#i'll note it for the future and next time add a / to not mention you BUT still give credit on the same time

[dreamybasil]

he groovin' !!! [ HEAVILY inspired / Idea taken from @theokusgallery animation with Sunny groovin' to music!! ]

[huellitaa]

girl's guide to academic success: ep 1! ⊹˚. ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 this post focuses on: actively rooting for success! ♡ part 2 -> ♡

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 1. organisation

first off, have something to organise ur academic life with! i personally use notion (which i'll add later) but u can use anything as long as it's cute, convenient, unique and accessible to you, your life and your schedule specifically. especially as a visual learner, i like to have somewhere i can dump literally everything regarding a singular area in my life, so i do this for almost everything along with school and i highly recommend this <3

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 2. recognition of talents & improvements

analyse your strengths and weaknesses. think back on tests, exams, marks, and analyse which ones you got highest and lowest on. dont beat urself up for it, obviously; it's just to check which subjects you're doing good in and which ones have room for improvement. for example i love science but im not the best at it sometimes and we had an assessment recently and i didn't get as high as i'd like so i wrote down a little list on a piece of paper in my pencilcase for the topics i got the least in for me to study on my own to practise later.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 3. laying out goals

set down specific goals; i like to do this week by week accustomed to my schedule that week in my school notion page along with images and vision boards based on the term/semester, but you can do it for the week, the month, the year, anything as long as its helpful to you

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 4. productive planning

plan accordingly based on ur time energy. when creating any to do list or productivity plan dont pile a ridiculous amount onto it that just leaves you stressed and overwhelmed because that defeats the entire point; this works the same for academic plans and goals and lists etc.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 5. extra credit

put extra work in to the subjects you know will help you in the future. for example, for my personal aspirations i need to excel in english, history and textiles so i always try my absolute hardest and put my all into those lessons and do extra studying for them in my free time where i can. school is to prepare you for the future so take advantage of that

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 6. asking questions

please don't be shy to ask questions! that's what teachers are there for and you won't have them forever so take advantage of it while you can! you can even do it in that little window of time just after class if ur too nervous to ask in class. for example, on my last english exam i went to my teacher after class and asked about what i needed to improve on to get the marks i missed next time, and he told me i added too much detail and some other things so i wrote it down and am keeping a note of it to remind me to improve on that next time! (i got top of my class though so i didnt mind. still kind of pissed i added too much detail though)

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 7. participation

participate! ok im saying this as someone who still struggles with social anxiety a fair amount but if u wanna get higher marks and get on good terms w ur teacher i 100% recommend this. i don't do this in every class but i do it where i can and when i'm confident in my answer, and it's really intimidating at first but what i did is i did it first in the classes i felt most comfortable on and continued from there. it gets easier every time i swear, and nobody's judging you; they'll forget about it after five minutes. plus, what would they be judging you for? being smarter than them?

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 8. prioritising ur health

this is mentioned a lot in these types of posts but if you're tired or burnt out or overworked or just feel like you need to take a break then do. do the best you can and compromise like i said earlier if you need to, just make sure u are prioritising yourself over anything. <3

──★ ˙ ̟🎀inspo

──★ ˙ ̟🎀my notion

i also really recommend this layout by @honeytonedhottie ♡

all my love 🩷✨💬🎀💗

[bloodiedrogue]

THE ROGUE TAX (2)

SUMMARY: Fed up with paying Astarion to pick all the locks, you force yourself to learn the hard way.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 2,635

WARNINGS: Short nightmare sequence, too much sexual tension, slight mentions of a handkink, inappropriate lock pick teaching.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know I'm posting these super early but day two of the Haunted Hoedown! This time the prompt is "finders keepers!" I honestly had so much fun with this one, so hopefully all the new Astarion fans that've followed me in the last day enjoy? Love you guys. :))))

Also I was originally going to make all of these challenge fics separate but I've since decided to make it more of a connected fic so... that's a thing now? I'll link the last chapter below!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

“I wasn’t aware you were so proficient at lock picking.” 

You smirk at Astarion’s false praise, busying your hands against the lock’s mechanism. You’ve only been at it for five or six, maybe seven tops but you can already tell it’ll be a while. The lock itself is tough; covered in a layer of thick rust. Plus, being that it’s a chest and not a door, it’s a bit more advanced than you’re used to.

“Yes, well, not all of us are vampires that can woo their way through a padlock.” 

In response, Astarion laughs, throwing his head back so dramatically that from the corner of your eye, it looks as if he’s lost his head for a moment. “You do realize who you’re talking to, correct?”

You hum out a response and push the short hook further in, feeling the pressure of a loose pin hit the end. When that happens, you grin to yourself and slide closer to the chest, biting your bottom lip in excitement. 

Over the last few weeks, you and the rest of the group had come upon some interesting findings. A cave inside a well, a few hidden cellars around the surrounding the goblin camp, a hidden chest or two. At first, it was exciting, getting to experience the joys of a good treasure hunt but quickly such feelings fell once you discovered how difficult it was to break into said things without the help of Astarion and his seemingly magic hands.

“I know you’re excited to prove yourself, darling, but why don’t you let me finish things off, hm? It’ll go a lot quicker.” 

You shake your head and continue your ministrations, carefully pushing the hook further in, feeling that alleviated pressure of another pin. “I’m tired of relying on you and your bloody rogue tax.” 

After agreeing that Astarion would just pick every lock your party found for a price, it was evident he was more than willing to take more than he was owed. Saying things like I did all the work or you wouldn’t be here if not for me, it was obvious he was exploiting you. Using his roguish charms to earn himself a bigger cut despite doing next to nothing else. 

It was frustrating, to say the least. Another minor annoyance to add to his long list of negative personality traits, and lately you were determined to combat it. To learn the trade for yourself so that every piece of treasure found could remain solely yours. 

“I’m sure everyone is but that’s the price you pay for a professional.” 

You roll your eyes and continue to fiddle, feeling his gaze glued to the positioning of your hands —how your fingers tighten and twist around the metal instrument. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you at least a little bit nervous —having his eyes on you. Across your palms, you can feel the slick of sweat collecting with each new movement, while behind you, you can practically feel Astarion’s judgement throughout, silently picking apart all of your mistakes. 

“You’re doing—“

You shush him angrily before he can continue, knowing he’s trying to break your concentration. Knowing that he thinks that if he can prove to be enough of a distraction you’ll end up slipping up and giving in. 

“I was just going to tell you about the wonderful job you’re doing.” His tone is laced with sarcasm. Drenched in a thick layer of impatience that has you groaning under your breath. 

“Isn’t there someone else you can bother?”

“No.”

You know there is. In the other room of the abandoned building you currently find yourselves in, at least four other people are rooting through the rubble. Most likely they’re stationed in their usual areas. Gale’s probably next to the stack of bookshelves with Karlach, telling her all about his collection back at the camp while Wyll and Shadowheart are searching through the cellar in hopes of more wine. 

“You sure?”

For a moment you debate telling him to go keep watch with Lae’zel just so that he’ll shut up but the thought dissipates once you feel him flop onto the floor beside you with a groan. 

“Everyone else is so dull,” he complains. His line of slight flickers between your face and hands, watching the way they remain almost too still as he speaks. “They’re all do this do that, and for what?”

You shrug your shoulders ever so slightly, unsure of what he means.

“They’re all living for other people, darling. Other causes. Everything they do serves a higher purpose and for that reason alone, they’re boring.”

Despite your previous determination your hands release themselves from the padlock before you find yourself readjusting —moving to plop down next to him. “You think everyone’s boring because they’re selfless?”

“Predictable,” he corrects, pointing a loose finger in your direction. “All of them talk too much about a future that may not even come considering we’re infected and have little idea on how to remedy the situation.” 

You’re not sure where this rant is coming from but you welcome it considering it’s been weeks since you’ve had a normal conversation that didn’t revolve around mapping or looting or combat. Weeks since you’ve taken a moment to learn about the people you find yourself in constant contact with. 

“Some people just don’t like looking back.” 

There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes when you respond as if he wasn’t expecting such an answer. Or really, maybe an answer at all. All at once his face seems to rise in thought, taking a moment to absorb the words before he hums in response, pursing his lips. “Yes, well, I suppose some people don’t have a past worth running from.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

The tadpole behind your eye wriggles for his attention before you can even think to suppress it. Working to pull him in as you stare at one another, narrowing your eyes at the sudden cerebral contact. At first, he’s reluctant. You can feel the pushing sensation suggesting that you stop. That you should stick to the confines of your own mind rather than pestering him, but quicker than you can move away to agree, it’s as if you’re sucked back in again. Pulled by the very thread of your own brain matter to see flashes of a life you assume to be his.

The first thing you see is candlelight. A flickering of warm hues that dance across wooden interiors. It’s almost dizzying the way the light shifts across your vision, forcing you to close your eyes. Next to you, you can hear Astarion breathing heavily. Deep inhales followed by even deeper exhales that you swiftly use as a metronome to carry your focus. To aid your tadpole’s connection. 

Swallowing hard, you listen to the beats of his breath, feeling them take over your chest as the vision in front of you grows to reveal bits of cobblestone. In the background, you can hear the faint sounds of scuttling feet. The dripping of water. A hungry growl followed by an even hungrier gnaw of flesh that squelches on your tongue. 

You can taste the iron —feel the fur and bones of an unknown animal brush against your lips and gums. All of it swirls around your mouth like a tornado of overstimulating sensations, forcing the vision to pass as you reach for your throat, coughing up nothing but your own spit despite how real it feels. 

It’s apparent then what Astarion means. That some people aren’t always blessed with the privilege of running away. That people like him don’t have the means of calling upon allies to aid them through the awful shit that is reality. 

Even with such little context, you can sense through his tadpole that he’s alone in this life. Alone before the Illithid —alone now. And more than likely, he’ll be alone after it’s all over, in death or otherwise. 

Rubbing your throat —trying your best to get rid of the tainted feeling of skin and bone from your mouth, you feel empathy rather than sympathy. An understanding of his words as you look toward him, noticing the far-off look in his eye before he blinks and travels back.

“I only showed you that to save the explanation,” he says, and whether or not it’s true you merely just nod, welcoming the silence. The tranquil hush of two people attempting to navigate the other. 

It doesn’t last long. In between, there are a few moments of background noise. The sound of echoing footsteps and muffled voices. You know it’s the others looting just as you should be, but neither of you moves to join until Astarion eventually clears his throat, signalling change. 

“Anyway, they’re all in their own worlds, coasting on the wings of optimism.” He flicks his hand around the air while rolling his eyes. “It’s disgusting and partly why I choose your company above theirs.” 

Letting yourself fall back into your usual, somewhat antagonistic rhythm, you give him a curious look. “Partly, huh?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he quips, the edge of his lip twitching into that usual grin of his. “The other part is the potential of your blood, darling.”

“Ah yes. And here I was assuming you were just following me around so that you could steal my treasure.”

Both of your eyes move back to the unbroken padlock. It’s the only thing in this room that seems to be worth either of your time and Astarion knows it. It’s why he’s been so keen on your failure. 

“You know, I could help you if you like. Show you a thing or two so that the next time this happens you don’t have to rely on me.”

It’s tempting, even if you know that you’ll be taxed to all hell. Whatever spoils you find will ultimately be cut in half and, more than likely, he’ll sweeten the deal for himself by claiming first pick. 

“What’s the price?”

He shoots you a look of offence, clutching his chest. “My dear, I’d never dare put a price on the education of thievery.”

You hold back a grin, pressing your lips together, watching the way he quickly springs into action, motioning for you to hand him your tools. When you do he begins to explain the process, showcasing all the tips and tricks against the air with careful precision. Which would be helpful if you weren’t so focused on his hands rather than his words. On the way they curl around the handles of your tools, tightening with every gesture performed. 

Astarion’s got nicer hands than most. Long and thin and surprisingly well-manicured for someone who spends most of his time in the forest or drinking the blood of unsuspecting animals. And guiltily enough staring at them so intently just reminds you of that night he drained your neck. 

You can still feel the pressure of his fingers against your head. The way they roughly cupped you like a goblet of wine. Despite the fear in that moment, you’re now able to look back at that memory almost fondly. A moment of potential weakness for you somehow became a moment of trust for him and as a result, here you were now, acting almost friendly amid a terrible situation. 

It makes you grin, prompting Astarion to stop his explanation and narrow his eyes. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Hm?”

There’s a knowing glance that befalls his face then. A transition of clarity that has his mouth opening and closing before he hands you your tools. “Might be best if we take a more hands on approach.” 

You look at him confused, letting the hooks in your hand lazily rest in your palm as you watch him hop to his knees and begin to guide you. 

“I want you to do exactly what you were doing before, alright? Use the hook to push the pins.” 

Despite your continued confusion, you follow his position by kneeling in front of the chest and popping the hook into the hole, digging around the darkened space until you feel the shift of that first pin. 

“Got it?” You spare him a glance and a nod, watching him crawl towards you, positioning his chest firmly against your back before reaching out to hold your wrists. “Now, take that other hook of yours and situate it at the base of the barrel.”

Doing exactly that, you feel his fingers slowly slip over yours, navigating you through the trials of getting that second pin to shift as the barrel turns in your grasp. At first, it’s difficult. Mostly because all you can focus on is the breath that hits the side of your face. The heat of the air that travels down your spine in nervous waves you’re almost certain he can feel. But then you’re reminded that you’ve been here before; stuck within his heated grasp. 

“That’s it. Just like that.” 

You’re practically holding your breath as you find that third pin, feeling Astarion’s hand shift you in the right direction before you lose it at the last second. Ever so gently, his chest shifts upwards against your back so that he can rest his chin on your shoulder to get a better look. A newfound weight that makes you close your eyes and release a bit of air from your nose, realizing how intimate this is. 

Somehow it feels even more personal than letting him feed off of you. Perhaps because the bloodsucking was for his own benefit, knowing Astarion, moments like that where he’s able to take rather than give mean next to nothing to him. They’re just moments of manipulation. A series of tactical steps he takes to get whatever he wants whereas this is different. This is for you. 

You’re not sure how to describe it other than an offering of trust. Maybe it’s a token of appreciation for letting him consume. Maybe it’s nothing more than a game to make you squirm beneath his grasp. Either or, it’s an experience you know you’ll be thinking of for days to come, attempting to decipher its intent.

“Once you feel that final pin I want you to ease it in gently, alright? Be delicate.” 

You offer him no response as you listen to his words. If you did, you’re certain he’d make some offhand comment that would only further the lewdness of it all, grinning like the mischievous prick he is. 

“After that, you should feel a little shift and —voilà!” 

The chest clicks open. Your breath releases in a long, much-needed stream but Astarion makes no effort to move from your frame. Instead, he continues to cling to your hands, angling his chin so that when you eventually look at him you’re practically touching noses. 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“It’s that easy?”

Slowly but surely he slips from your frame with a nod, his hands sliding across the expanse of your sleeves, coating your skin in a wave of goosebumps as he moves to stand. “Yes, but keep it hush, hush. Wouldn’t want the others to find out, would we?”

You shake your head, a small smile creeping across your lips as you then turn towards your reward, gripping both edges of the lid before pushing it up. Inside there are only a few items. A few spell scrolls and some fabric but it’s enough to get you excited regardless, realizing that it’s yours.

“Not bad for your first go.” Peeking over your shoulder, Astarion watches as you sift through everything carefully, unrolling each scroll to read the details before looking back up and raising a brow. 

“You sure there’s no tax?” you ask, but all he does is laugh and shake his head. 

“Finders keepers, darling. As I promised.” 

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 4

A/N: Confrontation time. Here we go, y'all. I'm tagging this as borderline non-con for the ending. It steps into some murky territory that some may feel uncomfortable with. But hey, we're dealing with AA, after all. I'll also be linking a post reference within the text here; please click the link when you see it! It'll help you visualize a certain part. 🌝 Thank you all for the support thus far! I hope you enjoy reading ❤️

Rating: Explicit Word count: 7.7k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (named) Warnings: 18+, non-con (somewhat; literally touches the border of it), absolutely dubcon, mentions of pregnancy, mention of virginity loss, loss of innocence, manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, discussions of death and murder, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, PiV sex, PiV sex while pregnant, blood drinking, mother-fuckin' vampire sex boiiiiiiiiii (sorry these tags are way too serious and I am not)

Summary: Tav arrives at the Crimson Palace, poised for a confrontation with Astarion. A delicate dance ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as she enters, but once they do, the sight before her nearly robs her of all speech and reason.

Illuminated by candelabras, Tav gasps in awe at the renovations to the interior of the manor. The once drab and outdated decor has been ripped out, heart and soul, and replaced with… white. So much white.

