkspawn but not eating fucking granny food.

“How long?��

Elyon gripped his shins tighter as his shoulders tensed.

“What?”

“How long’ve you been skipping meals because you can’t eat them?”

“I-” Elyon deflated with a defeated sigh, “I dunno. It’s never been…it’s never been easy. But it wasn’t impossible until…until Orzammar, I think.”

“Orzammar? What was- oh. Oh because of-”

“Yeah. Maybe don’t. Already feel like shit, don’t really want to add vomit to the list, thanks.”

“Right. ‘Course. No. Sorry. ‘Course not. But that was- months ago, El, how-”

“Can we not? Make a big deal out of this? Please? Look, it’s stupid. I get it. I’ll. I don’t know. I’ll figure something out, just-”

“What? No, no that’s-” Alistair shuffled a bit, making his way closer to where Elyon was curled up near the center of the room. “That’s not. I didn’t mean… I-I want to help. We…we didn’t know, none of us knew, I don’t think, I mean- I can’t imagine that Wynne’s the type to let somebody sleep hungry on her watch, anyway. Can’t speak for the others. But…but she’s not. And I’m not. And-”

“Just…please, just leave it. It’s not worth-”

“Hey.”

There were hands on his shoulders. They were heavy. Grounding, in a way, and warm enough to make him realize how cold he was. He shuddered.

“We’re…we can fix this. Alright? There’s…there’ve got to be options, I know there have. There’s no way the only choices here are throw up or go hungry. And- and hey, we’re staying with Uncle Eamon now, right? So even better. When we get out of here, we’ll…we’ll do something. I dunno. But I’m not about to just sit back and watch you waste away. Not when…”

“Not when what?” Without the energy to be bitter, Elyon just sounded tired. A dead thing playing at human emotion. “Not when Ferelden still needs the Grey Wardens? I didn’t want this. Alistair. It was this or the gallows and at the time it seemed like maybe this meant I’d survive, but I can’t…do it. Anymore.”

“I…yeah. I get it. Alright? And we can…we’ll get to that later. But for now, no. It’s not because of the Wardens, or the Blight, or the Landsmeet, or anything else you still have on that big stupid mile-long to-do list you never asked for. It’s because you’re my friend. Okay? You’re my friend and I don’t want to see you…suffer.”

For a moment, Elyon felt as though he couldn’t breathe. As though the weight of Alistair’s compassion would crush him. He found himself thinking idly that it might be nice just to be put out of his misery.

“Can’t imagine it’s made any of this easier for you.” Alistair said, and the softness of his tone was catastrophic. “I miss lunch by an hour and I’m ready to give up on the whole thing. And you…you’ve just been…keeping at it anyway. This whole time. Might be nice to have one less thing to worry about. What do you say?”

“Alright,” Elyon relented, quietly, “Alright. Let’s. Let’s find a way out of this, and then…and then we can go and bother Eamon’s house staff about the stupid picky elf.”

Alistair’s hands went hard against his shoulders for a moment, and Elyon could almost imagine him screwing up his face like he had something else to say and couldn’t quite decide whether to say it. In the end, he seemed to give up.

“Deal,” he said, instead of whatever he’d been thinking. “Now, come on. I need my dastardly second to get us out of this mess. I’m far too innocent to have ever broken out of prison before.”

[hangryyell]

Astarion x Sil

As I relaxed around camp I could feel eyes on me. Ever since I met the vampire elf this feeling had been a constant. It wasn’t annoying, but I wish the man would say something. While we were out traveling, the feeling never faltered either. It was like cold fingers dragging along the back of my neck all the way down my spine. Anytime my gaze settled on him he was reading. Maybe I’m going crazy. I think to myself. I got up from my place by the fire and stretched with a soft groan.

“I’m going to bathe.” I called to the group, picking up my bag to wash some of my clothes that desperately needed to be cleaned. Taking my battle axe with me just in case anything tried me. 

“Alright, be careful!” Came the call from Karlach’s tent. I gave a soft smile and gave her a wave as I left camp. 

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

It was late when I got back, a nice cold bath at the lake and a well deserved nap on the small beach. My clothes folded perfectly in my bag. I lean my axe against one of the boulders near my bedroll alongside my bag. I stretch again and sigh softly, now hungry and looking for food. 

“I saved you some.” Came Shadowheart’s voice to my side. I jumped from not hearing her approach me. 

“Thank you. I’m starved.” I chuckle, reaching for whatever leftovers she had for me. “Much appreciated.” I give her a smile. The cleric returned the smile and went back to her tent. I sat by the fire and ate quietly. 

This time I felt the next person approaching, but how can I not? The gaze that bore holes into me for weeks now came up and squatted beside me. 

“Welcome back my dear. Hope you had a good time with your bath.” Astarion purred, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. 

My glowing yellow eyes moved from the fire to the vampire beside me. That smirk was set in place, those hungry red eyes settled on me. I continued to eat, not saying anything else. Astarion’s eyes followed the way my throat moved as I swallowed. 

“It was perfect, got to wash my clothes and take a nap. But I assume you knew. Since you were watching.” I countered, turning back to the fire. 

The snow haired man fell silent for a little before he cleared his throat. “Someone had to watch out for you. What if something happened while you were sleeping?” 

I rose a brow and met his gaze again. “I can take care of myself Star.” I countered with a half smile. The look of disgust over the nickname made my smile full. 

“You are a heavy sleeper, how could you take ca-“ He started.

“Just say what you have been wanting to say since the day I met you Astarion. Or would you rather me say it for you?” I cut him off, finishing my food. Turning my full attentions on him. He looked at me with narrowed eyes, head turning to the side like a cat watching a bug.

“Say what?” He questioned, a half smirk on his face. The white haired man was challenging me.

I lick my lips, his stare always made it hard to talk. I won’t lie, staring at his mouth when he spoke always made it hard to do anything, even to listen to him talk honestly.

