#Wip: CH

[hannibard]

Geralt: you're beautiful

Jaskier:

Jaskier: witcher eyesight mustn't be as good as the rumors say because it took you over 20 years to notice

[hanasnx]

WITHHOLDING SEX — logan howlett.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: unfinished wip that im never gonna finish. WARNINGS: unfinished wip ノ fem reader ノ stripper reader ノ age gap ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ logan gets smacked for saying some dumb shit ノ degradation ノ outdated and lame anti-sex work rhetoric ノ toxic behavior

“You’re such a jerk, Logan.” you used to say, a little giggle to your voice as you scoldingly pat LOGAN HOWLETT’s broad chest, letting him back you into a dark corner at your club and buy a personal dance. He’d wave that fat wad of cash in front of your nose with that knowing look you’d come to crave, and you’d flirtingly comply. You’d even let him get cheeky with it, copping a feel up your thigh while in the privacy of a backroom. Just so you’d bat his callused hand away with a toying, “Ah-ah!” And he’d tilt his big head at you and push out his hips while you finished up your dance.

Months of playing with one another, led to his impatience getting the better of him. Late at night, asking you—a stripper—what you were doing later. He’s got this way about him that you watch so carefully. All he had to do was stare at you through those furrowed brows and jut his chin when he popped the question, and you obediently blurted out, “Maybe if you’re lucky: you.”

Much to your surprise, it wasn’t some one night stand. Booty calls turned to dates, turned to moving in together, turned to partnership. Not that you believe yourself to be a challenge, but you’ve never met a guy that could seduce you at your job, and you certainly never expected to shack up with him. Logan made it easy at first, always forward with you, putting up with your “diva attitude” as he likes to call it, driving you to and from work because he doesn’t trust the clients that hang out around the building when girls are just trying to get home. You fell hard, and you fell fast.

But lately, things have been different. Logan’s always been bull-headed—and a bit of a pig—but it never seemed to be as big of a problem as it is now. As much as you can love those traits of his, they get in the way of communication, and your own spite and stubbornness doesn’t soothe anything. You fight more than ever, you argue more than you have actual conversations. If you’re not fighting, you’re not talking, and he’s sleeping on the couch. Butting heads is not new, but now they’re not as easily solved without the shade of rose-colored glasses.

“Nah, baby, ‘cause a stripper like you was easy.” The prideful and malicious words struck you right to your core, whirling around to face Logan who’d been hounding after you. It’s written all over his firm countenance, he said it to hurt you, and he knew it succeeded—from the very first petname spat so facetiously. Your hand flies before you realize what’s happening, whipping across his cheek so hard it resounds throughout the room. It was a stupid move, ache pulsing hot through your palm from the contact, and chances are it’s worse for you than him.

Your voice burns from this latest yelling match, and you exacerbate it. “You’re such a jerk, Logan!” The dumbfounded part in his lips close as he pivots his spun head to meet your gaze. You’re not gonna sit here and entertain this any longer, you’re gonna be late for work, so you round his wide frame to hurry to the door. “Let’s see how easy you think I am.” you challenge, throwing open the door, “Good luck getting off without me.” you spit at him before slamming the door after you.

“That’s it, I’m so done with him—for real this time.” you claim, yapping the ear off your coworker at the lockers while you two get dressed.

“Oh, yeah, right.” she replies with a roll of her eyes, zipping up her boot. “Next week y’all are gonna be back together, attached at the fuckin’ hip. Who’re you kidding?” She stamps her foot down, and gives herself last looks in the vanity mirror, teasing her hair with her hands.

You throw down your needle and floss, halting your sew of a hole in your costume. “Shut up, it’s not like that!” you whine, annoyed by her prediction—more or less accurate.

She snickers. “See you out there.” she tells you, effectively dismissing the conversation as she makes her way out onto the floor. Somehow, her reaction only fans the flames of your spiteful commitment…. but even though the hurt is still fresh, you miss him.

It’s frigid in the AM, hugging your jacket close as you watch your breath steam in front of your face. The bouncer didn’t think to watch your walk to the car this time, knowing that your boyfriend usually picks you up. You forgot to tell him otherwise, but it’s not a big deal—until you remember you took your car this time and the heater is broken. You’ve taken three steps out the door and you’re already shivering, what are you gonna do when your brittle fingers can’t grip the wheel?