White walls, white marble flooring with golden accents, tall white marble columns. A generous crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, Tav looking up. Her vision comes down to settle on the plush red carpet lining the foyer, stretching through the hall and into the ballroom. The reflection of the candlelight shimmers along the marble floors. A sunset on the water… Tav notes offhandedly to herself. 

A commemoration to their moment of triumph over the Absolute.

They all stood atop the dock watching the sun set over the horizon, sunlight glinting off the sea. The moment the tadpole vanished, Astarion became free. Truly and completely free. 

A life regained, a future unwritten. 

Reborn anew.

As she continues to drink in the new additions to the palace, Tav sees a figure approach from the corner of her eye. She turns her head to observe an older human woman making her way down the carpet, a smile set upon her slightly wrinkled face.

“Good evening, young miss,” the woman greets with a short bow. “Have you come to ask for an audience with Lord Ancunín?”

Tav remains silent for a moment as she quickly gives the woman a glance over. Gray hair with a time-worn face, albeit one that still shows the beauty she once beheld. She wears a simple long black dress with long sleeves, a white apron tied around her waist. Her shoes are black with a big metal buckle adorning the top of each. “I beg pardon for my current appearance,” the woman offers, giving the apron a quick pat down. “It isn’t often we have visitors this time in the evening.”

“No…” Tav begins, voice trailing off as she regroups her thoughts. “Not an audience, no. I’m…” Her chest thumps as she ponders their relationship. “...A friend of Astarion's. Is he home?”

“The young Master is in, yes; though I'm afraid he's currently occupied.” As if sensing Tav’s disappointment, the woman questions, “May I ask who you are?”

Tav nods her head respectfully. “I'm Tav.” The woman quirks a questioning brow. “Tavaria,” she adds quickly. “I was a traveling companion to Astarion over a year ago.” 

And much more…

A spark shoots across the woman's vision and Tav recoils backward, readying herself. 

“Ah!” the woman exclaims joyfully, “Lady Tavaria!” The woman bows earnestly. “Lord Ancunín extends his warmest greetings to you. Welcome to the Crimson Palace.”

With a smile, Tav softens her stance. She bows in return. “Thank you. It's… definitely different than before,” she comments while looking around the room.

“Ah, yes,” the woman agrees, “Master Astarion has renovated the manor to his distinct liking after the untimely passing of its prior occupant.”

“I see,” Tav states with a laugh. “This is all… very Astarion.” Elegant and refined.

All for show. 

Continuing her observation of the room, a painting hanging on the middle wall catches Tav's eyes. She walks toward the painting, stopping just in front of it.

It's a black and white piece, looking to have been drawn in charcoal, depicting a man and woman sharing an intimate embrace. Both are naked, the woman's face obscured by her pose as she bows her back while offering her throat to the man. His head rests within her neck, his long black hair flowing down his back. The accompanying piece focuses solely on the man. The lustful look demonstrated in the man's half-lidded eyes as he looks up from the woman's throat has Tav shaking where she stands. 

She's seen that look before. Not unlike how Astarion has looked at her.

The servant woman smiles, still standing in the same spot, clasping her hands together. “You must be exhausted, dearie,” she says, cutting through the silence. “Shall I direct you to your chambers?”

Tav blinks rapidly and turns her head to the woman. “I’m sorry, but did you say ‘my chambers?’” She shakes her head with a short laugh. “I don't live here.”

“But of course, my lady,” offers the servant. “Master Astarion has asked that we offer it as an option should you ever visit the manor.” She nods her head with another beatific smile. “There is no obligation. It is simply a kind gesture.” She bows, courteously, “My apologies for any offense I may have given, Lady Tavaria.”

Tav nods briefly, turning away from the woman as her mind races. He made me a bloody bedroom? She lifts her head and once again finds the picture on the wall. A chill travels up her neck as she locks eyes with the intense gaze of the man in the painting. Her breath hitches.

“Do you know when Astarion will be available?” Tav asks hurriedly, looking toward the woman.

The servant shakes her head. “I'm afraid I do not, though I can set you up in the study while you wait?” Smiling again, the woman walks across the room to a set of double doors on the far right. She opens them wide and gestures to Tav, welcoming her to enter.

Clutching her satchel, Tav walks through the threshold and into the office. It's rather standard when compared to the rest of the manor; dark green carpeting and wood panel walls. Multiple bookcases that are carved into the walls, holding a plethora of tomes. A couple glass display cases are near the large window on the far side of the room. The evening sunlight pours in from the wide window and onto the chaise lounge adjacent to it; a relaxing spot for one who wishes to bask in the sun. 

The solid, dark wooden desk across from the double doors has a number of loose papers strewn about the top. An ornate wooden chair sits behind the desk, purple velvet upholstery with golden Damask patterns lining the back and seat. Two simple royal blue armchairs sit before the desk, signaling the office’s likely use for business gatherings.

“Please, make yourself at home,” the older woman says from behind as she enters the room. She walks over to the desk and gathers the documents into a single pile. “Would you care for something to drink, my lady? I'd be happy to bring you something after informing Lord Ancunín of your presence.”

Tav turns her head in acknowledgement of the older woman. “I'm quite well, thank you.” She furrows her brow. “Though, I didn't catch your name before.”

The woman freezes momentarily before bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaims in embarrassment, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Where are my manners today?” She quickly bows. “Magdalena, my lady. A true pleasure to make your acquaintance. My sincerest apologies.”

“It’s quite alright, Magdalena. No harm done,” Tav says with a calming wave of her hand. She walks toward the grand window and turns to face the older woman again. “Thank you for your hospitality thus far. I’ll settle myself in.”

With a nod of her head, Magdalena begins to exit the study. “Of course, Lady Tavaria. I’ll inform Master Astarion of your presence at once.” The doors close behind her with a soft click, and suddenly, Tav is alone.

She removes the satchel from around her chest, depositing the bag onto the chaise lounge. Her hat and scarf are next to join as she shakes out her hair. Tav tries to look through the frosted glass window without success. The opacity is too intense to make out anything more than muddled blobs. Turning around, she begins to walk the perimeter of the room, stopping in front of a large glass display case with a large book resting within. The cover of the book is adorned with skin, stitched into the pattern of a screaming face. An amethyst jewel sits within the face’s open mouth. Tav recalls the long nights and early mornings Astarion spent reasoning with this book until finally uncovering its secrets.

The Necromancy of Thay. 

Of course he kept it.

She continues on, noting each small trinket that sits within the shelves of the grand bookcases. Slipping her hands behind her back, Tav peers over the wooden desk and observes the pile of documents on top. She pops her head up to briefly scan the room. Satisfied that she has clear advantage, she takes a hand to swipe over the letters.

There are various invitations to grand balls in distant kingdoms, letters of gratitude from high nobles, bills of sale… Tav’s eyes widen as she spots a familiar name amongst the many signatures.

With deepest admiration, Araj Oblodra

Tav reaches over and picks up the letter off the desk, holding it steady with both hands as she skims through the contents. From what she gathers, it sounds as if Araj has learned of Astarion’s new circumstances. She’s highly apologetic for her past behavior and would very much like an opportunity to show her sincerest gratitude. The letter goes on further to imply that they take the chance to get to know one another better, and perhaps they can even become  allies. 

Tav scoffs as she places the piece of paper back down on the desk. 

She resumes her roaming when she settles on a small jewelry case on the top left of the desk. Walking around the edge, Tav fixates on the case, a startled gasp slips past her lips as she recognizes the jewelry within.

Resting atop a red velvet cushion lay a golden ring with a turquoise stone in its center. One half of a matching set of rings she had found during their journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Tav was in possession of both rings for quite some time, going back and forth with herself about whether giving him one half would be too much. 

She’d grown to like him; really-really like him, but she’d no idea if he felt the same. It wasn’t until the night of Astarion’s confession that Tav made her decision. Feeling the tension within his body as she wrapped her arms around his waist, yet fighting through his hesitation to return her embrace. It was enough to convince her that he truly did want to give them a try. 

She presented the ring to him the following morning as they packed up camp.

“...A bit soon for a proposal, no?” quips Astarion, expression smug.

Tav stands before him. A ring with a golden aura lays within the palm of her hand, held out in silent offer. “N-no!” she stammers, the ghost of a blush tinting her cheeks. She averts her gaze as she says, “It's an enchanted ring.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow in question. “I can see that quite clearly, dear. But what does it do?”

Turning to look at him under her eyes, Tav replies shyly, “...It allows me to cast a special protection spell on you.” Her cheeks burn hot, her skin beginning to prickle.

His eyes darken as he leans forward. “Oh,” Astarion teases, voice velvet, “you wish to be my Knight?” He begins to move into her, hovering his lips just above hers. “You want to save a poor, innocent maiden such as I,” he coos. “Is that it, darling?”

They spent the majority of the following night rutting feverishly against one another, sharing a mutual need to scrub their underclothes in the river the morning after. From that point forward, each wore their respective ring around the fourth finger of the left hand.

Commotion outside the office brings Tav back to the present. She hears the voice of a woman, though not of the servant from earlier. Tav sneaks closer toward the doors, placing her ear to the wood to hopefully catch some of the conversation.

Still muffled, she thinks with a scowl. Drawing a deep breath in, Tav makes a quick split decision and grabs hold of the doorknob, twisting it gently. She feels the lock unlatch and pulls the door open just enough to allow for a small sliver of visibility. Tav strains against the door as she tries to find a better angle. 

A tall elven woman with long blonde hair stands in the foyer exchanging words with Magdalena. Dressed in professional attire, she hands the maid a business card as they exchange pleasantries. Tav catches the woman's head beginning to turn toward the direction of the office and Tav quickly steps out of sight, holding her breath, heart flying within her chest. A few moments pass without incident before Tav slowly inches toward the crack in the door. She finds Magdalena bowing as the elf takes her leave of the manor.

There isn't much time to ponder who this mysterious woman is – the sound of footsteps marching along marble flooring fills the air. 

“Good evening, Master,” greets Magdalena, kneeling in a curtsy.

“Good evening, my dear.” A man's voice, deep and smooth. Perfectly poised. Her stomach lurches; she knows that voice.

Tav holds her breath as talk continues just beyond the door. She quickly scans the room to determine which is closer – the blue armchair sitting before the desk, or the chaise lounge near the window. 

As the man's footsteps draw closer to the door Tav bolts for the armchair, sitting promptly. She adjusts herself to appear as if she's been waiting patiently for his arrival all this time. 

“Odd that the door is already open,” Tav hears the man comment from just beyond the door. 

Shit. 

A flash of embarrassing heat crawls up her neck. Magdalena mutters something to Astarion under her breath, but it's too quiet for Tav to make out. The doors suddenly swing open and Tav remains still, trying desperately to settle the overactive current that is her nerves.

She smells him first before she sees him – the signature scent of rosemary, bergamot and brandy encompassing the quaint office. “Thank you, Magdalena. Now, please, carry on,” he says smoothly. 

Tav hears the man begin to approach from behind, placing the palms of his hands atop her shoulders. “I’m sure you've done a fine job at making our Lady feel welcome, hmm?” He squeezes her shoulders, Tav flinching beneath his grasp.

Tav tries desperately to resist the urge to look at him. When she closes her eyes she envisions the sharpness of his jaw behind her mind's eye, coupled with the smell of his cologne that’s currently assaulting her senses – she simply cannot look at him. If she does, she's going to fall.

She'll forget about the murders. Forget how angry she is that he dared come to her in a state of blood-crazed lust. That she carries a child he knows nothing about, that he can never know anything about.

If she looks at his face, so perfectly sculpted by the Gods themselves, she's going to forget every reason as to why she should stay far, far away from this man. Longing for nothing more than to fall into his arms for the rest of eternity.

“Y-yes,” Tav replies, nervously. “You've been ever so kind, Magdalena. Thank you.” Finally, she turns, eyes meeting with the servant woman. Tav feels the pale elf's searing gaze upon her skin as she deliberately looks past him, the hands on her shoulders relaxing.

“Wonderful,” he sings with a wave of his hand. “Now leave us, Magdalena.” He walks around Tav, coming to lean against the lip of the office desk. “The Lady and I have much to discuss,” he purrs, leaning over as he places a hand upon her jaw. Slowly he tilts her face upright, staring directly into her eyes. “Isn't that right, love?”

Within an instant, she feels faint. An unsettling warmth begins to spread. “Yes, Astarion,” Tav murmurs softly as his fingers slip down her neck. Her eyes flutter closed as the hand inevitably falls free of her. Astarion slowly leans back and upright, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He breaks eye contact to focus on Magdalena.

The servant woman bows, closing the doors behind her with an audible ‘thud’ as she takes her leave. The room is silent then. Tav’s heart pounds in her ears as she stares beyond Astarion again, focusing on the ring box at the corner of the desk. She only realizes how rapidly she's breathing as the sound reaches her ears.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s smooth voice cuts through. “You look as though you've seen a ghost.”

Raising her head, Tav meets his eyes. He stands before her, concern written across his features. For a split second, Tav sees him – the dashing rogue she fell in love with.

The way Astarion is knitting his brow, wide glassy eyes studying her. It's all very much like him. 

“I’m fine,” she forces out, swallowing hard.

“Did Magdalena offend you?” Astarion asks urgently.

Tav shakes her head. “No, she truly has been pleasant.”

He leans over her again. Astarion drags a finger delicately up the side of her cheek. “Then why do you cry?”

Immediately Tav raises a hand to her opposite cheek. Moisture coats her fingertips as she finds a stray tear rolling down her cheek. She’s unsure when or why she’s begun to weep, wiping the tear away with the back of her hand. Tav pulls herself out of Astarion’s touch with a slight groan.

“I-I’m fine, really,” she insists. “I… came to see you.”

The vampire's expression softens as he tilts his head. “I haven't come to you in some time,” Astarion says, walking toward a carafe of wine sitting atop a metal cart near the window. “I apologize for that.” He speaks over his shoulder, pouring the wine out into a glass. He gestures with the carafe briefly to Tav; she shakes her head. “Although, I can't say I anticipated you showing up here.” Placing the carafe back down on the cart, Astarion turns, lips pulling into a smirk as he brings the wine glass to his lips. “Is it true then, what they say? Has absence made your heart grow fonder?”

Tav stands and turns to Astarion, giving him a full glance over. He wears a simple white dress shirt, the top few buttons undone revealing glimpses of his sculpted chest. His trousers are something she’s unfamiliar with – a type of woven cotton in a particular vertical design, and dyed blue. Indigo blue. He's wearing a black belt, threaded into loops within the pants around his hips. Tav imagines there's a fastener under the belt buckle, but also something else to help secure the garment. Something metal running down the front seam of the pants. Her eyes finish their course down his legs to find a simple pair of polished black loafers.

“...I'll take that as a yes,” Astarion comments with a quirk of his brow. He returns from across the room to once again take his place leaning against the desk in front of Tav, setting the wine glass down.

“N-no,” Tav blurts out, “I mean yes, but…” She feels the warmth of embarrassment crawl up her neck, nipping along her skin as it floods her face. 

A hand rises to move her hair gently aside. Astarion leans forward and dips his head into the crook of her neck, planting chaste kisses along the tender flesh. “I missed you,” he whispers into her skin. Hot puffs of breath spread over her neck and Tav shudders. Almost instinctively, she raises her head to allow Astarion better access to her throat; her eyes flutter closed. His hand in her hair winds around the back of her head, gently guiding Tav’s head further to the side before falling to her hip. 

Tav gasps as Astarion pulls their bodies flush against one another. His arousal has yet to awaken, though she can still feel the outline of him against her core. She groans as he rolls her hips into her again and again; slow, languid thrusts that have bolts of pleasure shooting up from between her thighs and spreading like wildfire through her body.

“Astarion…” Tav protests weakly, raising a hand to cover Astarion's on her hip. “I didn't come here for this.”

He purrs into her throat, gently nipping and teasing the skin around her scars with blunted teeth. “Oh, no? Are you sure?” Astarion pulls her into him again while imitating a piercing bite into her neck.

She moans, louder than she means to, finally feeling the rigidness of his cock firmly against her sex. Her head falls against his shoulder as he continues rolling his hips against her, hardly noticing Astarion moving his hand from her hip to her lower back. A spark of panic zaps through her addled mind as she realizes where this is heading.

“Y-yes, I'm sure,” she insists, somehow managing to pull herself out of Astarion's embrace. The room spins around her as she turns to face him. “There's something I wanted to discuss with you,” she says breathlessly, vision finally starting to clear.

His expression falls, replaced by smug dissatisfaction. “You came halfway across the city… just to talk?” asks Astarion, narrowing his eyes.