“That you are hungry and you’d love nothing more than to sink your teeth into my neck for a meal.” I say quietly, knowing the rest of the team was oblivious.

It was his turn now to watch my mouth as I spoke to him. The lick of his lips before those ruby eyes met mine once again. “Using the tadpole I see?” He asked.

I chuckled at that and shook my head. “It’s obvious Star. The pale skin, the fangs? The wandering off at night, probably to feed. I watch you just as closely as you watch me.” I parry with a knowing smirk of my own. 

The elf scowled at me after that and I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You don’t see anything.” He huffed. 

“You’re right, I’m so sorry Star. I don’t see anything.” I mock with a frown, allowing my fingers to run down from my throat to collarbone. “Does the big bad vampire want to seduce this Dragonborn so badly?” I question innocently, cocking my head to the side. 

I watch as his gaze follows my digits, the small dart of his tongue along his bottom lip before we were back in that stare. Astarion stood quiet for a few minutes, putting his hands on his thighs.

“You sit so pretty for me.” I praised softly. 

“Now say what you want.” I demanded.

If vampire’s could blush I’m sure Astarion would be right now. He pouted and looked down at the floor. I got to my feet and dusted myself off, standing before him with a pearlescent pink clawed hand on my hip. Those scarlet eyes took their time giving me a once over. 

“Alright, when you’ve thought of what you want to say you know where to find me.” I tell him, giving him another smile. 

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

Laying on my bedroll, eyes closed as I enjoy the sound of the fire, the wind in the trees and the water from a pond nearby. It was enough to lull me to sleep. 

My first snore jolted me awake. “Shit.” I hummed before I opened my eyes and saw Astarion over me, teeth bared. I reacted before my brain could process the information. My hand wrapped around his throat and I rolled us so he was under me.

I straddled him right as I finally saw who it was. “What are you doing?!” I whispered to him, hand still secured around his throat. 

The vampire didn’t look mad, he had that pretty little smirk set in place. One of his hands came up to take a hold of my wrist. “Careful darling, you might start something I can’t finish for you.” He purred those blood red eyes stared up at me with more than just the normal kind of hunger.

I shake my head and squeeze. “Speak.” I snapped, taking on the aggression that La’zel takes when talking to anyone.

Astarion groaned softly at the pressure I put on, feeling him squirm under me was such a surprise.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you dear. Never that.” He told me, the hand on my wrist slowly ghosting up my arm and back down. 

“I couldn’t take it anymore, your smell is intoxicating. I need a taste so bad.” He whined, eyes never leaving mine. The snow haired man licked his lips. 

“And you couldn’t say that earlier? Couldn’t I don’t know agree with me when I said that?” I questioned, loosening the right hold on him.

“Oh no, put it back.” He said, almost begging in that breathy tone. 

I raise a brow at him and don’t say anything.

“Please.” He said, hand still on my wrist, his blunt nails trying to gather some purchase on my scales. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” My grip tightens again, this time tighter than before.

The sigh of breath that leaves him, as he closes his eyes to enjoy it. 

“You make such pretty noises for me, Star.” I purr. Looking around to see if anyone was awake

I bend to place my lips at his ear. “Now speak, tell Sil what you’d like and I’ll tell you exactly how I want it played out.” I tell him, my tail wrapped around his leg to tease him as he thought about it. I released his throat so he could talk. 

The intake of breath he got, he opened his eyes and settled his hands on his chest as he looked up at me with that hungry smile. “My, you are the first ever to turn my brain to mush beautiful.” He panted.

“Feeding on animals like I have has left me wanting,  feeling weak. With some humanoid blood I would be stronger. Just a bite.” He said, breathier than usual. “Please.”

I gave a smirk, my tail teasing at his inner thigh now. He squirmed against my tail. “Alright.” I say, getting off him. I used my tail to lift him off the ground and get him to his feet. I grab one of the furs I was laying on.

Astarion leaned toward me with the smallest hint of a smile. I watched him, my tail wrapping around his throat. The soft hum that I could feel on my scales made me lightly squeeze. I led him deeper into the woods by camp, away from everyone. We were shrouded by tall trees and more. The entire time walking here he held my tail, I wonder if it was because my hands were too far.

“Now dear, tell me where you want my fangs.” He purred, licking his lips as I turned to him when he spoke. 

I release him again and he almost pouts. “I will sit on this pretty face.” I raise my hand and run my knuckles along his cheek. My thumb tracing his bottom lip. 

“And you will pleasure me until I am satisfied and then will you feed from me.” I explain. Astarion opened his mouth and took my thumb into his mouth, those pretty ruby eyes on mine.

“For such a mouthy vampire, you listen so good for me.” I hum, watching him. He gives a half smile at the praise.

I began to remove my trousers, those eyes following where new flesh was revealed. I felt Astarion move in closer, to my right side. My tail moves to take one of his hands. 

“You’re allowed to touch.” I tell him, placing the hand my tail held to my hip. 

The vampire all but suctioned to my side, his cold lips kissing along my shoulder. His hands trace my scales across my hip and down my back, across my stomach.

I turn to face him completely, my large clawed hand making him look up at me. I bend a little to meet his lips in a quick kiss. One of my arms go around him to hold him close. His hands slide along my sides and chest before his arms wrapped around my neck to keep me there for another kiss. I moan into it, taking over. My tongue played with his. The soft groans I swallowed as I claimed his mouth made me hungry for more. His noises always had me thinking the most obscene things. If a dragon could get goosebumps I’d have them all the time when Astarion was around.

When I pulled away from the kiss the vampire licked his lips, red eyes on my lips. 

“Now lay down so I can take my seat.” I demand softly. 

Astarion gives me a grin and gets into position, laying on the fur. 

I find my spot over him, his cold hands smoothing over the underside of my large scaled thighs. Humming, I reach down and card my claws through his hair. 