“Hey.” a rough and familiar voice breaks you out of your internal debacle, facing the noise promptly. Logan wearing his usual scowl and puffy vest—somehow he looks good. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up to reveal the cords of his forearms crossed across his chest, tailbone leaned against his truck. “C’mon.” He tilts his head in the direction of his vehicle. In one small second, you’re endeared by his gesture, he knew you were gonna be cold and a little unsafe—even through being angry he’d do this for you. In the next second, the warm feeling is quickly crushed under the weight of knowing Logan. This isn’t some knight-in-shining-armor moment. This is his apology.

You stick your frozen nose in the air, “No, thanks.” you respond. There’s no way you’re going to let him off the hook that easily. Back on your path to your car, you huddle into yourself to converse heat, but you still hear footsteps on gravel behind you.

“Don’t be like that, princess, I know you’re freezing.” he says. He only calls you that when you’re being especially prissy. “I know you didn’t mean what you said back there, so let’s just go home and I’ll hook and tow your car in the morning.” The impending presence of a palm against your upper arm alerts you and you flinch out of the way.

“I’m not getting into the truck with you, Logan, I’m mad at you.” you hiss. Your persistence is annoying, and if you were less wrathful Logan might’ve thrown you over his shoulder by this point. Something tells him this isn’t like other times.

His hand lingers in the air aside your sleeve, but draws back when he straightens to his full height behind you. “So you’d rather catch fuckin’ pneumonia than be within three feet of me?” his disbelief is deduced clearly in his tone, conveying how stupid he thinks you’re being.

So you double down, shrugging indifferently as you cross your arms over your chest. “If that’s what it comes down to.”

“Jesus, you’re a stubborn bitch.”

You round on him. “Logan!”

He inclines in your space, raising his voice as he gestures in front of him, organizing his verbal thoughts, “First, you tell me some bullshit about no pussy, and now you don’t even wanna be near me—“

You’re incredulous, matching his energy as you lift onto the tips of your toes to compete with him. “—Why would I wanna go anywhere with you when you’re being the biggest asshole—“

“—and it’s not like you can keep up with that shit. You’ll last a day- and that’s generous—!”

“—A day? You think I’ll last a day—?” You have the urge to laugh, a dry hollow sound.

“Face it, you can’t go a night without me.”

Obviously, you’re not getting anywhere and you’re tired. Defeated, you shake your head and turn on your heel. You’re beyond cold, and you say loud enough for him to hear, “Get outta here, Logan, I don’t wanna see you when I get home.”

He shift his weight to one hip, raising his arms out at his sides in a questioning pose. “Oh, and where am I supposed to go? Huh? Where am I supposed to go?” he interrogates after your retreating form, angry at your reaction, at the fact you’re walking away from him, the idea he’s not going to be in a warm bed with a warm body to comfort him to sleep tonight.

It’s his own fault. “I don’t care where you go! I’m not letting you in.” you reply with a shake of your head.

[r0sie-bun]

More pages!

[inafieldofdaisies]

Kristine Froseth for JW Anderson S/S25 show

[pippynsworld]

I'm working on the cover for DGTC chapter 2 and I couldn't resist having a little Soap on his shoulder.

[fearmeeeee]

Wip because I'm going insane

[deeversuswords]

Sneak peek (unedited as hell) from my current WIP because this has got my heart racing for whatever reason.

...It's Katsuki, of course, my heart goes insane. Who am I trying to fool here?

Context is 28 years old Katsuki talking about his 16 years old self.

He glanced at you, lips parting just enough for you to peek at his teeth biting down on his tongue. “Let’s just say I liked my wins to come from takin' down opponents who gave it their absolute best.” “Did that change?” “Sure did.” He closed the lid slowly with one finger, setting the box aside before turning you around and leaning forward. The atmosphere instantly became charged as he trapped you against the desk, in between his arms. “I care about more than just showin' off my prowess now. Yeah, I’m into winnin' and get a kick out of it, but it ain't everything.” “Sounds like you did some growing up.” “Be glad. That Katsuki? You wouldn’t have liked him.” Sliding your hands upwards over his firm pecs and onto his shoulders, you pushed back his open hoodie. “Why not?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “He was an asshole.” Katsuki lowered his head to your neck, placing a whisper of a kiss on your skin that made you shudder. He chuckled softly. “Before you ask, ‘And this one isn’t?’ I’ll tell you straight. That guy was just a taker. This one,” he raised his head, locking eyes with you as he traced your bottom lip with his thumb, “is both a taker and a giver.”