Tav nods her head in agreement. “Yes, it's something rather important.”

Astarion groans low in his throat, grabbing the glass of wine off the desk and walking toward the office window. He brings the crimson liquid to his lips and takes a strong sip. “You could have sent a damned pigeon, if that's all you wanted,” he snides over his shoulder.

“Not about this.” Tav feels her throat run dry as she speaks. Her lust has settled for now, replaced by the live wire of anticipation.

“About what?” Astarion growls defensively. He spins around, entire body leaning into his words. Like an animal being cornered.

Tav flinches reflexively. It’s rare that Astarion ever raises his voice to her, even during disagreements. She swallows, hardening her resolve. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, taking another long drink from his wine glass. His face softens. “I'm sorry, love, but I'm having a very rough time ascertaining what could ever be so important that you felt the need to bring yourself here,” he gestures wildly to the floor below him, “to me, just to talk?”

She doesn't respond.

The tension eases from his form as he studies Tav, clearly shaken by his display. He sucks his teeth in defeat. “Oh, for the love of Shar’s cunt, fine,” he groans. “If you're going to look at me like that, then fine, I'll bite.” He comes to rest on the chaise lounge near the window, knees spread wide, his forearms resting over the tops of his thighs. “So, what can I do for you, my friend?”

Tav winces, looking down at her hands as she fidgets her fingers. He's being heavily sarcastic, though at least it's an invitation to continue. “...There was an article recently in the Gazette,” she begins, voice quivering. “That spoke of a murder within the sewers.”

Astarion scoffs. “Unsurprising for those cesspits, but do carry on.”

Her eyes shift momentarily to his face before falling back to the floor. “It's reported that there were five victims in total. Three had their throats slashed, while the other two…” her voice trails off as her throat tightens. Tav tries to swallow, but nothing goes down. Panic rises within her, adrenaline building.

“The other two what, dear?” Astarion's voice is dark, firm. He stands from his place on the lounge, walking slowly over to Tav. He stands before her, brows pulled together, his eyes cast down upon her face. A hand comes up to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me,” he demands.

She gasps, Tav finally saying with some hesitation, “They had fang marks… embedded in their throats. Resembling the scars I bear.” She blinks. “The ones you gave me,” she adds, quietly.

His eyes darken with malice as his face contorts. His grip on her chin tightens, forcibly lifting her head to the side to observe her branding. Astarion pulls in a full breath as he looks over her neck, mouth dropping open in an exasperated exhale.

“...Do you know anything about this?” Tav chokes out, eyelashes fluttering rapidly.

“And why would I know anything about that, hmm?” Astarion lowers his head into the crook of her neck, panting heavily against her skin. Tav shakes from their proximity. He then drags his lips up the side of her face, resting them against her ear. “I'm not the only monster lurking in the shadows,” he whispers.

The hand on her chin falls to her hip, guiding her gently toward the lip of the desk. “I know how you think of me, darling.” Tav sucks in a sharp breath as her backside bumps into the wood. “That I’m the big bad wolf coming to steal you away in the night.” Astarion buries his nose within her hair, inhaling deeply as he pulls their bodies flush together again.

“A-answer the question, Astarion,” Tav insists, her head beginning to cloud.

“Oh, but wouldn't you rather hear what I miss most about you, Tavaria?” he growls into her ear. “What memories play incessantly again and again in my mind?” Astarion grinds himself against her center again, coaxing a suggestive moan out of Tav. Her arms rise to encircle his neck, her resolve beginning to shatter.

“A-Astarion,” Tav whines desperately. “D-don’t…”

He drops his head to rest their foreheads together, lips practically touching. “I miss how you’d writhe in my lap as I'd drink from you,” Astarion confesses. He pulls at her bottom lip, suckling the flesh between his. “The way you flutter around my cock when you fall off the edge for me.” He kisses her more thoroughly this time, groaning softly into her mouth as Tav’s jaw slackens. “But, do you know what I miss above all else?” suggests Astarion, pulling back. He dips his head again into the nape of her neck, a hand rising to gently hold the opposite side of her face. 

Tav grasps at the linen of his dress shirt, bunching the fabric within the palms of her hands. She's now rocking her hips in rhythm with his, a smoldering fire now roaring to life deep within her belly. Her body calls for him, and Tav wonders briefly if he can hear it.

The crazed beating of her heart? The lone song it sings only for him? The proof of their union that grows within?

“Your blood,” Astarion speaks against her skin. Suddenly he places his mouth over her scars and sucks voraciously, like a man starved. Tav moans, buckling at the knees momentarily. She grabs at his hair, threading her fingers deep against their roots for leverage. “Gods, there's nothing quite like the vintage of your blood,” he continues as he unlatches from her throat. The delicacy of her skin has given way to a mauve bloom; he smiles as he pulls away.

She shakes beneath him. If it weren't for the desk behind her, Tav would certainly collapse. He's trying to seduce her. Fuck her into submission – make her crave him so that she's more pliable, in whichever way he desires. These are his classic manipulation tactics, not unlike their humble beginnings.

“I know w-what you're doing, Astarion,” Tav says. “Don’t toy with me.”

He laughs – a quick condescending sound breaking free from his lips. “Oh, darling, you've been toying with me for months now. I'm very aware,” Astarion says with a smirk. He cranes his head. “Our dance is always the same – we fight, we kiss, and then I make the sweetest love to you as you weave your fingers between the very threading of my soul, ripping my heart free of my chest,” he adds with a sneer, pounding a fist over his heart. 

Astarion pauses for a brief moment to stare at her. He pulls in a quick breath and his face softens. “And I let you, every time.” Tav gasps as the hand holding her face slides to her chin, fingers tracing the outline of her lips. “But you?” he continues, gesturing to a shelf on the wall behind them with a nod of his head, “You keep yours high on a shelf, completely out of reach. No matter how I clamor for it.”

Astarion releases her, hands entirely off her being as he steps back. “I lay myself bare for you every time. But you refuse to see it. Refuse to see me, beyond the glitz and glamor.” He knits his brow again, and Tav swears she sees a hint of moisture gather at the edges of his eyes. “Yet, I say nothing, because this is the only way you allow me to have you. And I’d rather have some of you than nothing at all.” 

Silence blankets them both. 

Has she been unfair to him? Cruel? Has she so sorely misjudged who he’s become? Tav shifts her gaze down to the floor as the questions mount. Maybe he isn’t this grand demon she’s characterized him to be. His talk of power and control after the ritual – perhaps it was a rush of emotions? The first taste of freedom after so many years of indentured servitude? He seems more settled now, not in so much of a rush to bend the entire city to his will.

Perhaps… she was wrong?

“So, may we skip straight to the finale?” says Astarion, distracting her from her thoughts, “Because I’m not quite sure how much more of this I can take.”

Her mouth hangs open, too stunned to speak. Tav looks up; she meets his eyes.

Maniacal laughter as he bathes in a glowing red aura of 7000 souls extinguished.

His face when the ritual was complete. The way he roared. How he laughed.

No, she's not wrong for mistrusting him. He's worse than a devil themselves.

They stare into one another's eyes, the tension swirling about the room thickening. Tav blinks; he still hasn't answered her question. 

“You still haven't answered my question, Astarion.”

She stands firm.

He scoffs, turning his head toward the grand window. Astarion runs a hand over his face; he bites the top of a finger. “No,” he answers sternly, dropping the hand from his mouth. “I don't take particular interest in what happens within the bowels of this city.” He glances down at the fingernails of his closed fist, rubbing them across the front of his shirt. “My days of being a sewer rat are long gone, my dear.”

Tav winces. She's not entirely yet convinced. “Are you sure?”

Slowly, Astarion returns his attention to her. “Yes,” he growls low in this throat, “I am sure.” He tilts his head to the side as he lifts his brow. “Satisfied?”

Briefly she narrows her eyes, studying his face. Something about this… she's seen it before. He's pulled his face into an all-too-perfect expression. Not a muscle out of place.

“Yes, thank you,” she answers. Tav watches his liar’s mask slide off, replaced by a smug expression. He’s truly convinced he has her fooled.

How could she have ever loved such a horrid creature?

“Excellent,” Astarion hums as he clasps his hands. “Shall we return to more pressing matters?” His hands raise to caress the soft edges of her hips. He drops his face to her forehead, planting a soft, lingering kiss. Gently he rocks them together again.

He's turning this into his playground. His bargaining chip.

Sex. Lies. Manipulation.

He falls back on them every time. Seals every deal with the proposition of ‘a little death;’ wielding his body like a finely sharpened tool. In her case, if she doesn't play her cards carefully, Tav could very well be staring face to face with actual death. 

“Of course,” she sings to him. “I wouldn't be truthful if I said I hadn't been thinking of this.” She smiles softly to him, in just the way she knows he likes – a smile that reaches her eyes. It's her turn to start dealing her hand.

And just as expected, Astarion folds.

Hands reach behind her knees, Astarion lifting her up and onto the top of the desk. Their kiss is hurried as he slots himself between her splayed thighs, his tongue entwining itself around hers. Astarion's hands travel up again, one landing on her waist while the other palms at a clothed breast. Tav arches her back, pushing her chest into his touch. She sighs as he continues massaging the tender mound, mewling into his mouth as he pulls teasingly at her nipple. Breaking the kiss, she rests her forehead against the bridge of his nose. Her chest heaves as she tries to regain her breath.

Astarion releases her breast and slides his hand up to push the strap of her dress off her shoulder. “Lay down,” he commands with a whisper. Tav hesitates at first, but then moves slowly. She gently lays back onto the surface of the desk; the wood is cold against her exposed skin, sending a chill through her. Astarion leans forward, planting open-mouthed kisses to her neck and the newly exposed area of her shoulder. He travels down, suckling softly at the swell of her breast. She writhes beneath his touch as his hair tickles her chest.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” says Astarion, kissing down the expanse of her abdomen. Tav grasps at silver locks, threading her fingers through Astarion’s hair as he begins hiking up her dress.

“You’ve said that to me before,” she pants heavily while stealing a look between her legs. An involuntary twitch ripples through her as he kisses the inside of her thigh. Tav feels him smirk into her skin.

“And still you’ve yet to seek out its meaning,” comes his prompt response. Astarion hooks his fingers into the hem of her undergarments, Tav lifting her hips enough for him to slide the fabric down her legs. They hang off one ankle as he resumes lavishing attention to her.

She arches off the desk as he kisses her mound, dipping his head momentarily to swipe his tongue teasingly up her slit. “W-uh, what d-does it mean?” she questions in a moan.

Astarion hums as he kneels before her spread legs. “You'll just have to find out for yourself,” he teases. Holding her legs open, he runs the flat of his tongue up her center, stopping to lavish her sensitive bud. He wraps his lips around her clit, suckling gently as he brings a hand to her entrance.

“What are you-” Tav exclaims, clearly panicked. Two of his fingers prod over her entrance, Astarion lightly teasing the tips in and out. Their eyes connect and he finally breaches forward, his eyes now rolling back into his skull as he continues lapping at her cunt. He curls his fingers, jerking his hand back and forth to pass over the intimate spot within. Tav’s vision begins to fill with searing white heat, her body writhing under him. He's bringing her closer and closer to release, and fast. More quickly than ever before.

“Gods, you taste even better than I remember,” he moans softly, adding fuel to the ever-mounting fire within her belly. Astarion kisses her opposite thigh, continuing the assault with his fingers. “Thiramen,” he says softly, sensing her proximity to the precipice.

The fucking Elvish. He surely hasn't forgotten the effect it has on her.

“D-don’t… not fair…” Tav whines, looking down between her legs as she runs her hands through Astarion's hair. Her thighs quake, the coil in her lower belly winding tighter and tighter as it threatens to snap.

Astarion meets her gaze, tongue once again passing over her swollen clit. “Thiramen eath’she,” he says. “Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen...”

Astarion curls his finger with just the right amount of finesse and suddenly Tav’s body ceases. She cries out, loud and wanton, her release spilling into the palm of his hand. Astarion smirks and continues passing his fingers over her spot, coaxing her through the intensity of her pleasure. Tav pulls her knees together and finally rolls away from his touch, too overstimulated to take any more. Her chest heaves as aftershocks of her release rock through her.

The vampire smiles as he stands up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Opening her legs again, he leans over her. Tav’s face is flushed red, her eyes still closed as her mouth hangs open. He makes a quick mental note of her current state to call upon for later use. “So beautiful,” Astarion comments, snaking a hand down to the button of his trousers. With the deftness expected of a skilled rogue, he pops open the button and loosens the fastener. 

Tav finally comes to, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Astarion…” she breathes, raking her nails over his bare chest. Looking between their bodies, she follows his hand as he reaches within the waistband of his underclothes, pulling them down his thighs. His cock springs free and Tav gasps. Pre-fluid gathers at the tip of him and her eyes flutter upward to meet his again, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“I'll stop, if you want,” Astarion whispers through kiss-swollen lips. Guiding his length to rest against her sex, he groans softly, resting his head against her forehead. Involuntarily twitches of his hips have his shaft sliding deliciously through her arousal. Both pull in a sharp breath when the head of his cock catches at her entrance, Tav’s body arching off the desk at the sensation.

Shaky hands rise to hold either side of his face, and Tav notices for the first time that evening how warm it is. A soft blush sits high on his face, across the tops of his cheeks. Astarion turns his head into her palm, planting gentle kisses. Any reservations begin to melt away at the gesture. “No,” she breathes, “it's fine. I want this.” Tav runs her thumb back and forth over his cheek. “Even if only for a little while.”

He nods, completely silent, then guides himself along her core. Her hands tangle within moonlit locks as he breeches her entrance. Her sudden pleasured moan is swallowed in a kiss, Astarion groaning out is own into her mouth as his length slips deeper, deeper, until he hits her end. Tav tastes the remnants of her release on his tongue; a bitter sweetness that tickles the back of her throat. An involuntary clenching of her walls around his cock as his tip kisses the end of her tunnel has Astarion moaning again, breaking their kiss. He buries his head within the crook of her neck, resting there for a brief moment as he bottoms out.

They lay still, Tav pressing a heated cheek to the side of his face. Inhaling deeply, she crosses her legs over the small of his back and pulls him impossibly closer. Astarion adjusts the angle of his hips and she gasps as the head of his cock pushes against her cervix again, slightly arching into his embrace. Gently he begins to rock his hips – short, teasing thrusts to test her readiness. He lavishes attention to her neck with languid kisses, suckling at the delicate skin.

This is… passionate. Intimate, Tav realizes. The words he cannot say aloud, that he's too afraid to say aloud, he'll express through this.

This is her Astarion. The man she fell in love with over a year ago. Here, like this, is him. Tav turns her face to plant reassuring kisses against his temple. “You can move, Astarion,” she tells him.

He doesn't lift his face, but she feels how he breathes against her skin. A hand comes up to thread within her hair, the other landing on her hip. He’s silent as he begins to move – pulling out before slowly plunging back in. They stay like this for a bit, Astarion rocking his hips into her core with added fevor. He glides smoothly as her arousal grows, Tav falling easily into their shared rhythm.

“Tav?”

She opens her eyes, unaware of having closed them. “Mmm?” she groans softly, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he adjusts his angle.

“Do you trust me?”

It takes a moment, but she’s sure she hears a sort of sternness in his voice. Tav peels her head back to meet his eyes. They're wild – dark crimson pools that threaten to swallow her whole. Astarion breathes heavily through his nose, eyes cast down as he awaits an answer.

She opens her mouth to speak but the words catch in her throat. With a wandering eye she finds the ring laying next to her on the corner of the desk. Light gleams on the gold band, reflecting off the glass of encasement.

He kept the ring, she argues to herself. He kept his half of the rings.

Were he so terrible, would he have done that?

“I do,” Tav answers nervously, blinking rapidly.

“May I ask a favor?”

Astarion stills his movements. He holds himself up by his elbows, but not before guiding Tav to lay flat on the surface of the desk. She nods her head slowly as she looks up to him, inviting him to continue.

In an instant, her stomach twists. 

He smiles.

“It's been so long since I've supped of you, darling,” Astarion says, voice smooth as velvet. “Would you be ever so kind to grant me another taste?”

A chill runs up her spine. The room is cold, suddenly so very cold. She's ripped violently from the benevolent illusion of the moment, finding herself face to face with the very creature of tales long past. 

The innocent maidens. 

They always come for the innocent maidens.

She was nowhere near innocent – not for many years. But a maiden? Yes, of this she was sure.

She never did tell Astarion, but he was her first as much as she was his. Her mind may have still been fractured, but somehow she had certainty of that one fact. The moment he breached her maidenhead was the beginning of everything. Bit by bit he carved out pieces of her. Took them, stole them for himself. More and more she gave, all in an effort to appease his ever-growing lust for power and control.