Astarion nips and licks along my inner thighs, causing me to moan softly. He doesn’t wait for me to say anything. Using his vampire strength he pulls me down, arms wrapping around my thighs to hold me still. 

I gasp, biting my bottom lip as he all but devours me. My moans are the only thing I can hear. “Shit.” I curse, closing my eyes to enjoy the way he fucks me with his tongue.

“Yes.” I groan, wanting to rut against his face, but I’m held fast. His tongue assaults my clit, swirling circles around the nub. I tighten my hand in his hair, my claws lightly marking the top of his head. His groans as he feasts on my folds just makes me tighten around his tongue when he plunges it into me.

My first orgasm stole all the air from my lungs. I topple over, hands catching me on the ground. “Fuck me.” I pant.

Astarion still has a strong hold on my thighs keeping me in place. My arms shake and I fold my arms under me, my forehead resting on them. 

The feel of his fingers digging into my scales on my thighs is a delicious feeling. Sitting up so I can see his forehead from here. He moved a little so he could look up at me and I gave him a smile.

“Should grow your nails out. It would add such a nice touch.” I tell him softly. Astarion gives me a wink as he closed his eyes and went back to pleasing me.

I bit my bottom lip and enjoyed everything he gave me. “Yes.” I moan, my hands reaching for his so I could loosen his grip a little and start to roll my hips against his tongue.

“Mmm, a mouth that’s got more any just snide remarks.” I teased. 

My second orgasm hits me faster than the first. I moan the elf’s name, thighs shaking as overstimulation rolls through me.

Astarion moves quickly, I’m on my back before I even know what’s happening. I look up at him, the moon peeking through the treetops illuminating him perfectly. Those ruby eyes seem like they’re glowing the way he looks down at me.

“Hello there.” He breaths, licking his lips. His chin and cheeks covered in my juices. 

“Hmm, good looking and covered in me? Perfection.” I praised, reaching for the front of his shirt and pulling him closer for a kiss. I moan into the kiss, large claws hand glide down his back so I could lightly sink my claws into his ass and press him closer.

Astarion hisses into the kiss. He pulls from it and stares down at me, waiting for the order he’s been wanting all night.

“One more then you can feed.” I tell him with a smirk. Astarion hummed, bending his head to nip and kiss along my hips. He bared his fangs with a hiss. My cunt tightened around air and the thought of having him inside me.

“Just when I’m about to cum, you may take from me.” I tell him, rubbing claws through his hair.

The silver haired man nodded, getting into position. He put his arms around my thighs again to keep me spread and in place. The light kisses to my inner thighs made me hum. That strong hold he had on me just made my head spin. He nipped along the delicate skin there before he returned to pressing his face into my core. 

I gasped, already starting to feel overstimulated. It felt like too much but not enough, I moaned softly at the contact his tongue gave on my clit. My gaze to watch him, those ruby eyes were already trained on me as he made a mess of me once more. Adding his fingers to the mix brought me closer to the edge faster than before. 

“Y-yes. Faster Star.” I moaned, my tail sliding along his chest and torso. My claws dug into the fur under me, the sound of it tearing as he brought me over that cusp. 

I sob his name as I cum on that pretty face once more. He groans, lapping at my mess before I feel the sharp feel of his fangs sink into my inner thigh. I gasp and cum again, thighs closing around him as he drinks. My legs shook as I laid there catching my breath, watching the stars tease me through the canopy.

“Such a good vampyr for me, Star.” I hum, reaching to run my fingers through his hair as he feeds. He has his fill and pulls away panting, some of my blood running down his chin. 

“My dear, that was erotic, thank you.” He moaned, licking his lips as he stares down at me. My eyes are fluttering closed as I just relax. 

“Rest, we’ll go back to camp in the morning.” He told me as he moved to help me get dressed. 

“I will have you inside me soon, don’t worry.” I tease him with a soft chuckle. I fall asleep quickly, hearing the rustling of his clothed feet move around the area, maybe to keep guard. I have no idea.

[cupcakes-and-pain]

😱 Master Charles' painting!! While they may be looking on, horrified, Coco is overjoyed to have an audience! 😄

***

"Archa! Pitty!" Coco beams at the man who's name she cannot pronounce. She toddles to him hands outstretched to be picked up but he bristles at the sight. She doesn't notice the hand held out to block her from greeting the tall man until she bumps into it and falls back on her bottom with a soft bonk.

Ollie? Coco isn't hurt but she can see her friend looks upset! He has tears in his eyes and it's making her sad. His Poppa (?) is mad at him, maybe, she doesnt understand, and no one is picking her up off the floor.

"Archa, uppies?" She tries one more time to get either of the grownups attention before being ignored and desolving into tears. Trying to suck on her fingers to self soothe she finds them bitter tasting. All she wants is her Poppa now, she doesn't want to play with 'Archa'.

CW: discussion of death, fear of death, convinced they’re going to die

Ollie doesn’t realize his Master is there until Coco tries to get held by him. But when he sees, his legs nearly give out, his horror spread on his face. He can’t even get words out, his fear choking him up. Ollie can’t even breathe, staring up at his owner. The man who holds his life in his hands. Tears threaten to spill over and he. Can’t. Breathe.

Master doesn’t shove Coco away, he’s too perfect for that, but after rejection, she cries all the same. Ollie’s lungs are able to restart after Coco tries to stick her fingers in her mouth, and he tears his eyes away for one moment, just to try and wipe it out.

“Oh, no no no, sweetie-“

“What’s going on here? What- I-… Ollie.” Master snapped, his voice stern and strained. Ollie recoiled, face betraying all of his terror. He’s never heard his owner sound like this before. He’s never seen him look this way, either. Jaw set, frown deepening, eyes staring hole into his worthless slave.

His Master is angry. Really, truly angry.

Ollie is going to die.