[s0ftpining]

picnicking 🤍

[wings-of-ink]

it's been a little busy in my house lately, but before I pop back into home improvement hell, I thought I'd share some wee teasers for chapter 4...

Anyway...I'm off to lay some flooring... ^_^

[suntails]

MY SILVER PMV IS DONE!!!!

I've been working on this for almost a month and a half, and I'm SOSOSO excited to get to finally share it with y'all! :D it's a little love letter to his arc of the diasomnia story, and i'm so honored to get to make something special for my lil guy <3

[calmlb]

WIP Wednesday

babyzai chapter 4 🤭

[dishonestlies-if]

(Dis)honest Lies

Demo: TBA || About The Archivists Age Rating: 16+ CW: Violence, death, child endangerment, child death/descriptions of child death, classism, manipulation, forced isolation/confinement (technically?), parental neglect, mild homophobia RO-specific CWs (contains spoilers): here

The king is dead, cries the crowd of mourners that line the path towards the Royal Tombs. As you walk down behind your father's coffin, you note that there are no commoners among them. Not surprising, given they are not allowed to entire the palace grounds, though you wonder if anyone beyond these walls are mourning with you. Your father was a much-beloved king, but no one beyond the Court had ever met him - or you, for that matter, or any of your predecessors since the Curse took effect. You wonder briefly what the outside world is like - the Advisors describe it as a beautiful place of wonder and innovation, at least in the capital. Perhaps the people are holding their own ceremony out there, in honour of your father.

You turn your attention back to the procession. There will be time to ponder this later.

You have a speech to give, a coronation to attend, a kingdom to rule.

There is no place for such pointless thoughts. You were born in this palace, and in this palace will you die. You will never see the outside world.

Will you?

Play as the newly crowned monarch of Batrinoa! Bring your kingdom to new heights, or send it plummeting into chaos - the choice is yours, and yours alone. After all, you are the monarch - who would dare defy your authority?

Customize the MC Veridas (27) (name changeable); gender, appearance, personality, etc!

Be swept off your feet by five potential love interests (gender selectable) - or don't! You can be swept off your feet by friends, too. And enemies. But that might be a bad idea.

Ally with your neighbours, or start a war - Batrinoa is powerful, why not utilize your military and expand your territory?

Solve problems that arise in your nation, or make them worse - where there's money to be had, who really cares if a few peasants die?

Face crushing moral dilemmas that make you question your reality!

Find the truth behind the web of lies that surround the Court - there are many hidden secrets, and if you look in the right places, you might find them. Assuming, of course, that they don't kill you first.

And why in the name of the Divine do you keep seeing the Archivist-in-training in your dreams?! You barely even know her!

Love Interests

The Guard Caelum/Celestine/Calytrix Hildebrand (28) is the fourth child of the Hildebrand family, your best friend and confidant, and godparent of your daughter. As children, you were inseparable, and even when C was in the army you kept in touch. Now they serve as your loyal guard - wherever you go, they will follow. It is their duty, after all; what the monarch wants, the monarch will get, nevermind how they feel about it. So long as it makes you happy, there is little they won't do to achieve it.

The Silver-Tongued Minister Elias/Elora/Elwyn Alinac (29) is Head of the House of Alinac, one of the Four Great Families and a member of the Advisors. They are, without a doubt, the Court's most charming noble. Intelligent and quick-witted, Batrinoa's Director of Foreign Affairs is well-versed in the art of communication, especially when it pertains to getting what they want. There are flocks of men and women alike who would kill to hold E's attention for even a fraction of a second. Fortunate, then, that they only seem to have eyes for you.

The Unapproachable Advisor Orpheus/Odette/Odilon Marchand (26) is Head of the House of Marchand, one of the Four Great Families and a member of the Advisors. O is rather unpopular with the nobility and common folk alike; their blunt speech, cold demeanour, and prickly personality make for rather unpleasant company, though none can deny their skill as Batrinoa's newest Minister of Finance. They maintain a professional distance from everyone around them, but perhaps you can close that gap - surely it must be a lonely existence, to hold everyone at arm's length as they do.