Astarion is, and was, a rolling thunderstorm – lightning fit to strike for no reason other than he can.

And now he's asking, again, for more.

An overwhelming urge to cry is building within her, but she won't. She chose this. To be here, with him. Like this. The consequences of her actions playing out in real time. 

Her stomach twists again and she winces in pain. She understands his craving for blood well. The pregnancy has been kicking up old feelings; she believed them to be settled after the rejection of her Father. Can she really deny him his hunger?

Tav lifts her face to meet his gaze. Astarion is looking down at her with a blank expression. He silently awaits her answer.

“...D-do not turn me, Astarion,” comes her shaky response.

A deep rumble travels up his chest as he twists his face into a foreboding smile. “Of course not, my love,” he purrs, like a cat that finally got the cream. His hand twists within Tav’s hair, guiding her head upward to expose the long column of her throat. His eyes find her scars again and he sucks in a sharp breath, involuntarily jerking his hips into her core. Astarion’s arousal has flagged, though the promise of her blood has him twitching back to life.

Tav groans as she feels him swell within her, hooking her legs back around the small of his waist. Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes as she feels his gaze upon her. “Be gentle, please,” she pleads. Trembling hands rise to hold his shoulders as he moves into position, his mouth hovering above her neck.

Astarion peppers the underside of her jaw with kisses as he trails down her neck. “I would never dream of being anything but,” he speaks into her skin. He swipes his tongue over her mark, his mark, enclosing his mouth over the spot and suckling lightly. “You'll barely feel a thing.”

She could stop this. She should stop this. But instead, she lies in wait, bracing herself for the icy sting of his fangs piercing her flesh. Tav feels the points of his teeth press into her neck; she screws her eyes shut as they sink in, hands flying to the top of his head. She groans, gripping handfuls of silver hair. 

He's right – the pain is only momentary, replaced by a familiar, comforting warmth. Astarion sucks in earnest, mouthfuls of her blood rushing down his throat. With his cock fully replenished, Astarion resumes a steady rhythm, thrusting in time with each pull of blood into his mouth. He groans against her skin.

He desires this, he desires me, Tav reassures herself. The edges of her vision are beginning to darken; a telltale sign that she's reaching her limit. “Astarion,” she says meekly, trying to alert him of her condition.

Yet, he continues to drink.

She pants against his forehead as she tries desperately to break free of his hold. Her strength is quickly fading, more of her vision fading with each pull of her blood into his mouth. Still his thrusts continue; a numbness starts to spread from her core throughout her limbs.

“Astarion…” Tav calls again, voice barely above a whisper.

The ceiling is the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes. Even behind her closed lids the room spins. One hand slips from the top of Astarion's head and onto the table, followed shortly by the other.

As she slips closer and closer into unconsciousness, Tav makes peace with the fact that she chose this. She knew this was a possibility. She knew he desired this, and she gave it to him. Willing.

He outplayed her.

A single thought races across her mind before she fades, of the artwork in the foyer.

The vampire bites the woman he desires.

Finally, Tav succumbs to the dark. 

Astarion continues to drink.

----------------------------------

A/N: PHEW. Well. The art I referenced above I believe is a scene from a manga called "Blood Sucker," but I couldn't find an actual panel depicting the image above, even with reverse image searching. If anyone can find the actual reference, please feel free to inform me and I'll adjust the link. Translations for the Elvish are as followed: Ai armiel telere maenen hir - "You hold my heart forever" Thiramen - "I love you/my love" when referring to soulmates Thiramen eath’she - "I love you forever," again, in the context of soulmates Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen - "Let go for me, my love," Sources are here & here

Hope you had fun reading!!

[daizymax]

the ways we love | lfl (m)

summary: periods of work mean periods without play between you and your longtime boyfriend. after he offers to be the muse for your latest artistic piece, you realize just how much you appreciate his never-ending support.

pairing: felix x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 7.9k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: established relationship; profanity; mentions of alcohol consumption and (past) drunken sex; public marriage proposal; brief mention of having children; graphic sexual content; dom!felix; dirty talk; use of pet names; fingering; some spit play; oral sex (m receiving); some spanking; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; creampie; aftercare

author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. i think this will be the last of the fics from my old blog that i'll be reuploading here for the foreseeable future. also, i forgot how much fun i had writing the smut in this one. hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

---

He had started off so well. He was relaxed, comfortable, cheerful. Happy to help. This was his idea, after all.

But now… now he’s fidgety. Anxious and bored. You sympathize with that, but if he doesn’t — “Doll, can you please stop moving?” — then you’re ready to give up this entire project already.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs in that sweet, deep voice of his. “You’re just being so quiet. I thought you’d at least talk to me and let me know how it’s coming.”

You spare him a quick, direct glance before refocusing on the canvas. “I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of every mark I make, Lix. I need to concentrate. I want this to be as perfect as you are.”

Felix huffs and averts his eyes, but you know you have appeased him from the way he falls silent and relaxes his shoulders again. The new pink hue spreading across his freckled nose, ears and cheeks would be a nice touch if only you were ready to add color to the piece. For now, you store the inspirational image away for later.

You manage to finish your outline and flesh out some details around his nose before his real-live self ruins his posture — and subsequently, the lighting on his face — by shifting in his seat yet again. With a sigh, you set your utensils aside, wipe your palms on your pants and say, “How about a break? Let me get you a drink.”

Whatever his answer was going to be — agreement, argument, or otherwise — does not have time to be voiced before you are breezing by him and into the kitchen. When you return, he accepts the glass of water and obeys your command to drink up. You watch as he tips an ice cube into his mouth and licks his heart-shaped lips afterward.

He mistakes your admiration for scrutiny. “What’s wrong?”

You smooth some stray hairs near his ear and poke the bulge of ice in his cheek. “Nothing at all. I just like looking at you.”

He crunches the ice and blushes deeper. “Thanks. Don’t you need to do that from the other side of the room, though? Any idea when you might be finished?”

You shrug and fuss with the collar of his shirt until it un-creases. “You know I can’t answer that. A few hours? Days? Weeks? Whenever I’m satisfied with it. Or whenever you say, ‘Fuck you, I’m done with this.’ I told you I can always just use a photo to finish this so you don’t have to model for me.”

Felix smiles softly. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I volunteered, didn’t I? I like modeling for you. It feels fancy to do it this way, like it might turn out better if we do it like this.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it’ll be so awful you’ll leave me over how monstrous I make you look.”

“Well, at least that would make an interesting story to tell my next girlfriend.”

You giggle. “That’s true. Why don’t I just do a caricature? That way, if it looks bad, I can pretend it was on purpose.”

“No. God no,” he says firmly. “You’re too good an artist to be making pieces look silly on purpose.”

You peck his forehead. “Well, if you want this to be ‘professional,’ you have to sit still for me, doll.”

“I will. I’ll behave.” He tilts his chin to seek out your lips, and you willingly give them up. You smile into the kiss when you see him fumble to set his glass aside on the coffee table beside him without breaking contact with you. Before he can free up his hands to do goodness-knows-what with them, you slink away, back to your easel.

“You just told me you’d behave. If you’re not backing out, then I’m still working, and that means no playing,” you remind him.

He knows, but there is still a hint of disappointment in his dark brown gaze.

These abstinence periods are relatively new to your long-standing relationship. You suppose most people would think a couple purposefully denying themselves sex would tear a wedge of stress and resentment between them, but that has not been the case with you and Felix. It’s a stimulus. A game. A challenging one, to be sure, but always immensely rewarding.

So that is what you have both agreed: there is no sex while you are working on a piece. Not until the job is finished.

“How long do you think this one will take?” Felix asks again.

You plop down in your seat with a light groan and gather your utensils again. “The answer is the same, Lix. I can’t say for sure. A few hours, days, weeks?”

Your pretty muse nods and takes another sip of water as he mentally prepares himself for the oncoming drought. He does his best to relax in his seat again, and you flash him a smile before getting back to work.

---

It takes twelve days to complete the portrait, and Felix is not even sitting across from you when the last stroke falls upon the canvas. He might be offended by this once he finds out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from finishing without him. Besides, you know he will ultimately be as happy as you are that it is finally finished.

Truthfully, you might have been able to do most of the portrait simply from memory; you know his face as well as your own by now.

A sigh flutters past your lips. You take a step back to better admire (and scrutinize) your work. As you scan it over, you can’t help but smile. Not just out of pride for the job you did, but because of the striking resemblance you have been striving to achieve.

It is always difficult to instill life and warmth into mere lines and dots and smudges, but the two-dimensional rendition truly seems as though it could begin breathing at any moment, and a fresh wave of fondness for your best friend and lover as the real-life person he is comes over you. That is how you know you are satisfied, and not just in terms of your finished project.

This is something to celebrate, so after deciding how you want to do so, you pick up your phone to text Felix about an important dilemma.

[You: hey i forgot what you’re wearing today]

There is enough time to change out of your old, splattered overalls and heat up a late lunch before your phone buzzes back.

[Felix: i know it’s been a while since we’ve sexted but i think you meant to phrase that as “what are you wearing” with a smirk emoji]

You almost choke on a bite of your food as you laugh out loud.

You: dfjfdjso i’m not trying to sext you. i just need to know if you’re dressed nicely enough for a restaurant with a decent wine list tonight. we have some celebrating to do

[Felix: how come?]

[You: it’s finished]

This time your phone does not buzz. It rings.

“You finished the portrait?” Felix’s voice is hushed and a little rushed. You can tell he is on the move, probably heading somewhere away from his co-workers and customers for a more private conversation.

“It’s signed and everything,” you say cheerfully.

“That’s fantastic!” he says, not the least bit offended. “This is definitely worth celebrating. We should go to the nicest place in town and dress to the nines.”

More laughter bursts from deep in your chest. “Wha— I mean, it’s still just a portrait, Lix. I didn’t win an award or solve a murder case or anything.”

“So? I” — you hear the sound of a door closing in the background — “sat in that chair for a hundred years and went celibate waiting for that portrait to be done. No offense. This deserves a grand celebration.”

Your eyeroll can probably be heard through the receiver. “It didn’t take that long, did it? It was less than two weeks. Remember that waterfall landscape I did?”

Felix grunts at the memory. “Yeah, how can I forget? Longest month-and-a-half of my entire life.”

“It was worth it in the end, though, wasn’t it?” you say, remembering how neither of you could walk properly for at least a couple days after you finished that particular piece, which is now proudly mounted on a wall in the master bedroom. “Come on, doll. When I pick you up, we’ll go out and have that decent wine with a decent meal so the public knows we’re celebrating something, and then we’ll come home and fuck each other blind, okay?”

There was a time years ago when he might have choked and sputtered over your words, but this lewd proposal is mild, and today he doesn’t flinch.

“If that’s what Madame Artiste wants, then that’s what she’ll get,” Felix says.

He offers you a choice between two restaurants he deems himself dressed appropriately for without having to come home and change, and once you choose, he asks, “Can you just bring my navy suit jacket with you so I can make this outfit work, please? I’ll see you later. I can’t wait.”

He ends the call with the sound of a kiss.

---

The chimes on the door draw the attention of three pairs of eyes, and the sight of you stepping into the salon brings a smile to Felix’s face. Well, the mask on the lower half of his face prevents you from actually seeing his smile, but the happiness is there in his deep brown eyes.

“Hi,” he says, scanning your date-night outfit with obvious appreciation. “Be right with you.”

“Take your time,” you say, smiling at the customer sitting across from him. She smiles back politely and returns her attention to Felix, who goes back to focusing on her fingernails. He meticulously sweeps an emery board across the rounded ruby shapes to finish smoothing them out.

The third person in the salon gets up from his cozy perch in one of the pedicure chairs at the end of the row and crosses the floor.

“You look so nice, Y/N. Is it date night?”

“Yep, we’re off to dinner,” you say, accepting the man’s hug. “What’s new, Ji?”

“Oh, not much.” Jisung shrugs and takes one of your hands. He inspects your fingernails, which have unsightly matte polka dots chipped in the gloss. “Want me to redo these before you go? It won’t take that long.”

You let out a fleeting giggle. “Honestly, I don’t know why I bother getting them done in the first place when I put so much wear and tear on them. This damage only took me a week.”

“Well that’s because—” Jisung shoots your boyfriend a quick look and clearly alters the second part of his statement, “—you did them at home. You need to have them professionally done.”

His way of criticizing Felix’s work while leaving the customer in the room none the wiser is clever, and you have half a mind to applaud him for poking fun at his friend without hurting their business.

The comment is not lost on Felix. He glares over at you and Jisung, but he cannot seem to think of a subtle rebuttal, so he stews in silence.

“Ah, maybe that’s my problem,” you say, grinning.

“Give me, like, fifteen minutes and you’ll be all set,” Jisung promises.

As he’s making his offer, Felix finishes with the woman. From the edge of your vision, you see him remove his mask and lead her to the register to finish the transaction.

“Are you working Saturday morning?” you ask Jisung. “I’ll stop in then and you can do my toes, too.”

Before he can either confirm or deny the appointment, Felix interrupts by coming up behind you and waving his tip in front of your face. “Here, look what my ‘unprofessional’ work got us,” he says. “Buy yourself something nice, baby.”

You chuckle at his little joke until you flick through the bills and realize just how much worth is in them. “Wow, Lix, she was so generous!”

“She was appreciative of the amazing job I did,” he corrects with a peck to your cheek, then he takes his suit jacket from your arms to slip it on. “Sorry, Ji, we have to go. Ready, Y/N?”

“Ready,” you say.

“Sounds good,” Jisung replies at the same time. “I’ll lock up here. Enjoy your date, guys. See you Saturday, Y/N.”

---

The wine is more than decent, the food hits all the right spots, and the company is absolutely perfect.

Felix laughs happily from across the table. Strands of pale blonde hair trickle past his ears the further he tips his head back, and the apples of his cheeks are hued pink from where the rosé has gone. His smile loses none of its dazzle when the waiter interrupts to check on the two of you. The sheer warmth he radiates is boundless in the most endearing way.

When the waiter leaves, you watch Felix lean back in his chair. His eyes land on yours, and while some of the amusement fades from his face, the fondness remains. You see it there, twinkling in the inky pools of his irises; you feel it in the comfort he exudes while he is with you.

For some reason, the contentment of the moment draws something to mind. “Do you remember when we first met?” you ask out of the blue.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Of course I do. Remember how you tried to kiss me?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you groan. “Honestly, I still don’t remember a whole lot about that night, but I definitely remember you saying, ‘Oh, no thank you,’ right in my face.”

“Listen,” he laughs in defense, holding up a finger. “I was trying to be polite. I was trying to be a gentleman. You were a hot mess. That party had you twenty so’s-worth of shit-faced.”

“Twenty what?”

“You were so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, soooo…” he starts chanting his stupid joke.

You giggle and hang your head. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“Hang on.” He holds that finger up higher. “So, so, SOOOO—”

“I said I get it already!”

“—so shit-faced. I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“You did embarrass me, though! By rejecting me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, dipping his head in apology, “but we both would’ve been way more embarrassed if we’d slept together that night. It would’ve been a disaster.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “What makes you think I would’ve slept with you so soon?”

“Uh. Did you or did you not sleep with my roommate that night instead?”

“Fair enough," you say, toasting your wine glass in his direction. “It’s only funny now because we’re the ones who ended up together.”

Felix smiles. “Thank goodness for that. Life is pretty incredible with you in it, sweetheart.”

His words sober you a bit, and you smile back almost shyly. “I could say the same about you, doll.”

He probably does not always love you as much and as effortlessly as he does right now. He certainly is not always his best, most charming self the way he is right now. Neither are you. But he is still worth loving when he is at his worst, and if you could have moments like these scattered all throughout the rest of your life, you feel it would be enough. His love and support and respect and admiration are more than enough.

So it comes as a soft entreaty rather than a question; out of the blue again, but also a long time coming: “Please marry me.”

This time Felix raises an eyebrow. He seems more intrigued than surprised by your impromptu proposal. Then he half-purses, half-pouts his lips in a cheeky sort of expression, like he thinks you’re bluffing but is willing to play along anyway.

That feeling of overconfidence you had that first drunken night when you leaned in to kiss him in a stranger’s kitchen comes back, as does the fear of the rejection you suffered immediately afterward. If he says ‘Oh, no thank you,’ again, you wonder if you’ll die of embarrassment right here in this restaurant, surrounded by different strangers with different alcohol on your breath.

But you know he won’t, not even as a joke, because he knows you now. He knows you well, and he sees the sincerity in your face.