Coco keeps crying for her father, but Ollie’s mind isn’t on that right now.

This is it. His master is upset with him. Furious, even! Ollie is bad, bad, bad badbadbadbad. he’s horrible and useless and so very bad.

“M-master- it didn’t- it- no, please- ah. Hngh, no, p-please, mercy!” Ollie fought to get any sound out at all. There was no word strong enough for his fear, nothing to describe how to crushed him and filled his bones with cruel ice. There was only the certainty that he was going to die, and the unsureness of how exactly he’d be killed.

He could be choked, drowned, beat, stabbed, burned, starved, electrocuted, buried alive, poisoned, frozen, or anything else. Or all of those at once, somehow.

He was doomed.

“-llie. Ollie. Listen to me, darling. Listen.”

Master was crouched down next to him. When Ollie Pet realized, he scrambled back. Horrible, disobedient, awful creature. He should stop this behavior and be willing and pliant as his owner killed him.

“My dear, deep breaths. That’s it, that’s it. Breathe in deeply, there we go.” Master said, smiling. Smiling?? Pet blinked, confused, while still gulping down calming air.

“That’s my boy, yes. You didn’t even need me to demonstrate deep breathing, good job. And now, my darling. My dearest.” Master hand approached slowly, and Pet allowed it to land on his cheek, cupping his face. “I will not kill you. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? Well, I’m sorry to say, but your mind is wrong. I will not kill you. I’m very upset, yes. I won’t lie to you. But I won’t kill you for this, okay? Let’s get that out of the way.”

“N-no, nngh. No k-kill?”

“No kill, my darling. My precious Ollie, I could never part with you. I certainly will not be taking your life. I’m… not pleased with the painting. But I want to understand. What happened?”

Pet bit his lip. Glancing over, Coco was still crying. He really should do something about that.

Master followed his eyes.

“Ah, yes. The perpetrator in question. She escaped under your nose, I assume?”

Ollie Pet? Ollie nodded sadly. Master just stared at the tiny human, his cross gaze silently judging the child.

“S-she, um.” Ollie glanced up to see Master’s face. He may not be killed for this, but surely he’d be hurt. Ollie didn’t want to make Master change his mind about the killing thing, so he had to be very good.

“She w-wandered away f-from me. I- well, I was making a s-s-snack for her, some fruit, and w-when I t-turned, she was… gone. Just gone. I s-s-searched everywhere, and then I found her… in here… The p-painting had already been ruined when I got here… I’m so sorry, Master.” Ollie looked at his owner, pleaded with Master to believe Ollie. “I’m so, so sorry.”

His Master had to believe him. He just had to.

- - -

Poor Coco, getting ignored 🥺🥺 Man, such a shame her dad is gone right now. It would be so convenient if he forgot something or maybe his trip was super short 👀 super convenient if he could come in right now 👀👀 and see this 👀👀👀👀 🥺

[masterisabelle]

So the patients

Ok so I’m trying to cover their origins, since the patients are one of the most interesting LN minor antagonists

To get this out of the way, it is a popular belief that the patients came to the hospital out of boredom, I believed it initially, however. as it was already stated the TVs already provided entertainment thus having no need to come to the doctor out of boredom, so this makes no sense and is Jack shit and it should never be used it for discussions until further clarification

Unless the playstation blog stated this prior to release, then it won’t be considered canon as many things were changed prior to release, I hope this is true

So here’s their description from an actual source

So, it is hinted that the patients were the viewers, and the viewers aren’t exactly the best looking. I’m assuming the transmission corrupted their looks but prior to completely losing their minds (this post explains what I mean by this better)

So they basically looked at themselves in the mirror and thought “holy shit I look horrible” and decided the best solution, what no! Not stop watching the TVs! The solution is plastic surgery!

Cue they visit the doctor for help, the doctor proceeds to dismember them and give them prosthetics, which is what normal doctors do, however, regular doctors give their patients strong and durable prosthetic is made of metal

This description from the wiki is quite different

The patient prosthetics are NOT made of metal, however we can infer that the patients came to the doctor to make themselves look better, they are seen with a wide variety of prosthetics perhaps to suit the patient’s interests, and do you know what else is quite similar?

Mannequins

It is an unofficial name for the patients, however mannequins as we know are made from plastic, wood and porcelain, thus it is possible the doctor fixed their looks by turning them into more mannequin-like, mannequins usually have different clothing (like the patients) and are generally used to showcase how good it looks on them (usually to advertise it)

While I doubt these patients will be winning any beauty contests, I assume this is part of how they look better

Ok at this point it sounds like I’m on crack but I may know the reason for the reason why the patients visited the doctors, this reason is connected to the TVs

Unrealistic beauty standards set by media

The TVs are undoubtedly big parts of the citizen’s lives, and seeing all those perfect actors on TV may have influenced them into this thinking. Many people have tried ridiculous ways to make themselves look “perfect”, ranging from starving themselves to actually visiting a doctor

You see where I’m coming from?

The patients HATED how they looked, the TVs set unrealistic standards of beauty that made them think they needed to look this way, with the transmission corrupting their bodies, there is no way to naturally look good, thus they visited the doctor for help

So I do think the patient’s reasonings for visiting the doctor are connected to the TV, and why they look this way, I might discuss the patients again, but in the meantime this is all I can get,

This is IZ, you’re brainrotted, I’m out

[thatonegeekygirl]

I Shook Hands with the Midnight Monsters (A Short Story by thatonegeekygirl)

It’s dark. My tired eyes strain to make use of the faint moonlight peeking through my shuttered blinds. I can decipher hints of shape. The ceiling. The top of my desk chair. The wall. Remnants of dream cling to my thoughts like cobwebs, slowing them to a dismal crawl. The house is silent, but not peaceful. There is a tangible feeling of anticipation in the air. Reality feels…off. Altered. I move to shift onto my side, and find that I cannot. I am paralyzed. A presence creeps from the darkness. Two bloodshot eyes, pupils slits of obsidian that stare, unrelenting, into my own. The thing’s movements are disjointed on its elongated limbs, fingers with too many joints grasp at my bedposts, knees tethering together too-long legs stretch and crouch. Color runs from it as do deer from a starving wolf, and the blackness of void coats it in their place. Light slithers in through flaking holes in its body. It chitters silently. It stalks forward, head tilting at me, skinless jaw displaying twin rows of skewed, razor sharp canines. Predator mouth. My blanket presses against my legs as it pads forward and clambers onto my chest. Its mouth yawns open and I see a long, rotting, bloodred tongue. “Hi, Jerry,” It says.