The Revolutionary Mervyn/Maira/Maverick (27) is a commoner of Batrinoa, a tailor who lives with their mother and three siblings near the slums of the capital. Passionate and rebellious, they abhor the monarchy and how the nation is run, and everyone knows it; M is an outspoken critic of the throne, and far from the only one. As the new monarch, you are the very pinnacle of everything they despise - can you show them that you are willing to do what your predecessors would not, or will you just add fuel to the fire?

The Flirtatious Informant Legacy (29) is the best informant in your employ (and the best assassin). They once swore loyalty to your father; now, they serve you. They're a shameless flirt, and never serious - about anything, really, not even their own life. You've asked where they came from, but you've received 14 different back stories at this point and you're not sure they're even capable of telling the truth if it doesn't pertain to their job. You wonder how Legacy ended up in this employ; surely this is not a job most would willingly choose to pursue?

Other Characters

Alix Morozov - your late spouse, the other biological parent of your daughter, and a relative of Drelix's King Vsevolod. They died three years ago, leaving you a single parent. Your marriage was for two reasons only - to end the war between your kingdoms, and to produce a precautionary heir for the Batrinoa line. Having succeeded in both, you considered them a good person and a dear friend, though there was never any love in your relationship.

Luminosa 'Lumi' Batrinoa (5) - your daughter from your marriage with Alix. Now that you are monarch, she is heir to the throne; a lofty title that may be, though it paints a massive target on her back. You can only hope you will not need to arrange a political marriage for her.

Beau Marchand (32) - the disgraced son of the Marchand family, his reputation for debauchery and excess is known far and wide throughout the capital. You remember him vaguely, having interacted with him as a child, though you haven't seen him since he was disowned thirteen years ago. O has since restored Beau to the family, but you have yet to see him return.

Dolion (53) - the Archivist, sometimes called the Secret-Keeper. One of the Blessed, his Miracle naturally makes people rather wary of him, and his sour demeanor does nothing to help his case. At the very least, none of the Advisors seem to like him, though you're fairly certain that's more because he was born a commoner rather than a child of the nobility.

Fialova Solanaceae (20) - Dolion's successor, the current Archivist-in-training. Timid and shy, she seems to dodge you at every opportunity, though you often catch her staring as if she has something she'd like to say. There's more to her than meets the eye, but are you brave enough to seek out the skeletons in her closet?

Helianthus Solanaceae (54) - Head of the House of Solanacaea, one of the Four Great Families and a member of the Advisors. She is the supreme judge of Batrinoa's legal system and handles all legal affairs within the kingdom's borders. As your godmother, she cares greatly for your well-being. She would happily spoil Luminosa rotten if you didn't stop her in time.

Volker Hildebrand (61) - Head of the House of Hildebrand, one of the Four Great Families and a member of the Advisors. Arrogant and conceited, he takes great pride in being the Minister of War. Objectively the most powerful member of the Council, he has the nation's military at his beck and call and takes great joy in lording over the other Advisors. The Court has no great love for him, though none can deny that it was thanks to him that the war with Drelix went as well as it did. Though he has little interest in anything besides battle and bloodshed, he has returned to the capital for your coronation and to assist you in acclimating to your new position.

[hanasnx]

“ JUST OPEN UP, LET YOUR BODY TALK FOR YOU ” — jake sully.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: unfinished wip that im never gonna finish. WARNINGS: unfinished wip ノ fem reader ノ suggestive content ノ established relationship: past lovers ノ navi x human ノ death mention ノ some sexual content.

JAKE SULLY’s made it a habit to go where he’s not wanted. It’s some kind of compulsion, gravitating towards places that’ll let him sink the fangs of his self-hatred in and lock his jaw.

“We want to talk to you about taking over his contract.” The suits had said while his own eyes were fresh from laying on his brother’s body. “The pay is good.”

Before Jake could give a definitive answer, he had to be somewhere first. He had to call on an old friend.

The door to your apartment closes as quick as it opens—and his hand is the only thing that stops it. His palm outstretched and reaching over his thin lap, halting the door in its swing. “Wait.” he says.