“I don’t have a ring,” you go on, “but I’ll get down on one knee right here, right now. This dress won’t stop me.”

Wordlessly, Felix lifts his napkin from his lap to lay it across his plate, then leans sideways to pull something from his pocket. He casually holds it up for your inspection, and once you realize what it is, you move to kneel in front of him as promised without even questioning the coincidence. Now is not the time for questions. Now is the time to show how serious you are about this.

Felix stares down at you and pries open the tiny case to reveal the brilliance of the diamond’s sparkle. Your fingers are sure and steady when he slips the top-heavy band onto the appropriate one.

“I would be honored to marry you,” he says softly, poking back and forth at the engagement ring with the edge of his thumbnail.

By now there are dozens of eyes on the quiet scene the two of you are making, but his are the only pair you see. His smile is still there, softer and smaller now, but still brimming with the adoration he has gained over the years. It widens when you rise up just enough to press your lips to it. His hand finds the back of your head the same second yours cups his.

A round of coos and charmed applause from the crowd goes up around you, but it is all background noise to the sound of Felix’s precious, giddy laughter.

---

He is no longer laughing by the time you throw the front door shut and press him up against it. The needy kisses between here and the car have taken most of his oxygen.

“Shit,” he hisses, watching you work his belt buckle. “You get a ring on your finger and you turn feral, is that how it works?”

You growl playfully but say nothing.

“You better slow down, tiger, or we won’t last five minutes.”

“Don’t care.”

“Aren’t you gonna show me what we waited so long for this for first?”

“Later. I thought you were dying of celibacy?” you sass.

Felix clicks his tongue. The simple sound is quiet, but it shifts the air. You stop trying to get into his pants to give his dark eyes your undivided attention.

“We have all the time in the world now, don’t we?” he murmurs, as though the hard-on in his jeans is not growing as impatient as you.

You swallow. “I just want you so badly. It hurts.”

His gaze sharpens at your tone. “Does it?” He reaches up to graze a thumb along your bottom lip. “Where does it hurt, sweetheart? Here?”

The sound you let out is something between a hum and a whine. You feel so sex-starved, so desperate for any morsel of pleasure he can feed you. You try to take his thumb into your mouth, but he slips it away too fast, plucking your lip as he goes. He brushes across your breast next. The sensation is dulled by your clothing, but your nipple stands to attention nonetheless.

“What about here?” he whispers.

“Yes…” The fingers that had been so keen on removing his belt cling idly to the leather.

“Aw.” Felix pouts and bats his eyelashes at you, but his sympathy feels insincere. He’s amused by the state of you. He adores seeing you so riled up and pliant for him.

His thumb trails further, straight down your stomach, while the rest of his fingers are kept stiff and carefully away from your buzzing body.

Eventually, he reaches the crease between your thighs and presses through the layers of your dress and your panties where he estimates your clit to be. He is a little north at first but quickly readjusts his position. The soft moan you let out is a dead giveaway for when he has found it.

“And here?” He takes a step closer while he begins drawing tiny circles. “Tell me, angel, does it hurt here?”

“Yes. Yes...”

He kisses your cheek tenderly. Mercifully. His deep voice is pitched even deeper when he murmurs, “Shh. I know it does. It’s finally time for me to make it better, isn’t it.”

You cant your hips against his hand. “Felix, please...”

“Come here.”

He trades places to cage you up against the front door. You reach for him, but he draws back out of reach to shrug out of his jacket first. After he carefully pushes the sleeves of his sweater up, he uses both hands to hike your dress up along your waist. There is no rush to his movements. In fact, it’s almost graceful the way he does it, as though the actions he is about to perform could be considered decent.

When you try to remove your underwear from his way, he nudges your hands aside. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tuts. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Tell me the safe word first, Y/N.”

After all this time, he still has you say it out loud beforehand. Beneath your eager lust, you appreciate the basic act of care and commitment to playing the dominant role.

“Candle,” you answer.

He thanks you as though you’ve done him a favor and places a light kiss on the edge of your jaw. Then he hooks his thumb through the side of your panties to touch the hood of your bare clit directly. A jolt of electricity singes your nerves from his first flick. Your body noticeably quivers, and Felix smirks at his quick, effortless effect on you.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he drawls lowly.

You swallow again, drier this time. “Mm-hm.”

“Because we don’t play while you’re working anymore, do we?”

You shake your head. “Hm-mm.”

“And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you, baby?”

You hum again, louder this time. Or maybe it’s a full-blown moan. Whatever the sound is, it becomes incessant over each passing second and each pass of his thumb. Every noise you make is met with a return sigh or hum from Felix. Every jerk of your hips is matched by a tilt of his head or other shift in his posture.

Getting fingered like this, fully dressed and up against the front door of your home, spikes a carnal, filthy pleasure into your blood. It sears through your muscles, hotter and hotter until it beads between your skin and your clothes. You want to take them off, but you dare not stop Felix for a second. You keen with lust and desperation.

“I know. I know,” he purrs, soft and sweet as a kitten. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so good...” He nuzzles the space between your jaw and your neck and inhales deeply.

You tilt your face away to give him better access, but he peels back and takes your chin in his other hand to steer you back toward him. A puff of hot breath hits your damp temple; it almost feels cool.

“Eyes on me. Good girl.” His gaze skims down your form. “You’re still shaking. All I’ve done is touch your clit and you’re that close already, huh?”

“Yes, so close,” you admit, completely unashamed. “Just keep going, please just keep going.”

Felix smiles and takes the sweat from your temple with a pair of kisses. “How can I say no when you beg me so nicely like the perfect angel you are? Hold onto me. C’mon.”

You instinctively go to clutch his biceps but think of a better idea and hook your arms around his neck instead. Felix allows you to pull him even closer and finally — finally — slips another finger into your panties. He pushes it into your opening with almost no resistance, and you gasp when his knuckles bottom out inside you. Just as quickly as the finger entered, a second one joins and curls. He keeps them buried for a moment, then drags them back out to smear the juices he collected around your swollen bud. The slipperier his work gets, the more he enjoys it.

“Your pussy is so perfect,” he breathes. “Spread your legs. I want to feel just how wet it gets for me.”

You obediently open your legs wider, and he delves back in immediately, fast enough that his palm audibly claps against your slick lips, hard enough to send your head tipping backward to thump against the door. When his thumb drops back to your clit and nudges under the hood this time, you know it won’t be long until you’re unraveled.

“Ohhh my god,” you groan. More sweat builds on your forehead, on your chest, under your arms, along the backs of your knees. You grow lightheaded from the static in your veins from being fucked open by Felix’s talented, diligent fingers.

“That’s it,” he pants. You’re not sure when he became so breathless. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. Come for me. Come for me. Come.”

Another dozen strokes and you do as you’re told with a pinched yelp. Felix kisses your throat as he works you up your high and eases you back down, undulating his wrist and babbling encouragements into your sticky skin.

“That’s it, squeeze my fingers, just like that. Squeeze ‘em tight. Tight. There you go. That’s my good girl. So gorgeous when you come. So fucking perfect. Hey.”

The hand not still knuckle-deep in your pussy cups your cheek and pulls you in. He swallows the whines and the airless, nonsensical words of thanks you huff between kisses.

Once your breathing has had time to settle, he gingerly slips his fingers from your sensitive, throbbing walls. He doesn’t even look at those fingers as he brings them to his tongue. In fact, he closes his eyes altogether as he laps the tips and moans indulgently, as though this is the first time he has ever tasted you.

When he is done cleaning the mess you made on him, he looks you in the eye and says, “Now that we’ve rubbed out that easy one, I’m open to suggestions on what to do next.”

“Let me return the favor?” You inflect it as a question.

Felix smirks. “It wasn’t a favor, sweetheart, it was a pleasure. But since you’re asking so nicely again… c’mere.”

He tugs you by the hands and begins walking backward, slipping out of his shoes as he goes, and you follow his lead. You assume he is bringing you to the bedroom, but he stops when his feet hit the carpet in the living room and glances over his shoulder. It must be the chair he was looking for because he then moves toward it with a sense of purpose, leaving you a few paces behind.

“Strip,” he orders. His voice is even and his expression is calm as he sits and crosses an ankle over his opposite knee.

You move to obey without hesitation, twisting your arm behind your back to yank down the zipper on your dress. Felix keeps his eyes fixed on your face as you peel the gown away from your shoulders. Gravity takes the fabric to your waist, and you shove it down the rest of the way to step out of it completely. Next, you snap one of your bra straps with an eyebrow cocked in question.

Felix nods. “Mhm. Keep going ‘til you’re in nothing but that ring.”

You had nearly forgotten about it. You lift your hand to look at it again, but a sudden noise startles you. It sounds like more of a crack than a snap from the way it ricochets off the walls of your home, though you know a snap is exactly what it was by the pose of Felix’s fingers in the air.

“Don’t get distracted now,” he says, deep voice rumbling. He drops his hand back to his lap. “You’re being so good. Finish taking off your clothes, then come here.”

With his instructions, you unhook your bra and let it drop to the floor. His eyes dip to your naked chest, but his expression is more clinical than enticed.

You shove your thumbs into the band of your panties and stall there until you get the attention you want. It takes Felix a few seconds to realize you’re not moving and look back to your face. When he meets your eyes, he mouths the word ‘off,’ leaving his teeth planted in his bottom lip for an extended moment. Even when he is silent, you feel the authority radiating from him. You shiver when the air hits your slick, heated center.

Felix uncrosses his legs, and you finally glean a proper peek at your effect on him. The erection in his pants looks past the point of painful, but his demeanor is still relaxed as he invites you to stand in front of him by casually tossing a throw pillow at his feet. Once your toes brush against it, he reaches for your hands and sweeps his lips across your knuckles, quick and affectionate. Then his hands are on your waist, and near your ribs, and around the curves of your ass, and across your thighs. He soothes them up and down your skin, imprinting patches of heat everywhere he roams.

“There’s my gorgeous girl.” He leans forward and plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lower stomach, then peers up through his eyelashes at you and directs, “On your knees for me, gorgeous.”

Another look at his covered crotch and you do as you’re bid. When your knees touch down on the pillow, Felix shifts to whip his belt out of its loops at last. By the time it clanks to the floor, you’re already helping him with the button and the zipper. He lets you tug his pants down to and away from his ankles. His socks go next, and he takes care of his sweater and undershirt himself. His underwear is last but gone in a flash and then there he sits, stripped bare with his toned abdominals twitching and his cock standing flushed and rigid just for you. He is so goddamn beautiful.

“Is this what you want?” He leans back and takes his rosy length in a loose fist. “Is this what you’ve been being so good and working so hard for?”

You swallow and pretend it’s his precum sliding down your throat. “Yes.”

“What’s that, baby?” He strokes upward.

“Yes.”

“What do you say?” He strokes downward. Back up again. Your eyes may as well be stringed puppets with the way they follow helplessly.

“I said yes,” you repeat again.

And he patiently repeats: “No, what do you say? Look at me.”

Once you meet his lust-glazed stare, you don’t have to wrack your brain for the answer he’s looking for.

“Please,” you say, “let me suck your cock. I want it so badly. You deserve to feel good after waiting so long.”

Felix tucks his chin down, puckers his lips, and releases a ball of spit onto the head of his cock. Another soon follows, racing alongside the first, joining the trail of wetness that already leaked from the slit.

You shuffle closer between his knees and take him in your hand. He lets go of himself, but not before brushing his fingertips along the back of your hand. The gesture is deliberate, not coincidental, and you smile up at him. He smiles back, more with his eyes than his mouth. His mouth is used to give commands such as, “Put it in your mouth, sweetheart,” before leaning back comfortably. Even with his pulsing erection at your mercy, he is a marvel of beauty and dominance.

You give him a few strokes to spread the wetness around and simply enjoy the slick glide, then bend to take in his wet tip. He tastes delicious. Good enough for you to moan on contact, good enough for you to want to fill your entire mouth with his warm heaviness. He is tangy from his natural body and sweet from the taste of wine lingering in his spit. You sink down further, letting your tongue follow the path of a prominent vein.

“Open wide. That’s it,” he says. His voice is steady but barely there. The relief of finally being touched where he wants it most runs a succinct shiver through his legs, but otherwise he remains controlled, even when you tighten your lips to hollow your cheeks. “There you go. So good for me. So good at sucking my dick.”

His praise leaves you hungry for more, so you slather your tongue down and around his balls to hear the way his sighs and quiet pants start to crack his composure. He shifts his hips to ensure you can reach every sensitive part of him, and his cock feels just a bit stiffer when you try to swallow it down your throat.

“Hah,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck, baby, that’s it.”

On the armrest of the chair, his fist clenches tight enough to pop a knuckle. He soon releases it, however, and moves his hand toward you. You half-expect him to hold you in place because you know how much he enjoys being in your throat, but instead, he eases you off of him and uses his loose grip on the top of your head to roll it back in a slow, gentle circle along your neck and around your shoulders. A strand of spit — there is no way to tell whether it is yours or his — still bridges your lips to his swollen cock. You reach out to break it with your tongue, curling it devilishly. Felix watches with dark, hooded eyes.

“Dirty girl.” He wipes away the dribble on your chin with his thumb. “Where do you want it?”

You don’t quite understand his question. “Hm?”

Once again, he takes your hands in his, this time to help you up off the floor and onto his lap where he can sling your arms around his neck. The only conceivable reason for him to cut a blowjob so short is that he is already too close to coming. You won’t call him out on it, but you’re thrilled to know it’s true.

“I asked you where you want it. Where do you want me to fuck you?” His vulgar inquiry is warm honey on your tongue. “You want me to take you up against the wall? Fuck you so good and so hard that you can’t fucking walk in the morning? Hm?” His hum vibrates your lips with the sweetest melody. “Do you want me to take you in our bed, under the sheets, nice and slow, until you can’t remember your own name?” His lips are a soft, decadent treat you sink your teeth into. “Or do you want me to take you in this chair, right here where I sat while you were across the room working for hours and hours instead of bouncing on my dick?” His perfume is a laced drug that could leave you high in bliss for hours.

“Yes,” you breathe into his mouth. You pull at his lips, molding and folding them with yours while you feel up every inch of his skin you can reach — his jaw, his back, his arms, his chest, his stomach.

Felix relinquishes a shred of his control with a groan as he ravishes your lips right back. His own hands crawl along your shoulder blades, your spine, your ass. Eventually, he clears his head well enough to say, “That’s not an answer, sweetheart. You need to tell me right now where you want to fuck, or I’m choosing for you.”

“Here. Chair. Now,” you rasp brokenly.

He hoists you up right away, perching your ass halfway onto one of his forearms and using his other hand to drag his swollen, spongy cockhead through your folds until he finds your entrance. The tip slips inside with a stretch but little resistance, as does the rest of him until your lap and his are pressed flush against one another’s.

You rock your hips slowly to welcome the intrusion and ensure he is as deep and you are as full as possible, and his breath hitches from the movement. He lowers his eyes in a straight path from your eyes to your nose to your chin. His lips part as though he is going to say something, but after a couple seconds, he leans forward to give you another searing kiss instead, bracing a hand against your spine to keep you from tipping backward from the sudden motion.

Whatever he was going to say about how good it feels to be sunk in your wet heat again is conveyed through his tongue on yours and the way he clutches your bare skin.

Just when you think perhaps all his words have dried up, Felix sucks his mouth off yours, lays a slap across your ass, and grunts in deep bass: “Bounce for me, baby.”

You would love nothing more than to do just that, so you build up a steady pace as quick as you can. He is just thick enough to rub your walls and make them burn in the best way imaginable. The smacks that come from your pelvis and thighs meeting his over and over are lewd and wet and so fucking good. So fucking good.

You shut your eyes and hang your head back. “Oh my fucking god…”

Felix keeps an arm hooked around your moving waist while he paws at you from the front. He splays his free hand across your throat, applying just enough pressure to get a feel for your erratic pulse, then slips down your collarbone, down your chest to squeeze one of your tits.

“That’s it, baby. This is what we’ve been missing, isn’t it?” He lifts your breast and leans forward to wrap his lips around the perked nipple. The sensation makes you involuntarily clench around him, and he whimpers from the tightness. “Fuck, I’ve missed this so much.”

His admission spurs you to speed up. You try to roll your hips at the bottom of every drop, but your movements are getting sloppier the higher your pleasure climbs. It doesn’t seem to matter to Felix, though. His ragged breathing is a telltale sign of how good it feels to have your soaked pussy dragging up and down his cock. He tries to find your staggered rhythm in order to buck upward in time with your drops and help drive himself into your sweetest spot, but although both of you are hyper-concentrated on reaching your peaks, the coordination is not quite there.