My mum always told me to avoid lucid dreaming. Now, J, she would say as she waggled a spindly finger, if you reach into the world of dream too many times, you may find that one day, something reaches back. Little me would nod sagely, promise her I’d stop, and continue doing it regardless. I just didn’t believe her. I mean honestly, the concept of summoning night terrors through my lucid dreaming was laughable. Conjuring up dream-cupcakes hardly seemed like a gateway drug to demonic harassment. At least, that’s what I told myself.

The first time Hastur came to visit me I was scared out of my mind. To be fair, seeing a lurching eldritch-horror scuttle into your bedroom at 2 o’clock in the morning, whereupon you find yourself unable to move a muscle in defense, is enough to scare anyone. I must’ve been exuding a terrified aura because he hurried to settle beside me and say nervously, “Calm down!” I didn’t. I wanted to scream but of course, I couldn’t. The only movement allowed by my well-meaning brain was the drip of sweat sliding down my neck. “I’m not going to hurt you! I swear!” He said, forlorn. Mum, you were right, I thought to myself, too bad I won’t live to tell you. I steeled myself and waited for oblivion. “Guess I won’t be talking to you either…” There was a pause. Then the sensation of shifting form, the rustle of sheets, and he was gone.

I awoke to a nagging sting of guilt. It poked at me while I drew, lonely eyes sneaking into backgrounds and characters. Shadowy corners took lonesome shape. I wasn’t quite sure what had occurred the night previous, but I found myself pitying this thing I knew nothing about. Perhaps that is what led me to write the note.

Hi, it read, my name’s Jerry. What’s yours? The words were scrawled on plain printer paper with black Sharpie, simple, nothing fancy. I secured it with Scotch tape on the wall above my pillow, and as I crawled into bed I wondered faintly what the hell I was doing. I slept soundly and didn’t wake once, and I assumed the creature had left for good. But then I noticed the paper had been flipped. Hastur, read the chicken-scratch words now printed there, nice to meet you.

When Hastur came the next night my heart didn’t falter. We had a rather one sided conversation, mine consisting only of a new note that said, You’re welcome to hang out with me. I can’t talk, obviously. But I’m happy to listen. He spoke of his life and how he wished often that he weren’t a nightwalker. Of his siblings and their love for solitude and gloom, how they thought him odd for disliking it, for seeking out the company of restless humans. Before he disappeared again into shadow he asked, eyes searching, if he could return.

My eyelids aren’t paralyzed, I thought to myself that day, and my memory’s good. Morse code. Said the note to him. We’re going to have to learn morse code.

To my surprise and delight, I soon discovered Hastur’s wry sense of humor. Quite unlike the group of morose mid-20 year olds that were both my friend group and Tim Hortons colleagues. Who knew night terrors could make puns.

Y name Hastur? I asked him one late Sunday, in my stilted eyelid-language. He released a warm jet of air and a snuffed hiccuping sound. Laughter. “My parental kin are old school.” Could b wrse. I replied. Satan. Hastur collapsed in a fit of huffing cackles.

“G’night, Jerry,” Hastur said. “Get some rest before your shift tomorrow.” Wait, I blinked, got u somthn. He raised a nonexistent eyebrow. “Oh?” I glanced pointedly to my left. Hastur followed my gaze to the little box wrapped in newspaper, and with delicate touch he opened it. “Jer…” he breathed softly. Hope u can bring it with u whrevr u go in daytime, I continued, I know phones dont work. U said u get lonely. Tht maybe music could keep u company. Hastur held up the old walkman and headphones with reverence. “…thank you, my friend.” He gushed over the beauty of Meatloaf days after.

We fell into a routine. Every other night, to ensure I wouldn't exhaust myself, he’d come and we'd talk about anything and everything. On Saturdays I’d bring him a new cassette tape with handpicked songs. I found myself growing closer to the eccentric monster than I ever had been with human friends. People did always tell me I was weird.

One particularly rough Monday, after fighting with one of his brother-bonded kin, I hugged Hastur–or rather, I offered to and he shuffled into my unmoving embrace. He told me it was the first time someone had willingly held him.

It is now the middle of April, the dreary twilight outside as cloaked in shadow as ever, and Hastur tips his head politely as he greets me. Hlo Has, my eyes say, hows spring treatin u. “Fine,” he tucks himself against the wall and rests his chin in a hand. His posture, though always stooped, is unusually droopy. Smthn wrong? He meets my concerned gaze. “…I have to go for a while.” What do u mn? “I have to…leave, here,” he explains, staring at nothing. “Earth. This plane. One of our siblings got in a tussle, a fight, with a human teenager. The Assembly is summoning everyone back home until things cool down.” Finally he turns to me, eyes glistening. “I won’t be back for a long time.” I want desperately to hug him once more, but I settle instead for saying, I’ll miss u. How long is long? “A year or two at least,” Hastur answers, and I can see the words pain him. “…here.” He places the walkman beside me. Why r u givn me this? “Don’t you want it back?” Flickering confusion. “I’d hate to take it from you.” Ur not takin it, I blink, just borrown it. “But won’t you be…gone?” His voice cracks. “Most humans your age don’t stay in one place for long. If you find a partner, or a better job, you shouldn’t hesitate to forget about me, Jer. I’m just…a night terror.” A nght terror, sure, but not ‘just’ anythng, I respond, slowing my blinks to ensure they’re right. Ur my best frnd. Ill wait 4 u. His face floods with emotion. Keep th walkman, I press, ill have a new cassette waitin 4 u whn u get bck. He looks away for a moment, twin tears escaping. “Thank you, Jerry Springer,” Hastur murmurs. He grasps my shoulder and squeezes it once. I summon all the willpower contained in my stubby body and set my lips firmly in a smile. Your welcm, Hastur Nightwalker.