A sigh emits from the other side, and it pulls open. You stand in front of him with your head tilted in contempt. “What are you doing here?”

Now he’s back in your place, pleading with you in a way only Jake can, looking up at you with those glossy eyes as he lays it out.

“Look, I know you’re pissed at me—“

You scoff, powerful and silencing. “‘Pissed at you?’” you parrot wryly, furrowing your brows at his expectant expression. You loom forward in his direction incredulously pointing to yourself, “You think I’m pissed ‘cause we broke up? Jesus, Jake, no. I don’t want to see you because you’re a dick.”

His lips press together, and he cocks his head with a gesture that says it all. He doesn’t deny it. Wide eyes glue to your dirty carpet, and you continue to dig in on him.

“I get called up in the middle of the night, I pay your bail for some stupid fight you didn’t even win, and you shut me out. You know, I don’t know what’s more selfish, acting like you can ask things of me right now or—“

Some new strength instills him, blooming a rageful gleam in his eyes as he interrupts your reprimand like you’re a squawking mother. “Tommy’s dead. Okay? He’s dead. Gone.” The firmness in his voice and his sweep of an arm across his chest to signal your cut off takes you aback.

Your spine straightens, and you blink your wide eyes. Lips seal, and he seizes the opportunity born from your reticence. Out of all things to expect, you didn’t foresee this. Tommy was healthy as a horse, and Jake’s reaction is odd. This blindsided you.

“Now some guys are saying he owes them some contract, and I’m the only one that can fill it. I don’t know these people, I need someone I can trust here. And that’s you.” There’s an uncharacteristic softness to his voice, feather-light and whispering like it’s a secret. A paranoia creeps up on you like you’re being watched. You’re speechless.

He shakes his head, and that quiet beg in his tone returns. “I got no one else. It’s gotta be you.” For the first time since he rolled in here, you feel bad for him.

Yet, you know he’s overestimating your value, especially when faced against a multi-billion dollar company. “Jake,” you sigh, defeated. Your reluctance somehow revitalizes the old Jake, the indomitable wall of unknowable sarcasm. His shell hardens as he becomes the person you need right now. “I don’t… I didn’t do what Tommy did. They won’t need me.” you explain, and it’s not exactly a protest but it’s not acceptance either. It’s as if you’re convincing him that it’s simply easier not to try. However, Jake never took the easy way out.

In a manner only he can replicate in the face of uncertainty, he responds coolly, “Please, these guys in suits will do anything I say to get me there. If I say they need you, they’ll say ‘when can you start?’”

Your lips pull to one side, and he knows he’s hooked you.

After cryo-sleep, your mood as significantly shifted. There’s no sympathy anymore, there’s only blatant professionalism. You’d arrived a hair earlier than Jake did, and they’d gotten you started in the labs right away. He knew you’d hit the ground running, and apparently in the month you’ve been here you’ve already established yourself as a worthy peer. You’ve always been a quick learner, but you sold yourself short before. This is exactly the kind of field you should be in, working in neuroscience was a cake-walk, and you become a prime technician in the neuro-health of the avatars as well as their compatible hosts.

Your attitude towards him has adjusted, and it’s back to the avoiding game, making yourself scarce whenever he was around. Too busy to talk, and certainly resentful that you’re here because of him. He can practically smell it on you the way you blow him off.

The day he’s supposed to test his avatar, the first question out of his mouth is where you are. Max relays that he’s in charge of the department you’re a part of, so he’ll be supervising. As a specialist, you’ll be called in if there’s any cause for concern, and Jake can’t exactly summon you—if he did, it would dampen the already delicate relationship you hold with him. He opts to try it out on his own, and if it pokes a hole in his brain so be it.

As things charge up, and Jake gets comfortable in the confines of his pod, you change your mind. That nagging feeling of commitment causes you to meander back to the observation room and you watch the avatar as it lays sleeping on its cot.

“That’s a gorgeous brain.” Max muses, blowing up the image of the marine’s grey matter, and you find yourself leaning in to peer at it over his shoulder. “Nice activity.”

Uneasily, you clutch your clipboard to your chest, and regret not being the one to walk Jake through the procedures yourself. Evading him was exhausting, but it was easier than facing him. Your eyes glue to the dormant muscle mass of his avatar, and await sign of movement with bated breath.