“Sweetheart, you’re falling apart on my dick,” he moans with the little breath he has. “Jesus, you’re squeezing me so goddamn tight. You’ve already come once and now you’re about to soak my whole fucking lap, aren’t you?”

“Lix, I-I’m s-s-so-” you trill mindlessly.

“So close, I know.” He gives the fleshiest part of your ass another solid slap, then digs his fingers in to help you rock back and forth against him. “Do it. Come again on my fucking cock, baby. We’ve earned it.”

You work to get all the friction the ridges of his raw cock can give you, but the edge you’re chasing is still on the horizon, just a bit too far out of reach. “Felix, I can’t…”

“I’ll get you there,” he swears. “Let’s just—”

In no time, you’re on your back on the floor and Felix is plunging his steely length back between your drenched folds. Your legs automatically anchor themselves around his hips to steady yourself against the jarring pace he sets. The aftermath of the rough carpet on your bare skin is a worry for a later. Right now, you whine at him to go faster, go harder, just don’t fucking stop, whatever he does.

Felix leans close and takes one of your knees to push it back toward your chest so he can fuck into you deeper. His breath is hot and shaky and somewhere in the vicinity of your earlobe as he whispers, “Fuck, you’ve gotta come now, angel. Please.”

He readjusts his weight and his grip on you, pushes deep just a few more times, and you’re finally coming again, crying out and clenching around him so tight it nearly hurts from how hard he is inside you. He fucks you through your entire high, never stopping the solid snap-snap-snap of his slim hips.

“God, fuck, I’m right fucking there,” he huffs and pants. Sweat drips from his brow onto your cheek. “Where do you want it? Where should I come?”

“In me, come in me,” you beg, reaching down to squeeze his tight ass and urge him even deeper into your soaked depths.

Felix whines something wordlessly lyrical in a high alto as his release fills you with a sticky warmth. He fucks his cum into you with rough, staggered thrusts, his pace slowing but never completely stopping. Your legs begin to ache as he continues gingerly pumping himself. You assume his spent cock must hurt from the rising sensitivity following his orgasm, but he is not quite finished.

“Holy shit,” he whimpers. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight, I think I could come again.”

Your walls clench around him because you know he is serious. “Do it, baby,” you pant hard. “Use my pussy to come again. I want it all.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Just a little more, I’m gonna— fuck!”

He finds a second shaky high and buries his fingers in your hips deep enough that the bruises may last until your wedding day. The force with which he pulses a final spurt of cum toward your cervix is something you’re certain to remember for a long time as well.

“Holy shit,” Felix sighs again, blissful and fucked out. The two of you moan together when he slips out of you, still half hard. “Come here, angel.”

He slumps to the side and gathers you in his arms to face him. You tuck your forehead between his jaw and his shoulder, and he traces his fingertips along your shoulder blades where the skin is a little irritated from its row with the carpet. You’re not worried about the sting, but your nerves wince under his touch anyway, and he apologizes immediately.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re not an idiot,” you giggle tiredly. “We’ve had worse rug burn before. Much worse.”

“I know, which means I know better than to have sex on the carpet.” He kisses your forehead and sweeps a thumb across your cheek. “I shouldn’t have gotten so caught up, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Being fucked into the carpet never felt so good.”

Felix laughs quietly, deeply. “It was definitely worth the wait. I haven’t come twice in a row like that in a while.” His sigh is exhausted but pleased; his hug is weak but loving.

After a moment of recovery, he helps you stand and urges you to use the bathroom and change into something comfortable, and you agree on the condition he does the same.

Before you dress, he peppers sweet kisses along your lightly scraped skin and helps you apply lotion over it. He also insists that you drink at least half a glass of water to rehydrate yourself before you both return to the living room so you can finally show him what the two of you have been celebrating in the first place. He massages the back of your neck soothingly as you walk side by side.

“Alright, now I’m actually really proud of this, but you still need to be honest with me, okay?” you preface. Without waiting for him to respond, you whip the sheet covering the easel away with a flourish.

The moment it is revealed, Felix eyes dart over the portrait in patternless directions. You want to see inside that pretty head of his to know every thought going through his mind while he examines your depiction of him, but you can’t, so you keep your eyes trained on his pensive face and wait quietly for him to share whatever feedback he chooses.

“Y/N,” he eventually begins. You can’t tell if the hush in his tone is because he is awed or appalled.

“Yes?”

Felix turns to look you in the eye. “How do you keep outdoing yourself?”

A note of laughter pops past your lips, and the nervousness in it surprises you. “Well, you know what they say about practice. Does that mean you like it?”

“Are you kid— I love it! I don’t even know where to begin! The detail, Y/N! It’s so—” He faces his two-dimensional self again and waves his hand through the air in front of the canvas in a gesture you have no idea how to interpret. Then he extends a single finger toward the bottom edge of the canvas. “Like right here. The shadowing is so good. And the way you did the lighting here...” He lifts his finger higher to point at his painted cheekbones. “You did my freckles so well, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you captured literally every single one of them. It’s, like, scary good. And I don’t know if this is technically a critique towards the realism, but I don’t think my hair has ever actually looked this good in real life.”

You laugh louder, more happily. “I do think I did a pretty good job, but your real life self is way better than this, doll. Trust me.” You tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, and he brings his face back around to look at you again.

“I don’t even know what else to say without sounding dumb about it,” he tells you. It is not often he sounds bashful around you anymore, but he does now. “I’ll have to keep processing it. But in my unprofessional opinion, to my untrained, non-artistic eye, I’d say this is certifiably amazing work, sweetheart.”

You touch his cheek. “As long as you don’t feel like leaving me over it, you don’t have to say anything else.”

Felix takes your other hand and kisses the center of your palm, then each of your fingertips separately, then the ring between your knuckles.

Tomorrow, you’ll ask him for the story of how he happened to have it in his pocket tonight. Saturday, when Jisung sees it on your finger, you’ll ask his advice on how you should do your nails for the wedding (though you’ll probably end up having them done by your groom anyway). Next week, you’ll ask Felix what time of year he has in mind for the ceremony, or if he even wants to make a big pageantry of it. The week after that, you’ll either start looking into wedding venues or making an appointment with City Hall.

And years from now, when your children ask you about the portrait you painted of their father, you’ll tell them you did it because he was always your biggest supporter, and you’ll be reminded just how in love the two of you were tonight.

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2024 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

[homesickn]

Isn't bite also touch?

Chapter one! (Weekly updates)

(Loki x Female demon!reader, eventual smut!)

Check chapter two here!

SUMMARY: Loki was saved by a demon and now the demon girl is attached to him like a cat is attached to catnip.

Is this trickery? Is this Devil lying to Loki to gift him punishment?

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (future chapters), angst, mentions of trauma, emotional manipulation, demonic creatures.

Tags: Hurt Loki, protective Loki, protective reader, grumpy Loki, fluff and angst, Grumpy/Sunshine, hurt/comfort, soft Loki at times (he's touch-starved but emotionally unstable), bubbly reader, (future) demon-sex.

Note: Hello! This is my first time writing for Loki and sharing a story of mine, English is not my first language so please be kind.

Everything has been made with lots of love, and I'll see if I add more tags as the story goes. If you like it, please let me know your thoughts!

“We caught him. We got Loki.” Steve Rogers bragged, spreading the news to the team through the tiny speaker the headphones had.

Some sighed relieved, others—specifically Tony, accompanied by Natasha, hurried to examine the cell he was going to stay at, temporarily, before being sent to receive Asgardian punishment.

Loki didn't seem even slightly defeated at the concept of staying in the cell once again, it's almost as if he's planned it, and with Loki, you could never know. He still had the smugness in his expression, but he lacked his army and scepter, so the Avengers couldn't help but be overly suspicious of his unbothered behavior.

The cell was intrinsically made to protect the external side from whatever— or whoever— was inside, a stronger, hopefully more long-lasting copy of the first that was destroyed before the official New York attack. The concept was created by S.H.I.E.L.D with the support of Stark to provide safety to everyone whenever Hulk decided to come out, and Loki knew it was still that way, but at the moment those were the special occasions in which it can be lent to any dangerous individual. 

But seeing as they had to strengthen the new cell, based on what happened to the first, Loki didn't know what the improvements of this one were.

Anyhow, none of the Avengers expected that a being was rushing to the same spot some of them were, at the same time. You hurried sneakily hoping not to be found, hiding in the shadows to find the local you were informed of.

The shadows moved with you whenever you walked, in the literal sense, and morphing to whatever shape you desired. The silence that your footsteps provided was unfamiliar to human (or enhanced humans, or alien) ears. 

When you arrived at the cell responsible for locking Loki — recently having discovered his name — you hesitated coming closer, seeing that Stark and Romanoff were there first. You chose the option of sticking to your shadows by the corner. 

“Second time you come here, and this time Banner is well-protected and miles away. Should you have a plan for this, we'll lock you again so you can see that you will always lose no matter what you try next.” Tony's voice was loud and clear, giving no room to thinking otherwise, that's what he always sounded like.

His confident tone did not manage to afflict Loki's expression, so if he did feel the impact or had a change of emotions, it was unknown to the two watching his every move.

Natasha kept a serious glare at him, one that'd inspire others to shiver until they even dare question the temperature of the room. She waited patiently to see if Loki would snap and try some escapade at any given moment.

He didn't. 

“I always have a plan, Stark. By now, you should know that. It would make our little encounters way simpler.” His velvety voice was surprisingly smooth and showed a contrast to the silence of the room, impacting them with the sophisticated and kept-together tone. Almost managing to make them shiver. 

At least Tony, not Natasha (she didn't seem to be easily intimidated). Or you, the one that's still in the shadows.

“Well, then you can calculate your plan for as long as you'd like, for as many days as it takes, 'cause you're not getting yourself out of this prison. We made sure of it.” Natasha stated, and Tony quickly nodded in response, glancing at Romanoff and having his eyes come back to Loki.

After that, you watched them leave. 

You could sense every moving thing in the huge room, your powers presented to you the incessant—and quite loud— heartbeat that was coming from Loki's chest. Blame it on yourself for being able to detect that but you silently wondered how they didn't notice.

After some more time spent in silence, you could sense Loki's nervousness increasing, it was palpable, and honestly, the atmosphere was becoming kind of pleasant to you, who decided to wait and analyze the way his emotions were changing.

Fear. Although he seemed to not want to demonstrate that, perhaps also afraid someone might be watching through the cameras.

Was nobody really going to come? 

You realized with disdain that maybe his plan involved counting on a third-party. This time he couldn't possibly understand the patterns of the cell beforehand, he also couldn't appeal to the team's distaste for each other, so a fight like the other time wouldn't be able to be induced.

Maybe he thought Thanos would come for him, seeing as he led the army of Chitauri. Maybe he thought he'd be tracked and they'd come for him again, to finish the mission.

You knew this, you knew everything that involved vulnerability. Humans were somehow unique in this matter, but Gods always carried something special within and most of the times it is related to their godlike trait of specialty. 

You get Zeus as an example: the leader of the Gods on Olympus, will always be scared of failure and being inferior, and when found in situations he sees as disrespectful his anger will always be human-like, his punishments will be tainted by an emotional and human anger. 

This is something special about the Gods we can live with, this is what makes them and their stories interesting to humans, the feelings and flaws. Semblance to humanity.

Their flaws are deeper and carry more pain than humans could possibly experience. The God of Mischief, Tricks and Lies carried a long-time pain and years of trauma for being betrayed and lied to. It was interesting to watch life be ironic and to see the flashback coming to life behind their eyes. 

To be frank, you weren't expecting him to depend on someone else to escape, it's supposed to be common nature for him by now. The distrust, the tricks any time, to be wise in the nature of misleading and manipulation. 

But anyhow, you decided to wait and check if any other noise or heartbeat would make a sound in the room.

It didn't, still just Loki. 

So you approached, still covered, protected from view by your shape-shifting shadows. 

The atmosphere was colder than you had expected once you were in front of the cell, your hands touched the armored glass. Invisible now, abandoning your shadows. You didn't know if the cold was coming from him or if they just kept the air that way. Probably both.

Loki was in the middle of the cell now, facing his bed for the night. 

His thoughts kept betraying his facial expressions, being louder than he allowed his face to show, they were a constant mess of scheming and planning different ways out, a bunch of diverse techniques for trickery with the intent of finding his freedom.

Honestly you were getting a bit of a headache, but you realized he clearly didn't know that to do. You could sense his restricted powers moving through his veins.

You touched the glass with your fingertips first, then, with your fingernails, applying a slight pressure to it. Making Loki violently flinch and turn his body back to the entrance expecting to see one of the Avengers there to taunt him. 

He saw nothing and immediately frowned due to that. Then relaxed, noticing there was nobody there and thinking it might have been something else. You wondered if he could sense you or if he thought it was an illusion.

You decided to make use of the fact he still kept his front to the entrance—where you secretly were— and once again slowly scratched the glass he was being kept in.

Loki visibly flinched once again. 

“Fine, I thought it was nothing at first but I can definitely feel someone here now. Who is it? Who's there?!” He asked out loud to the empty room.

You waited in silence, seeing his fear was quite the spectacle. It's humanly cruel to admit but the fear that comes from Gods are a treat to be felt and experienced. To you. 

You were slightly shocked he could feel your presence there, although it did answer the doubt you had before to know if he could feel your presence or not.

You were tempted to scare him further, so mischievously as you decided to be, you closed your hand to a fist and knocked on the glass. Different areas, at the same time.

He looked around dramatically quick, closed his expression after noticing this was possibly a trick. He got back in place and his eyes dared to look forward— frighteningly exactly where you are—, and crossed his arms, presenting a —also—dramatic stance.

“Very funny, really adorable. I don't enjoy playing with witches, especially ones that won't show themselves, I'll let you know. Take off the spell.”

Really? I thought he liked tricks. You guess fear changes people, you could laugh at his scaredy cat behavior some other time. 

You took off the spell and showed your human form to him, making a mental note of how he seemed to gasp when you appeared out of nowhere. You noticed the cell seemed to restrict his powers although it seemed not to erase it completely, which is a capable downfall for the team of humans, they should've checked this before.

You presented yourself in a full black uniform with a long matching cape covering your shoulders, and your hair was kept down and loosen. The most noticeable detail was the metal mask you kept covering your nose and mouth. Allowing him to stare only at your eyes, not being able to see your full face.

“Loki, Loki of Asgard.” Your voice broke the silence, your eyes seemed to shine a little brighter after pronouncing the words.

He stared at you, his eyes questioning and doubtful, multiple questions running through his mind.

“And who are you? One more of the freaks coming to teach me how to behave in midgardian society? How do you know who I am?”

“Let's humbly say that I'm here to…save you,” he couldn't help but laugh at that.

“And what's that supposed to mean? You were in silence just then for a while, you clearly want something from me, and I want to know what it is. And I wish to know who you are, or maybe…who you're probably working for.”

“One of Thanos' children?” he thought, you don't care enough to ask what it means. 

You gave him a strange look he could not decipher.

“I work for no one, only myself. You can think of me as an angel, if you want, or if you need it. But I want to help you. Your powers have drawn me to you.”

“No angel would ever assume they feel drawn to greatness or power, I can only believe you may be a witch,” he eyed you up and down again, you noticed he seemed to do it a lot. Like he was constantly trying to understand things about you.

“No, I'm no witch. But I do admire them,” you let your head down a bit, then stare at him. Allowing your hands to try and reach the glass once again.

His eyes widened even before you managed to complete the touch. He thought you were going to scratch it again.

“No, no, don't do that! Stop scratching the glass!”

“Don't worry, I'm merely touching it this time.” you reached the glass and analyzed it, your hands glowing a black flowing matter, your powers, attempting to understand what it was made of and what could be its weakness. “Someone really doesn't want you to come out, it seems. The cell is reinforced by an invisibility spell that's hiding a layer of Adamantium.” 

“I don't know what that is, but the cell wasn't built for me that's for sure.” 

“It's a special metal, possibly the second strongest metal on Earth. Maybe it was built for you, or maybe not. I could sense your powers from miles away. You're more powerful than you think you are, with more experience you could turn a prison of Adamantium into multiple pieces.” 

He seemed to get angrier at what you said. Immediately scowling at you.

“Are you claiming I'm not experienced with magic? What would you know?! I'm over a thousand years of magic experience, I'm pretty sure I can handle anything by now.”

“Then break the cage yourself.” you simply stated. “Do it then.” 

“I can't, you dim-witted creature. As you can see, my magic is restricted.” He gesticulated to the cell around him, crossed his arms and looked at you.