______________________________________________________________

Wrote this as a creative writing project for school last year, and upon recent reflection noticed it seemed both very Tumblr and spooky season-y. It's one of my favourite pieces of writing that I've completed to date. Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing it :)

[infatuatedpup]

SIKE IM BACK BAYBEEEEEE !!

Back to my shinanigains!!!

S and I are talking again!!! We started talking like a few weeks after our fall out because my dumbass doesn’t know how to go no contact and messaged him a few days after my birthday. He didn’t apologize. I did and he said that we wanted to continue talking ..

Exciting part first! We ended up meeting up !! And he slept over (´･ω･`)!!! We went to a show and he spent the night. I originally was going to have him sleep on the floor but then I said fuck it , want to share my twin sized bed lmao . He said yes and we cuddled

>\\\> like idkkkkk it was really cold that night and he was super warm and it was nice. like he just wrapped his arm around my waist and cuddled me. we didnt do anything else or kiss or anything because im assuming he was tired. we didnt get home from the concert till like 2am and by the time we got in bed it was like 3am . i didnt make any moves on him. he didnt try to kiss me .. honestly i should have asked for a goodnight kiss AT LEAST. idk i was so shy to even think of that .. the next day I woke up before him and just was like 🧍🏽‍♀️ because I didn’t want to wake him up >.> when he did wake up we just chilled in my room .. We chatted a bit here and there but idk we didn’t really have any deep conversations. He was mostly on his phone , we did cuddle some more and I eventually made myself some coffee and asked him if he wanted any he said no. He later asked if I could make him a coffee and I said only if he said please .. and gave me a kiss. Which he did and we made out for a bit after that>.> then I made him his coffee. He eventually had to get going . He left and idk I just got so anxious. Thinking back maybe it’s because I felt like maybe I’d never see him again or I just wanted him to say more or idk . I spiraled and apologized profusely about if I make him uncomfortable and how I’m awkward. He didn’t reply until like 8pm saying that I’m ok and that I’m just overthinking things. And that I’m fine. Idk .. before he left I asked how he felt about me and he kinda avoided the question and idk he said that he wants to continue talking .. and then I asked him “ well do you like me?” And he replied “obviously “ but idk if he understood what I meant when I said liked?? Idk .. fast forward in February I asked him to be my valentine and he said yes. He started clinical about 2 weeks before so I know we wouldn’t be able to do anything together but I just asked .. bc yknow I want him to be mine. Idk on Valentine’s Day I called him to tell him happy Valentine’s Day real quick since he had been working.. and then last week he said he missed me 😵‍💫😵‍💫 idk I just said I missed him too bc idk how to respond to that.. like we haven’t really talked much since he started his clinicals for class.. I mean yea I’m sad we don’t talk much but I understand and give him space because I respect him. I do text him good morning and good night even if he doesn’t always respond to them.. idk

We talked on the phone today for a little and he was saying how he got braces and ofc I’m like “pics or it didn’t happen” and he’s like “ I’ll show you in person . I’ll pull up” and I’m like nah you won’t” and he said he would during his week break in 4 weeks and idk I don’t believe him but I really hope he does come over.. idk I’m touch starved ..

While we were talking today I realized I get really nervous and I blank out and realize idk what to say most of the time🧍🏽‍♀️ like I’m nervous I’ll say something wrong and scare him away or come off too intense .. idk I know how was tired today so I knew we were not going to be on the phone for long but I wish we could talk a bit longer.. maybe I’m asking for too much..

[afr0-thunder]

[Poor Chronicles Pt. 17]

*BEHIND STARBUCKS EDITION*

Still no Wi-Fi, I might just have to get used to this until winter arrives. Circumstances may not even change then, but that’s life.

I have decided to end my ramen noodle diet, after I finish the last of it. I have dedicated my life to starving. I will only be drinking water and eating chicken salads at work. My housemate has touched my hot sauce bottle for the last time. I’ve thrown out 3 hot sauce bottles at this point. One 1/3, 1/2 and 4/5 full (Added 1/8 full). My experiment is also over. You can survive 30+ days with just ramen noodles daily and x amount of chicken salads. You CAN “get big” from this diet, whether it be fat or muscle. You CAN consume your “daily calorie intake” from this diet. It’s allegedly 2000, but 10 packs is 1900. “Sodium” is just a periodic table element, you won’t die. Relax. Isn’t that like salt? You literally eat beef and pork all the time.

I almost forgot my savings update:

$13 > $29

THE DISRESPECT CONTINUES! My former favorite coworker said he had to apologize to me. I say, “For what?”. Thinking he was about to apologize for asking if I was from the suburbs. He says, “*stutters* Back in March, when I was leaving and told you ‘Always stay strapped!’” and he flashed his gun. “You looked scared”. My face dropped, then I started laughing and said, “That’s not the first time in my life that I’ve seen a gun”. I actually wanted to say, “I held a gun before you were even conceived.”, but being a good influence is more important. Also, there is nothing “cool” about comparing toughness, especially with a minor. Mexicans are insane. Why would you assume an African American is afraid of that?