A twitch. The end of your pen kisses your bottom lip and you unconsciously close around it as your teeth toy with the plastic. It stirs. You surge forward, and Max furrows his brows at your odd behavior, so engaged with the scene through the glass that he’s sure nothing could break you out of your trance. Large, luminous eyes reveal as if from under a veil, pupils dilating to adjust to the fluorescent lights. A gasp rakes in through your throat, gifting you the oxygen you deprived yourself of when you forgot to breathe.

The scene unfolds. Initially a rousing success turned disaster as Jake ignores all warnings only to do what he wanted. You stifle the urge to roll your eyes as Max strongly protests to what Jake is doing. Constantly biting off more than he can chew, while everyone watches in futile horror as he ignores all consequences. You’re not surprised. A massive hand slams against the transparent pane, and you jump at the sound. It’s overhead, and it spans the length of your face. Glossy eyes scan it until they fall on Jake’s countenance nothing short of giddy.

“You’re not used to your avatar body, this is dangerous—“ Max warns while a nurse moves towards Jake with a needle to sedate him. That dizzying grin of his demonstrate the canines of the Na’vi, and he dares glance between you and Max when he replies.

“This is great.”

Something inside you shifts, and you gulp.

You react only after he’s thrown open the door, and you rush to mask before you follow after him.

Sully’s little show falls under your jurisdiction, having finally pinned him down and dragged him back by his ear—so to speak. He was willing after a little meeting with Grace. Like a bird that one, turn your back for one second and he cuts and runs. You’re not too sore about it, but he can tell the last place you want to be is here, checking him out. A sigh through your flared nostrils is proof of that.

“How am I lookin’, doc?” he asks, and a twinge of his old self shines through the question, that glimmer of mischief in his eyes as you march up the step stool to compete with his height even while he’s sitting down. He doesn’t take anything seriously, and you try to ignore it like you always have to.

Your hand is harsh when it places on his forehead, and your thumb hooks under the fat of his brow to jerk it up. His lid separates from his eye, and you bring your light to his pupil to test its dilation. Suddenly awkward, he glances down.

“Look up.” you tell him. He does so. You check the other one, and its response time is adequate as well. “Follow the light.” Your handheld flashlight moves in parallel and perpendicular motions, and he watches it as he speaks. Now faced with the sheer size of him, your movement lapses subtly. His scale was easy to measure with instruments, but now sitting in front of you, your hand on his skin, his head wider and longer than yours… it’s difficult to stay focused. You gather yourself, and resume your task.

Jake clears his throat, having caught the discrete hesitation. “Um, so,”

“I’d rather not talk.”

“But you still came.” The phrase points out your presence on Pandora per his request. Regardless if you don’t want to talk to him, you still gave up a part of your life to come here. “You can see how I’m getting mixed signals here.” he adds, and his large hands gesture confusedly in his lap to support the minutest shrug. You swallow. The light clicks off, and you pocket it into your lab-coat before stepping down in search of your clipboard. You scribble down some notes.

“I’ll have to run some tests, but other than that there’s no immediate visible signs. Wait here.” you instruct, and it’s the kind of cut and dry that pierces him.

“Now, hold on,” When you turn to leave, a hulking mass envelopes your arm around the elbow—but the touch is gentle. It halts you in your tracks, and your expectant gaze lands on him. “Just- can you hang back a second? What’s the rush?”

You glance down at his contact, and tentatively he removes it, even raising his hand while it backs off to show you it’s not a threat. Those eyes of yours flicker up, and he starts to feel small… even though you’re the one half his size.

In typical Sully fashion, he steels himself, and comes back with a comment that dissolves your icy exterior. Long arms lift on either side of himself, presenting it to you. “You haven’t even told me what you thought.” There's a tug to his lips.

"What I think?" you parrot incredulously, as if your opinion on the matter is obsolete, judging him through knitted brows.

"Yeah, how do I look?"

You clench your jaw, and exhale through your nose. Scratching the back of your neck, there's a tug at your lips now, too.

"You gotta try this." Jake, ever the troublemaker, had gotten you high up in the Hallelujah mountains to meet his Ikran. There was that air of pride about him, showing off his new mount to you while you uneasily climbed about the uneven ground. Perched atop the thick middle of a vine, you attempted to jump off it when he offered his hand to you. You peer up at him through the transparent mask, and take it, and he helps you down and over to his ride. It’s brief, but undeniably gentle the way he handles you. Your wary gaze inspects the difference in size with fascination that you condemn. It’s huge. For a second you fantasize about what it would look like if you pressed your palms together to compare finger lengths. He releases you, and you slow because of it, watching him yank the straps of his saddle to secure them.

He runs through the precautions, and because of the size of his mount, you’re unable to climb on as effortlessly as him. Your shoes confine your feet to inflexibility, and you struggle to pull your own weight up when there aren’t footholds for someone your size.

Clearly making fun of you, Jake comments, “Need help?” A clear goad to let go of your pride and accept his aid. Holding his hand earlier was different—however, inappropriate—now you’re determined to prove yourself. If you could see him, you’d witness that grin on his face as he’s entertained with your scrambling limbs, and the flicker of his eyes to glance at your ass. He tilts his head.

“I’ve got it.” you seethe, the purifier of your mask getting in your way and you slip. Landing hard onto the ground, your knees buckle and you clutch onto the saddle for stability. The Ikran screeches, rearing its head at you and you jump back instinctively. Your back collides with something hard, and you whirl to see that Jake had lumbered over, looming over you while he soothes the neck of his mount. His eyes are hooded as they meet yours, and the shadow his body casts over you has you gulping.

“You sure?” he jeers softly, and your cheeks heat up. Silently, you concede, breaking the suffocating eye contact to face forward. You gasp as contact is made with your waist, massive hands envelope your torso as he picks you up like nothing, supporting you as he places you onto the saddle. Your fingers dig into the leather, useless to calm your beating heart as the weight shifts behind you, causing your lesser figure to lean as he climbs on. His body heat radiates, and you stifle the urge to glance over your shoulder at him. Long cerulean forearms encircle you, reaching past you to grab hold of the lead. Your eyes follow his thick veins up, take note of how the antennae rope around his muscle, until your stomach drops at the realization of what’s about to happen.

Instant regret roots as Jake flicks the lead, and his Ikran approaches the edge of the mountain. “Wait! Wait, a second. Jake, I’m not so sure that I—!”

Above your ear, the low crooning voice of Jake sends shivers down your spine. “Hold on tight.” And you claw onto whatever you can while your gaze can now see over the precipice. A dizzying height you tried to avoid before had you wondering how he sweet-talked you up this high, and as soon as his bellowing cry sounded, the Ikran recognized it, leaping into a dive that had you screaming. Your stomach shoots to your chest, and when you can’t feel secure in holding the straps you grab onto him wherever you can reach. The deafening music of whipping winds drown out your shout and you can feel the vibration of his powerful chest against your back when he laughs at your helplessness. Fingernails dig into his skin, arms, shoulders, neck, anything you can gain purchase as your instincts yell at you to get out of this situation. You’re not a flyer, and you’re certainly not a daredevil.

Jake just manages to get you into bewildering situations, and that’s exactly why you find him so dangerous.

“You ever think about it?” his question catches you off guard, pulling you out of your tests. He’d upped his visits since gaining the freedom of a banshee, and he speaks to you through the throat comm from outside the mobile lab. You glance at the back of his head through the glass, and his ear pricks at attention, like he heard you shift. Your fingers pass over your lips before you purse them.

“Think about what?” you dare to clarify, a creeping sensation of the promise of regret crawling up from the pit of your stomach. These kinds of conversations never end well, and you know Jake like the back of your hand. He’s not going to let it go.

The jerk of his arm is caused by a carve gone stray on his new bow. His great knife came into the view past the sill of the window. “Us, I guess.”

You swallow hard. “Don’t you think this is the kind of conversation to have… in-person?” Your wary gaze pass over the monitor that shows Jake’s slumbering face—human Jake. The Na’vi side eyes you, and you run a degree colder.

Neither of you talk about it at this time.

Things had been going good. You and him were finally getting along—like you used to. It was easy, familiar. Like the face of an old friend, you had just begun to greet your old lover with a warm welcome. Past fights had been swept under the rug, and both of you were trying to start fresh. However, it was becoming clear that Jake’s blossoming interest in you had nothing to do with kickstarting a friendship—at least not a platonic one. You don’t like how it makes you feel full of hope. You’ve been burned before, and this isn’t the environment for a torrid love affair. The first time around was tumultuous at best, and volatile at worst.