My African American manager, who said I’m on a “Broke Nigga Diet”, and I were talking about “Black History Month” and he made a joke and said something along the lines of me being a “Half Nigga”. I was in disbelief that another African American recognized me as biracial and just said, “I’ve never been a half nigga in my life.” while trying to laugh about it. I feel like my unique (good looking) physical features make me a target for this kind of identification, but neither of my parents are of another race, so I don’t know what the fuck he is on, but he needs to lay off of it. Guaranteed if I was uglier, me being fully African American would never be in question. Every time after that when he came to joke with me, I half heartedly made jokes about how he said I was a “Half Nigga” and used the word “Half” excessively for no reason. He realized I was pissed and offered me donuts, but NAY! Shitlist! ETERNALLY! Hate being called one of…THEM!

The respect for people I work with/underneath continues to dwindle. If anything drops it lower, I shall try to update you all.

At the end of the shift, he asked a female coworker and I about our belief on Gods. I used this time to tell him that I was God. He was saying ridiculous shit like “Multiple Gods”, “I feel like I’m a God too”, “People believe in different Gods”. I neglected to mention they all worship the same God, but use different names to address them, (Ex: Allah) they just have “separate” beliefs. They are all pretty similar, just no one notices or follows. He later said “I sound like the Devil”. I neglected to mention he was literally embodying the devil at the moment. I said “How? I literally just preach a righteous path and positivity (to you all)?” (Not verbatim, in essence). I added, “The devil hates on God and wants to be just like him and always has.”, hence why he is the Devil. I just ended the argument with “When we’re all dead, I’ll remember this conversation about how I tried to tell you I was God and you didn’t believe me…”

In other news, I’m getting my first baby momma (the doctor) is named Mary. I thought, “Can’t be. Damn bitch, you got an old bitch name.” But then I thought “Has to be, because why would God not have his Virgin Mary? Right.”. I think “Mark and Mary” is sort of cute. Her ass must be ridiculous because I can’t imagine one that meets my standards, but who knows? I believe she’ll be a “nerd” (Terrible word, almost means autistic), so she’ll share my love for learning and make the most uninteresting topics, fun. Jesus Christ was just an earlier portrayal of our son(s). He technically has not existed yet. My son(s) will serve as a more pure example of my beliefs/way of living, for those rejecting MY life’s examples and in denial of what it portrays.

I’m not sure how I will run into all of them, but I’ve been getting that we’ll all have to crowd somewhere altogether in the meantime. Which sounds cool, crazy and potentially comfortably uncomfortable. No I am not marrying any of them. White people invented the modern concept of it and marriage licenses. The government is ran by white people. White people literally had almost our entire race enslaved for centuries and lost control, I am never listening to any one white ever again. They can have everything and still fumble.

Watching TV right now. It’s a church concert. Some of these religious white bitches are cute.

In short, I need to move, but I’ll be stuck here for some time. I sense unspoken hostility. Apparently, if you’re light skinned, no matter how dark you are, you’re half white. African American no longer means smart, I guess (Relative to Sentence 3). I knew we had some slow ones, but damn. If you always speak formally, white people (Mexicans) will think they are more “gangsta” than you…hilarious. There is apparently other people who think I’m not the only God in existence, but the others engage in the most ridiculous, sinful activities (and are fat). Looking for a short, dark skinned big booty bitch. You can give white people anything and they will lose it all.

- MH (2023)

Ogden Park is not the biggest park I’ve ever seen. It’s potentially Washington Park, but fuck that neighborhood AND George Washington. Disrespectfully.

[10/01/2023]

[agentpeggycarterrogers]

 “You said yourself that Howard and the Howlies can’t know you’re alive - and darling, I am so sorry about that. You have me and we’ll have Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis,” Peggy said. “My coworkers don’t have to know who I’m married to. Other people? I don’t think anyone’s going to bat an eye at me in the world. I’m not ever going to be a cover story - no one cares to catch up with Captain America’s old flame from the war - or his forever flame. I’m not famous. But sure, if we must, I can say you’re your cousin whom I happened to fall for while visiting your family. But sweetheart, I don’t really think we’ll need it. If everyone thinks your dead, they’ll just assume there’s a resemblance, but not that you’re actually you.” 

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I promise we don’t have to worry. I’m going to continue to wear my ring to work, and I won’t entertain personal questions from my colleagues. There’s a time and a place to discuss my personal life, and it’s not at the office. And I just don’t put myself in those other situations where I would discuss it. Not with them.”

The aromas from dinner were even stronger now and wafted through the living room. “Goodness, I am starving. Is dinner almost ready?”

"Oh no," Steve said. "I didn't mean we just volunteer up the information. The way I see it is; I'm distinctive, but even the people I'm closest to think I'm dead. They're not going to expect to see me. They're especially not going to expect to see me with you. I don't think I could fake my identity with the people who know me well, Dum Dum or well, any of the Howlies, Howard, they'll all be shocked to see me, but they'll know it's mee, even if I dye my hair and grow in a beard. But other people? They might think I look like Captain America, and people who know you might think it's strange you're married to a man who looks so much like your famous ex. If they were to ask - maybe that can be the cover story? You could tell them that after Steve died you tracked down his family to tell them, and hit it off with his cousin, and that's me. " He shrugged and let out a breath. "It's an idea anyway. It could be enough to make them not think about it any harder than that which is what we need."

[rantsintechnicolor]

Dead is an adjective

At the risk of touching a sensitive nerve, I wrote:

Dead is a description. 

One day we will all be dead. Death comes for us all. Sooner. Later. By accident. Wear and tear. Illness. Murder. We all die when it’s our time.

Will we be mad about it? Or will we be fucking relieved? Or will there be nothing? No one has come back to tell us what to expect.

We all assume when someone dies young that it is unfair. We all assume that was not enough time for them. We all assume they did not meet their goals. How do we know? How do we know that person with a shorter life wasn’t happy with what they got to do with the time they had? We don’t. Us humans, as soon as we reach a goal, we set another one; perpetually on the hedonic treadmill. So we will always die with unfinished business, whether that’s graduating the writing program or getting our shambling corpse out of bed to go have breakfast with the other eighty year olds. 

We also assume they wanted to live to be that shambling corpse, live long enough for it to feel like their body is betraying them with incontinence and clearly spoken words, with failing memory, organs, and bent back over a walker. Maybe it’s not so bad to die young or middle aged. 

Perhaps we also assume they were going to grow into as good a person as we thought they were (are we sure they weren’t trash humans? Are we sure?). How do we know that person wouldn’t have become a serial killer later in life? Or a politician that denies minorities their humanity and freedoms? Or become a far right demagogue that wanted to restrict the voting rights of people that don’t agree with them? Or were going to suffer in pain their whole lives because of a wasting degenerative disease, malpractice by doctors, coupled with zero support from family and the state? Or be denied healthcare and disability support by the state and have to sleep in a bathroom because their health is so unstable and their parents won’t continue to clean the bed sheets, blame them for destroying a perfectly good mattress, while their body becomes skeletal and their starved brain unhinged? Or be homeless on the street, reviled and feared by the working class, the class they used to be a part of? How do we know they haven’t been spared great amounts of pain? How do we know we haven’t been spared their inhumane evil?

How do we know what people deserve? Who is the expert on that? And the notion of who deserves to live and die. Well, I think Gandalf summed that up pretty well:

“Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo? Do not be so eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the wise cannot see all ends.”

I’m not arguing against mourning. I’m not saying we can’t be sad they are gone. I’m not saying a person's death shouldn’t matter to people. My point is that we don’t question enough what we are taught about death. (We don’t question enough what we are taught about anything.) We really only experience death through our own mourning or someone else's. It’s not fair to us that the person is gone. We are sad we don’t get to hear them laugh or sing karaoke again or hug them or cry with them. We invariably make someone else's death about us and how we feel about it. If we died instead, we might think it was unfair, we didn't finish everything, and that we would have lived to make a positive mark on the world.

My point: examine the value judgment you make around death. I wouldn’t necessarily bring this discussion to a wake or a celebration of life, though thinking about these things may make you approach those of us in mourning differently and able to avoid thoughtless platitudes. Be sensitive with folk. Don’t be a jerk if you can help it. 

[juneknight]

i am a slut for jake lockley hurt/comfort.

since he’s the one to deal with all the things marc and steven can’t deal with,

it was a particular rough and tough mission and it toke a toll on jake (the angst) so the reader (his wife) comforts him about what he had to do and makes sure he’s ok and let’s him known he’s loved

added marc and steven don’t know about the reader at all cuz jake has a habit of keeping a stuff from them, also the reader and jake own an orange norwegian forest cat named taquito

This one got me 😭

About this: Jake/gn!reader though there is one use of a gendered term (mielita), smoking, general hurt but plenty of softness.

*

It is dark when you stumble back into your flat, dragging your feet with exhaustion after your shift. Muscle memory has you turning as soon as the door is closed, locking the deadbolt. A faint smile blooms on your face as you remember the man who installed the deadbolt for you.

Just thinking of him makes your heart flutter, his image burned behind your eyes. That’s Jake for you—encompassing all of your senses. You can even smell him, the faintest hint of cigarette smoke that clings to him.

Turning around, you rest your back again the door and stare into the inky darkness of your apartment. You miss him. It has been four days since he last made contact with you. It’s tempting to seek out Marc or Steven, to look at the body they all share (though unknowingly) from a distance, but the risk isn’t worth the reward, not when the reward of seeing his face is braided with the bittersweet ache of knowing it isn’t him.

In the darkness, a circular, pinpoint blaze of orange light flares. Heart in your throat, you slap out at the light switch and yes—Jake is standing at the window. The light had come from the deep drag he’d taken from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out the window.

“Hola, mielita,” he murmurs.

“Jake,” you breathe. You nearly upend the furniture in between the two of you just to get to him, to throw your arms around him, relishing in the scent of him and the way he twists to hold the lit cigarette safely away from you. He buries his face in your shoulder, squeezing you nearly to the point of pain. The embrace goes on longer than usual, but you hardly mind.

Pulling back, you cup his jaw, tracing your thumb along his frown lines. His eyes are red. “Are you alright?”

“Claro.” But he puts some distance between you, turning away towards the window to take another drag. “Had to come by to see mi gatita. Did you name her?”

“Full disclosure, I named her Taquito. I won’t explain, and I’m not taking criticism at this time.”

His eyebrows raise. “Always food with you. Do you feed the little taco dorado, or do you let her starve?”

“Of course I feed her,” you squawk. “Put out your cigarette and sit down. I have to keep her in the bedroom or she’ll climb the curtains.”

Then he is sitting on your cracked and worn loveseat with Taquito in his lap, an obscene ball of fur and fluff even at its tiny size. Jake pets her with a trembling hand and a gentleness that some might assume to be uncharacteristic for him, humming every now and then while you fill him in on your days while he was gone. When you stop talking, he doesn’t seem to notice, head tipped down, shoulders hunched inward.

Taquito begins to purr, and that’s when Jake’s mouth trembles, his hand tightening to a fist as he struggles for control.

You move to sit beside him, looping your arms around his neck. He says into you as much as the cat on his lap will allow. Heart in your throat, you ask: “What is it, J?”

He shakes his head.

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head again.

“Okay,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to. But you can, you know that right? You can tell me anything.”

He nods and begins petting Taquito again, his movements a little clumsy.

You stay like that until your legs cramp from being curled beneath you, whispering the whole time: you’re a good person, J. You’re so strong, even if you shouldn’t have to be. Your heart is so good. I know it. Taquito knows it. You are good.

He lays his head against your own. After a long time, his shaking slows and then stops. After even longer, the sun comes up, casting your apartment in an orange glow, warm as the end of a lit cigarette.