It’s not like it’s seamless to be alone together, especially when your full-time position is not at the pod in the mountains. The wing that first housed the avatars had since been abandoned when everyone had dispersed. Nobody new was pouring into a department that is ceasing usefulness, and it hadn’t been decided how it would be cannibalized and delegated. As someone with dorm the size of a shoebox, you come here to think, especially since you’ve been isolated here. There’s nothing for you back home, but there’s not anything here either besides the friend you’re back to avoiding.

It’s dark out, and you only turn on a couple lights inside. You cross your arms over your chest as you approach the glass, peering into the empty room where you first saw Jake emerge. Stirring the avatar from its great slumber and answer its calling. You had yet to admit it verbally, but you’ve never seen him so comfortable in his own skin. Like the avatar wasn’t made for Tommy, it was made for him. It’s a reality you had never considered, Jake simply wears it that well. It’s a shade grim, and you consider leaving the wing.

That is, until, you see a flash behind the door leading into it.

In his last ditch effort, Jake had stooped to desperate levels returning all the way here, banging on the Na’vi sized door to the little room. Your brows furrow, unlocking it from your end, and once the latch hisses, he barges inside like there are dogs after him.

Once again, you’re bewildered in asking: “What are you doing here?”

The back of his head bangs against the metal as it falls limp, breathing hard. He twists his neck to glance through the peephole, making sure he wasn’t followed, and then he acknowledges your presence. A pause to catch his breath, and then his body dips forward, lumbering towards you.

He approaches you, and you step back instinctively. A veined forearm raises to lean against the glass above your head, and you feel caged in. Eyes illuminated by the dullest light bore into yours, “You and me,” He gestures to himself, the simple act in itself arrogant. “we’re gonna talk.” A demand that leaves no room for argument, and you can’t form a rebuttal in your shock that he stands before you.

You’re sick of the walls, you’re sick of the observation glass, you’re sick of the barriers. Stupid obstacles keeping you constantly at arm’s length are a nuisance that you overcome by marching down and to the human entrance of the same room he inhabits. You collapse your full weight onto it in order to push it open, and Jake is waiting on the other side.

“Fine!” you concede, throwing your arms up. “What do you wanna talk about? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Jake…” a pathetic whimper slips from your parted lips, cracking as it passes through your throat, “this isn’t a good idea.” Silken, and feather-light, your protests aren’t enforced. He keeps going.

Clothes since discarded, the sterile cot might as well be a California king bed, laid out bare as he’s on his side next to you. Lips large and plump meet yours again, and you struggle to meet them, struggle to match their ferocity when you raise your head from the bed. He twists his neck, deepening it as he reintroduces just the tip of his tongue to yours. It’s huge, prying open your jaw in an ache that has you fall limp in tandem with the sweet stroke of a single finger against your clit. The pad of it feels so disproportionate on you.

“You think I forgot your looks? Don’t act like you don’t want this. I see it in your eyes.” he’d accused when you were arguing. Now you’re spread as far as you can to accommodate for his thick wrist laying in between your legs. Propped up on an elbow, your head rests just underneath his forearm, and you can feel his hand curl to toy with the ends of your hair. Your lips enclose sucking onto the bit of tongue he’s offered you. “You can’t hide from me.” he’d said against your lips before you’d first kissed this new body. Having herded you, backed you up against a wall to cage you in.

[waveoftheocean]

the csm brainrot is too real sjsihefji

[inafieldofdaisies]

[dutifullylazybread]

Chapters: 12/32 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rolan/Tav (Baldur's Gate),

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AND CHAPTER 12 IS COMPLETE!! WHOOOOO!!! 

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Summary:

I think it goes without saying that you have a room here--anytime.

When Rolan and his family offered Tav a place to stay, she thought it would only be temporary--a few days at most. But the handsome master of Ramazith's Tower, grumpy as he was, seemed to have a soft spot for this exhausted adventurer.

And a brief respite soon became a permanent residence.

This fanfiction will be updated every other week!

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Tags:

@adequate-superstar @baldursdatefree