“I know you carry more power than the supreme sorcerer in person. Again, if you had more faith in yourself mayhaps you'd be able to break it and find your way out on your own.” Your eyes wandered to the ground, making it seem like you didn't even care much, turning around slightly as if to go away. 

“And you…you can break it?” he asked after some seconds, lowering his voice. 

You turned back, looking over the whole glass. Your body leaned a bit backwards with you, showing a bit of drama through your movements. 

Then you placed yourself exactly where you were, and straightened your posture to speak to him.

“Yes, yes I can break it for you. I'll help you.” You decided. He seemed overly suspicious of every movement you made.

Placing your hand on the glass you let yourself feel all the tingly numbness that comes with allowing your powers to overcome, then you feel the glass start shattering under your fingertips. The strength of the material was stronger than anything you were used to physically handle daily.

Surprisingly, Loki's hand started glowing a light green color and his eyes closed as if putting the same effort as you into attempting to break the glass, less than he usually would be able to but still trying. His body got closer to the glass, not actually daring to touch it yet.

Your powers together managed to crack the top of his glass cell, this was when the loud warning noise came along, ringing in your ears and making you flinch. 

Loki grew alarmed and his magic was visibly weakening as the noise took over all the place. Seeing as these were extreme measures, you started putting double the effort to break it faster.

“It would be incredibly great if you could just help me again. It was good before, it was working.” You told him to make him pay attention to you once again. “You shouldn't let your emotions get in the way like that, I can sense your desperation from here, it's distracting!” 

He looked at her in disbelief but he put his hands in front of himself again, his powers grew strongly green and the glass cracked more and more. 

“You talk about desperation but I'm not the one that's raising my voice…” He muttered in the middle of everything.

“If you helped me I wouldn't need to!”

“Didn't you say you could do everything by yourself?” 

“I'm just saying in a matter of hurry to get you out, it would be great to have your powers help me break the second most powerful metal on Earth!”

“You should thank the gods that I-”

“Well I don't! I simply DON'T thank the gods,” you said louder than before. He seemed surprised but quickly recomposed himself. “And stop attempting a threat, should the humans arrive I can let myself out easily. Be more grateful.”

“As if! For all I know you must be a witch planning on kidnapping me… But seeing as being with the midgardian costume-show is worse, I don't mind the entertainment of being kidnapped by a…“ He took a pause to look at you, and you raised an eyebrow at him, slightly tilting your head. “Uh…insane, scary witch.” 

You could feel the heat increase and the announcement that there was an escape plan happening kept ringing loudly into the ears of both you. It would be a matter of time until the Avengers could track you and come back to the room. You both turned your heads to the entrance door that was right behind you, nothing yet.

Loki watched as your eyes seemed to go completely black in an instant, hands were getting shakier both yours and Loki's, then in the blink of an eye, the glass smashed in tiny little pieces. 

Loki put his arms in front of his face due to the impact but you didn't, your hands were still glowing with darkness and gray speckles of light as the magic slowly dissolved. One of the multiple pieces of glass crossed your forehead marking a small bleeding cut, that's when you noticed you probably should have had the reaction to protect your body to the glass. You noticed a few tinier pieces made contact with your mask, making a quiet but obvious sound of ripping steel, only a little, but what a shame.

You didn't want Loki to get too suspicious of you so you didn't make it heal faster, you let it bleed a little and it's close to your left eye. 

You watch it with interest, you quite like blood, you like the reminder you can bleed.

Putting your hand to the light wound and taking a bit of the blood on your skin, you let it taint your fingers a little red.

“We should go then.” You stated as a final decision.

You noticed that the moment the glass was destroyed, Loki's eyes seemed to get a bright blue shade for an instant, they even seemed a bit lost, then they went back to the green-grayish tone. 

“Wait, we could–”

You teleported both of your ways out of there, right before the Avengers arrived. 

★

You realized your plan carried no real structure and it upset you immensely. Now you were stuck in an isolated mossed area with an alien God that appeared to be in deep distress.

“You know this is great, where in the all the Nine even are we?” He looked around at that, checking the varied tree species the place had. And turned to look at you in disbelief.

“Are we still in the United States?!” He questioned loudly once again and started walking straight ahead.

“If there wasn't such pressure on us I could have teleported us somewhere nicer. I couldn't let them be too close,” with that you followed right behind him, managing to keep your footsteps steadier to make it seem as if you know what you're doing.

“If you had waited a little before teleporting us I could have gotten the Tesseract back! If we had the Tesseract I'd manage to find somewhere to hide, very far from here… You didn't let me dictate our plan and now look where we are,”

“The Tesseract?” You asked a bit confused, then you slowly nodded as you just remembered seeing something about that. “The bright blue cube the Avengers carried with them? Is it important?” You were curious now.

“Yes, it is property of Asgard. And it should be with me. They took it from me.” He started going faster and you hurried to match his steps. 

“First of all, why? Second of all,” you paused as you tripped on the rocks. “Ugh. Second of all- I definitely should be the one on the front. Let me lead the way.” 

You certainly didn't appreciate feeling inferior.

You ran a little to go and stay in front of him, turning your back to Loki and proceeding to walk first.

The Asgardian behind you was confused by the suddenness of your actions, and stomped his foot seemingly taking your choice as insolence.

“Where are we?! What the Hel is going on?!” 

“I told you I was going to save you. I did, I took you out of that god forsaken cell, I freed you.”

“Freedom would be a solid belief if I could be by myself right now.” 

“Hey. I have been nothing but nice,” you don't know why you were defensive. “And you have yet to mention why the Tesseract should be with you. I said I can do anything, if you convince me, maybe I can bring it to you,” you said firmly and stared right at him.

That made him pause his steps for a while, you were almost near a tunnel. You paused as well.

He blinked, and looked at you before speaking.

“It's the space stone, a stone that allows you to teleport anywhere you want at any given moment. It controls space in time, and I was using it to my benefit for my plans.”

You looked down to the floor deep in thought with that. Keeping quiet for a little.

“You don't need that, you have me.”

He stared at you quietly too, you almost didn't notice how his eyes shined a little greener after your words, looking… lively, or honest.

 “You'd…move us whenever we needed?”

“Yes, of course,” you exclaimed bubbly.

Everything seemed warmer to you, noticing the Tesseract wasn't going to ruin your plans if you lacked it, your powers are useful enough for that. 

He looked at you oddly, then kept walking. Indicating with his hands that you should walk as well, silently not caring anymore if you're first. 

“I wish you would tell me who you are. The only thing I can see other than your eyes is the mask.”

“You wish for me to take off the mask?” You smiled sardonically. “Are you this curious?”

“You did call yourself an angel,” he began. Your eyes turned slightly darker at the mention, but you were looking at the floor, you kept smiling under the mask.

“I did, yes. I am one, somehow,” you lied. 

You know he can see through your lies, he chose not to comment.

The tunnel was right in front of you two now, you both kept walking. It brought nothing but humid ground with water puddles that kept announcing you in the dark, sometime or another you could hear the small noise of a bug.

Overall, it was quite cold. You thought the cold in the cell had been due to keeping the atmosphere that way, but Loki's presence felt as cold as the air around you, literally.

“Are you cold?” You asked. 

“Hm?” He was distracted analyzing his whereabouts. “No, why? Is it cold? I didn't notice.”

You hummed, you were kind of sensitive to the cold so you weren't sure if you were the one on the wrong. Maybe it was just the tunnel.

Either way, you opened your hands spreading all your fingers, absorbing as much warmth as the place could have.

You noticed Loki's fingertips growing immediately the green it gets when he uses his powers, and…oh.

He conjured you a blanket. A dark green one, that looked very soft.

“I'm a gentleman, I can't let you go cold.” he looked at you and waited for you to take it.

Still, you kept your hands growing warmer and warmer, you got both of them together and huddled a tiny speckle of… fire.

You were satisfied with that, but made it a bit bigger. Now you carried a small flame in the air among your fingers, and your entire hands were glowing red. You felt warm enough, the pyrokinesis required the warmth of your entire body. 

You didn't notice Loki's admiration right beside you, his eyes sparkling with the movements of your fingers through the air.

“You can control fire? Impressive,” he said in awe. 

“It's nothing,” your cheeks felt just as warm as your hands, you supposed you could blame it on the pyrokinesis effect. “You can still give me the blanket, put it around me or something,” you moved your shoulders trying to demonstrate.

So he did, he placed it around your shoulders. It wasn't exactly long, good because it wouldn't touch the dirty ground. Or come close to it.

As you two walked the rest of the tunnel, now feeling less cold than before, a green light flowed by your side again. Loki's hand grew a green light to help us see the dark way in front of us, the fire helped already but it's nice that he thought to add to it.

You just assumed he liked feeling useful as much as you.

Maybe you were a creature cursed to desiring greatness for eternity, however, his powers did draw you to him even further. Your eyes brighten as you look at the green surrounding his fingertips. 

He looks at you curiously, eyes changing from his hands to your face back and forth.

Both of you don't say anything. 

★

The 'Avengers' as they have recently been named, decided the world was under a giant threat again seeing as Loki had not only escaped but he did so with the help of an unknown person.

This opened possibilities for a thousand different theories. Maybe the God of Mischief had fans, but it'd be really quick enough for them to plan and manage to save him?

Plus, they knew the 'person' was powerful when checking the cameras, seeing the woman appear out of nowhere, and seeing they teleported together. At first they thought Loki was the responsible one for that, but what if he wasn't? It mainly worried them the fact that humans —if it was what saved him— do not simply have superpowers like that.

It became a S.H.I.E.L.D case the second they discovered.

“What if he has more aliens he brainwashed?” Clint asked at the table. “I don't wanna deal with these aliens any more for today, I've had enough.”

“Considering the fact you were just brainwashed by the guy, I can give you that,” Natasha answered, putting a hand on his shoulder. She looked at him more caringly afterwards when the others weren't paying attention to them. Saying quietly: “Are you okay? Don't you think it's better if you rest for now?”

“I'll have enough time to rest after we get that serial killer slash crazy alien back to the cells. Or better yet, out of this planet.” With that, he looked at the other teammates.

Tony was checking the securities and zooming in on the screens, recording to save every detail of the presented outfit, mask, all the angles of this person, anything he could get.

Thor was relentless, demanding to know any information the humans could grant him with. He didn't understand how it wasn't quicker to locate him.

For him it seemed more like a family missing thing than a mass murderer villain missing, they guessed that after all, Loki was still his brother and Thor still had such a big heart.

“If this being is more powerful than my brother is, I don't think we'll find them in these…” Thor turned and gesticulated to the cameras Stark was studying the scenes from. “What are these again?” He mumbled in a hurry, just wanting to get his point across.

“Cameras.” Steve replied.

“Cameras! Of course,” Thor said again making a dramatic case with his booming voice, “I need to check in Asgard to see if he's not there, maybe the Asgardians even know something…I don't know, I'm not sure.” He kept looking around nervously, and picking on his hands as he spoke.

“Thor, relax. We're going to find him, it's our main mission to get a hold of this freak.” Bruce replied now. “If there's one thing about our group of very strange individuals is that we don't like to fail, we're too arrogant for that.”

“Speak for yourself, I'm far from arrogant.” Tony replied clicking on another screen and bringing it closer to him, the technology making the images clearer.

Steve tries to hide a snort, and Natasha can't help but actually laugh. “Come on now, it's not time for jokes.”

“Yeah, don't make us laugh,” she says.

“Is this amusing to you, Steve?” Tony said. Looking away from the screen. “If you think I'm too arrogant-”

“I have no time for this.” Thor turned around, picking Mjolnir with extreme ease and turning it in the air. “I'll be out for a while. If you find news about my brother don't forget to look up to the sky and scream very loudly the name 'HEIMDALL', please.” He made sure to give a quiet scream to interpretate them screaming to Heimdall.

“And who's that Heimdall guy again?” Clint asked.

“The man that sees it all. The guardian of Asgard. I asked him for news regarding Loki's location, but he seems to find absolutely nothing, it's unbelievable. He said there's strong magic protecting his surroundings, or him in itself.”

“If Loki is on Asgard, make sure to send us a letter or a text message to warn us and proceed be sure to keep him there, forever, no need to bring him back.” Tony said dismissively. “We've got enough trouble as it is.”

“Well, now you're just being rude. I bet Loki didn't mean any real harm with his actions. He wasn't like that before.” Thor replied once again, and then turned to the exit to go outside. “Again, if you find anything of him, make sure to yell to the sky!”

The moment Thor left and they saw the rainbow appear through the window and make quite a loud opening, Natasha looked at them and said:

“So who's going to be the one to take the role of insane and yell at the sky?” She asked with a smile.

“Hopefully no one, his brother might be having a blast with Asgardians chicks in a pool, if they have those there. And everything will go back to normal, we'll have no need to worry,” Tony said.

“Just because that's what you'd been doing if you escaped prison doesn't mean that that's what Loki's doing right now.” Steve argued.

“Who let the popsicle speak again? I don't know about you, but other people are familiar with the concept of having sex-”

“Is this conversation really necessary, Tony?” Steve argued back.

“Well, hopefully Tony's right about not needing to worry and-”

Mary Hill entered the room before Bruce could finish the sentence, “Am I interrupting? I apologize, I hate to be the bringer of bad news…actually, no, I'm alright with that.” She said menancingly. After that, she put a laptop on the table they were meeting at.

Also, putting next to it a bunch of information resources, such as multiple other tablets and laptops containing images that are some blurry and others in perfect quality. One of them even contained an image of a woman, seemingly an ID, but they weren't sure.

“Fury was in contact with other agents that could know anything about the characteristics the unknown person had. They studied the height, the weight, the length of their hair, and other things. We tried to study the precise gender this person has but aren't so sure, so we call it Being, they weren't even sure it's human. Still, they checked the powers, the speed in which the glass was broken, everything they could through the images. Changed the angles and studied for news about it, checking specifically also the mask she wore.”

While she narrated every step of the professionals she opened one of the screens and displayed it to another device to share Fury's screen. That's when he began to talk to them, to tell the story through his side as well.

“The creature, we were looking first for witches or any enhanced human beings such as other possible soldiers like Rogers. We were both relieved and worried to see it wasn't the case, our work couldn't be granted with much, but what we found of it should be enough for now to know what we're working with.”

Hill presented a specific image on screen, one that seemed like the one on the ID, the 'woman' had her eyes wide open seeing as she had to look directly at the camera for the important exam.

The image was black and white, of course. But she had her eyes completely empty, the document was inked with white the part where her eyes should be.

“They checked for occurrences and similar characteristics on other people surrounding the same places. What we found complicated is that the situations in which people disappeared like that and appeared out of nowhere were brought up by different people in different parts of the world.” The images kept moving to present women, men and children, not much, probably just up to eight identities that they could collect from around the whole world. “But what's most interesting is that, none of these people actually exist.”

Fury stated and caused the silence of the room to grow instantly tense. They immediately found that frightening.

“Has Loki really been planning the attack on New York for that long? This must be related to him somehow. When, how-” Clint began and was interrupted by Fury again.

“These people would appear on a certain day and disappear at any moment. It was uncertain, it has no pattern, we're in doubt of our process because we can't seem to be sure just one person could be responsible for this. And we're unsure of Loki's relation to this being, at least any relation before today.”

The pictures presented could vary from news where there would be people morphing out of shadows or coming out of something slimy to become human. They weren't sure these things were related to one another but they carried similarities with the pattern of power presented in the cell earlier.

There were videos of men, women, even animals, morphing into something else. And mainly all of them had to be related to the shadows one time or another, that's all they had, they had to stick to it.

“We believe we're dealing with a shapeshifter, and even worse… We believe it's a demon.”

[hangmanssunnies]

Good Comes In 3

House We Share: Double Tap, Sfumato, Good Comes In 3

Summary:  You and Jake navigate what it means to spend six months apart. Then, when he does come home, you two have to evaluate precisely what feelings you have for each other and also what a future together could mean. You just aren't sure he will ever forgive you for starting a puzzle without him. 

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem! Civilian! Reader, minor Javy "Coyote" Machado x OC

Word count: 34K

AO3 Link

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Abuse (Implied), Slow burn, routines and compulsions, Jigsaw puzzles, Rejection, Drinking, Arguments, Yearning, Deployment, communication, Fertility problems, miscarriage (discussed), menstruation (discussed and lightly described), close female friendships, Depressive episodes, PTSD, roommates to lovers, love confessions, hyper-specific!Jake, Neurodivergent coded! Jake. Please let me know if I missed any for this part; I know it is a long one.

An: Unfortunately, this last part was too long to post altogether here on Tumblr. So I have included the first half here, the rest can be read on AO3 though. My first reblog of this here on Tumblr has the other half as well. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. Thank you all for loving this version of Jake. There were so many things I wanted to include and finish off for these two. While I couldn't include everything, I hope you enjoy what I did.

Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

"Jake looked tired. Has he told you how he's been sleeping?" Marlee asks you curiously while chatting with you on the phone. The question causes your stomach to roll in a deep dive, and it takes you a moment to find the composure to respond. 

"No, I haven't heard," you manage to tell her. Setting down the piece of fruit you had been about to eat, you lean back against the kitchen counter. 

"Ah, well, will you ask him about it whenever you next talk? He wouldn't answer Javy or me about it when we asked."

"You and Javy are joined at the hip, practically the same person sometimes. Do you find that shocking?" You ask Marlee teasingly. Marlee chuckles at your comment. Her smile betrays her true feelings, though she likes how in sync she and Javy are generally considered. 

"We are sometimes." Marlee concedes but then says frankly, "But even when Javy had his individual call with Jake, he wouldn't say. And you are the only other person I can imagine him opening up to," 

"I'll mention it next time I talk to him," you manage to say. It would just be one of the many things that you were supposed to be talking to Jake about on his deployment. It was easier to go along with their assumption than to flay your chest open and let the hurt you felt pour out. 

Sometimes it's better, easier, to keep the kind of pain you felt to yourself. Bundled close and protected. To expose it would just make it hurt all the more. The idea of anyone, especially your closest friends, knowing you weren't important enough, or you had scared Jake away, or made some other mishap was mortifying. How could you go about explaining what had transpired? You weren't sure you could explain it. Also, Javy and Marlee had plenty of other things and people to worry about without having to add you higher on their list than you were already placed. You felt bad each week when one of them called you to check in begging, sometimes demanding that you hang out with them. 

"Okay, I'll talk to you later then, babes. I love you!"

"I love you too, Marlee," you say, giving her the sweetest, kindest tone you can muster up. You end the call and walk over to the chalkboard in the kitchen. 

Jake normally would draw seasonal decorations on it, but you had cleared it to be blank for notes months ago. The only thing on the board is a list you had titled: things to talk to Jake about. You add 'sleeping habits' to the bottom and frown. Reading through the list makes tears prick at the back of your eyes, and a lump forms in your throat. You hold the eraser poised for a moment, ready to trash the entire list, but you don't manage to follow through and drop the eraser, letting it fall to the ground. 

You walk through the house, checking the locks and turning off the lights. The sadness and frustration you feel in you is still bubbling as you pass where Jake had unceremoniously left the large Juniper chest. You glare at it just like you do every night. 

The morning Jake left, he'd woken you up with his thumb tracing your pulse point. His soft mostly lidded eyes trained on you, neither of you said anything just laying there quietly memorizing the moment. Neither of you could bear to get up until after the third alarm rang. The sun still hadn't crested the horizon when Jake went to shower. While he was occupied you stole one of his large Navy shirts that had been washed so many times it was soft. You are reluctant to leave his room, but make your way to the kitchen starting some breakfast and Jake's morning tea. You were just adding the dollop of honey he likes when he came downstairs, fully dressed and ready to leave you. 

Jake thanked you sweetly, with a kiss pressed to your cheek. In the same breath he tried to steal the whisk out of your hand. You danced out of way holding the whisk out like a sword to ward him off. He had quickly grabbed the masher from the utensil jar and brandished it in response. Amusement filling his features. After a small chase around the kitchen which included a small clash of utensils, Jake got his way. You loved the way Jake's eyes crinkled and how charming his dimples and smile lines were. It was a look you almost always got anytime you let him do things for you. Jake had still let you help though, asking you to toast the sourdough bread, while he whipped the avocado, goat cheese, and honey together. Once it was the constituency he liked, Jake spread it on the toast sprinkling some sea salt on top. He made one for you as well, but you had already started cooking three eggs for him, and didn't really have an appetite. After Jake ate, you spent every minute waiting for Coyote to arrive for pick up wrapped tightly in Jake's arms.  

"There is one last thing I need before I go," Jake had said. 

"I can't give it to you this time," you said muffled, trying hard not to cry on his whites. 

"Just one smile." Jake pleaded with his large warm hand lifting your chin so he could stare at you intently again. 

"No, Jake." He frowned at your answer, eyebrows pulling tight together. 

"I suppose I've reached my limit on things I can take from you." Jake puffed out with a quiet sigh. The tip of Jake's nose had dragged softly across your forehead before pressing a soft kiss to the center. He lingered there, breathing you in.

"Thank you for everything, my sweet," Jake whispered quietly. 

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you tried to pull him as close and tight to you as possible again. Jake allowed you to hug him, but he didn't relax into the embrace like he normally would have. He was almost stiff in your hold, but one of his hands traced slowly over your back in a soothing motion. When Coyote's headlights had inevitably shown through the frosted window on the door, Jake carefully detangled himself from your arms. He lingered though practically trembling. 

"I can't do it," Jake whispered, leaving his forehead pressed to yours. 

"It's not optional, and there isn't anything Hangman can't do. Let alone something you've done before," you reassured him. It didn't seem to work as he tensed up more.

"Promise me you'll be okay," Jake had begged you. You had nodded yes in response, saying the word would have tasted too close to a lie. Jake's nose nudged yours and he asked again. The second time was much closer to a desperate demand, "promise me." 

"If you be safe," you had compromised, wanting to savor every second ticking by that you would never get back. This last time you would be in the same space sharing the same air, for an undetermined amount of time. With a resolve you knew you didn't possess, Jake mouthed the words goodbye he was so close that his lips brushed yours as he did so. With a shaky inhale, Jake stepped away from you. His first two steps hadn't hurt so much, but the third as he exited the front door took all the air with him, including the bit trapped in your lungs. It was a sense of instant emptiness you had never experienced before. Everything you wanted to do seemed impossible when you couldn't even breathe. So there was no running after him for one more stolen moment, no collapsing against the floor, sobbing until your throat was raw, no more reassuring green eyes you could look to for comfort. 

The hollow feeling that nestled into you was hard to find your balance with. You had thrown the lock on the door and stumbled through the house, ready to retreat back into Jake's bed. Well aware his scent would be gone sooner rather than later, you were determined to imprint as much of it to memory as possible. You are blindsided by pain shooting up your foot as you unexpectedly stubbed your toe. Cursing and looking down you realized there was now a new piece of furniture. Jake had left a hand made juniper chest Jake left sitting in the area between the living room and dining room. On top was a small note card with a watercolor of two very detailed puzzle pieces. 

You stare so hard at the water colored pieces trying to parse their meaning the focus of your visions started to blur. The rapid blink forced tears to lubricate the area. However, when there is one tear there are others quick to follow. Just as a tear had splashed against the edge of the card you recognized the duplicates of the last two pieces you and Jake had double tapped into your last puzzle. On the back of the card stock was the drawn design of the chest, with all of Jake's neat measurements noted. You traced over his neat handwriting, and you were quick to quell your disappointment not finding more. That confusion and disappointment was impossible to ignore when you had gone to see what was inside and it was locked, the latch refusing to open. 

Now, after 6 and ½ months of radio silence, the chest taunted you. His entire deployment, there hadn't been a single word to you. Your only source of information was occasionally hearing from Coyote and Marlee about how Hangman was doing. And there was the memory of him, a large empty house, and a locked chest that was too heavy for you to move. 

You kick the side of the chest as you walk past it. It has become a tradition for you – this small abuse of the furniture while pacing before bed was a small soothing habit that helped you work some of your worries out. Once the feeling of missing Jake had settled into a dull, steady pain there was room for anger. You were furious and the only thing you had to take it out on was this beautiful work of craftsmanship. Unshockingly, the chest had been well made – because why would Jake make something that was easy to take your anger out on. He couldn't even give you that small concession. Even though you aren't as angry anymore, kicking the chest has become a part of your nightly routine. 

The chest didn't just bother you because it was locked or a surprise gift you hadn't asked for. It also bothered you because of what it was made from. The juniper wood Jake used didn't match the boards he used for the puzzle table, which was a more common light juniper. The boards for the chest were such a deep red it looked purple. Jake made it from one of the logs that you had helped him strip. Seeing the chest felt like a reopening weeping sore; one bleeding from a formally treasured memory that was nestled close to your heart. 

…

Saturday mornings were always a wild card with Jake.It was the one day of the week you could never be 100% sure what his plans were. There were staples you could expect like his morning run, but after that who knew? Sometimes he would have plans to see his friends, other times he had a project, list of chores, plans with his "little brother", manuals to read or some other all day activity. He liked it to be all day. So Sometimes you liked to just lounge in the living room waiting to see what he was going to do before making any plans of your own. 

 "Hey, I'm going on a drive and run some errands. Anything you want me to pick up?" Jake says to you when he comes down the stairs one Saturday morning. 

"Oh, can I come with?"  

"Sure, if you want. It's going to be boring though," Jake warns you. 

"No, it won't," You protest, standing up and stretching. "I'd rather be with you. As long as you don't mind me tagging along?"

"Yeah, of course, sugar. I never mind when you tag along." Jake says with a wide smile. 

"Well, what's the errand so I know how to dress?"

"I'm going to meet an old friend." 

"Oh my god. Please be less ominous Jake"

"What would you like to hear, sugar?"

"Who exactly are we meeting?"

"We are meeting up with my friend, Jess." 

"And?"  

"And, and, and," Jake says, twirling his hand around the air before dramatically pointing to his watch. "We are already 4 minutes behind our schedule. I'll tell you right now that this is cutting into our farmers market time." "Farmer's Market is on the list?" 

"Of course it is sugar. And so is Target," Jake says in his ‘duh-voice’ that you actually hate, but also you love because it reminds you how easy this is supposed to be. How it's not supposed to be a second thought. The things you like are included and planned for without you having to ask.

You are scrambling up the stairs to get ready when Jake calls after you. "You don't actually have to rush!! I'll make up time on the road."

"You know I don't support your excessive speeding Jake!" you call back, grabbing what you thought you would need. 

"Bring socks for your heavy boots!" When you make it back downstairs Jake is tapping his pen aggressively against a notepad. 

"What am I going to need boots for?" You ask him suspiciously while going through your items. 

"Do you want car snacks? I packed some, and we can always stop to pick something else up." Jake asks you glancing up from his paper. 

"We don't have to have snacks; I know you don't like eating in the truck." 

Jake just shrugs and opens the door to the garage for you. "It's not a big deal, I'll add the car wash to my list for tomorrow." 

"I also got your truck slippers so you don't have to wear your boots for the drive," Jake tells you. It's so sweet you want to grab him in a tight hug. You squeeze your hands tight instead, waiting for the urge to pass. Jake helps you up into the passenger side of the truck. Just as he said, the soft fuzzy blanket you like, and the slippers Jake got you are laid out waiting. Jake helps you out of your boots and into the slippers, setting them in the back seat for later. Once you are fully settled and buckled, Jake closes your door. He checks that the garage door is locked before jumping in the truck himself. 

"Was I quick enough for you not to aggressively speed?" you ask when Jake gets into the driver's side and checks his mirrors. 

"I would hardly call it speeding," Jake complains. 

"It's a number above the speed limit sign. Therefore, it's speeding." You say, explaining it.  

"I literally fly ten times as fast as car speeds. Well, more like 9.9 but still when you round up. It's ten." Jake responds, 

"That is no excuse to be going 120 miles an hour, Jake." You say while rolling your eyes. 

"I'm just saying. I am perfectly capable of controlling a fast vehicle," he argues. 

"That's fine, and I am not invalidating that. However, you know just as well as I do, that everyone else doesn't have that same ability."

"You are so sassy!" Jake teases, clearly deciding to let the faux argument go. 

"I'm the sassy one? Sure," you say sarcastically, drawing out the word. However, you also decide to let it go. Instead you enjoy the start to your drive, getting music going and adjusting the temperature controls until they are just right. 

"So," you say after a bit, drawing out the word. "What are we driving to do?"

"It's nothing," Jake responds with a shrug. 

"Really? Nothing is the justification to wear the work boots you got me?"

"You can't live with a bit of mystery, can you?" Jake asks, but there is affection laid into his words. 

"No," You concede with a joking sigh, "which is what makes you so infuriating sometimes."  

"I do strive to live as a man of mystery," Jake says amused.  

"Oh really, is that what your next move is? Retire, so you can become an American James Bond?" You tease him. 

"I'll admit it. You got me figured out. What gave it away?" Jake asks jokingly but not as quiet as bright as before. You shoot him a look, but his smile is still firmly in place. 

"Honestly?" You ask him hesitantly. 

"Yes Ma'am. They do say honesty is the best policy."  

"It's the fact that you refuse to grow facial hair. I'm convinced that it's because you want to save that for a disguise." You say, almost giggling trying to picture Jake with a beard or mustache. You expect Jake to laugh too, but he doesn't. After a slightly too long pause, he forces out a strangled laugh, and you realize that you've misstepped somehow. 

"Talk about it or leave it?" You offer trying to sound natural and keeping the pushiness you felt gnawing on you out of your voice. Jake takes a deep measured breath, exhaling out slowly through his nose. He drums a staccato on the steering wheel before responding. 

"Can we leave it please?" Jake eventually requests. 

"Facial hair or James Bond?" You ask, wanting to clarify. 

"Both, please." 

"Can do." 

"Thank you," Jake breathes quietly. Then he offers his right hand to you across the center console. You only wait a moment before slipping your fingers to slot in with his. He squeezes your hand affectionately and you both seem to take a deep breath to try and ease some of the uncomfortable tension. Jake's thumb tracing softly against your skin.  

"I'll tell you if you really want to know," Jake says a few miles later while his eyes stay trained on the road. You think about whether you really want to press him for details. As much as you want to know, you don't want to ever force Jake into sharing something with you if he isn't completely comfortable with it. 

"Nope, it's fine. Keep your mysteries, Hangman, I'll find out eventually." You finally respond, pulling Jake's hand up to press a kiss to the back of it, making sure he understood your innocent intentions. He chuckles good naturedly and his hand flexes at the movement, tightening its grasp on yours when you set them on the middle console again.  

"That's good. I appreciate you." 

"I appreciate you more," you tell him sweetly, though you mean it very genuinely. Jake pulls his eyes from the road to flash a heavy frown of disapproval your way. 

"I don't think that's possible," Jake says with passion.

You just shrug, letting the conversation drift to the next topic, just enjoying the drive with Jake. It is a while before Jake pulls off onto a private road that leads up to a massive barn, and you still don't really have any clue where you are or why. Jake throws the gear into park, the truck in park and shoots you an almost gleeful smile. 

"Jake, where are we?" You ask him again. 

"Just my friend's place," he answers.Then,while reaching over and patting your cheek affectionately, says, "You, my sweet, can stay here." 

"Do I have to stay?" You ask him nervously, checking the mirrors on either side of you. You know once Jake leaves the truck and into the barn you won't be able to see him anymore. The idea of being alone here, somewhere you don't know, even in the truck makes you uncomfortable. 

"I just didn't want you to have to walk through all the mud," Jake says. 

"It's okay," you tell him reassuringly. "That's why you had me bring my boots, right?"

"Yes, but you just look snug as a bug. I didn't want to make you move," Jake replies. 

"I don't mind, it will be nice to get out of the car. And I want to meet your friend." 

A moment later Jake is opening your side of the truck and helping you into your boots, tying up the laces for you and ignoring your protests that you are perfectly capable of doing that yourself. Jake helps you out of the truck and holds your hand, helping you walk over the uneven ground carefully. You can smell it before you see it. The fresh woodsy scent permeates the air so heavily that you can nearly taste it. 

Subverting your expectations, Jake does not lead you to the large frame equipment sliding doors of the barn. Instead, he leads you around the nearest side where there is a small typical sized door. Opening the door, Jake reveals a huge workshop. Half of the large barn space is filled with massive logs, planks, boards, and other cuts of wood. The other half is full of various projects, a giant tool bench, and shelving making up an impressive workspace. 

"Oh wow," you breathe taking it all in. You look at Jake and he is positively gleeful, maybe even more excited than a kid in a candy shop. His grin is wide, looking around and leading you a bit further into the workspace. A soft Jingle plays in the air, penetrating the otherwise quiet atmosphere when Jake closes the door behind you. 

"Seresin, that better be you!" A voice calls out from the back of the barn.

"And it if ain't?" Jake calls back playfully. 

"Then you should know, I've got a gun I ain't afraid to use, and you're trespassing." 

You almost let go of Jake's hand in alarm, but he gives you a squeeze reassuring you. He leads you a little further into the warehouse, and a middle aged woman comes in through one of the open doors. 

Jake lets go of your hand to give her a warm hug. She hugs Jake back lightly before pushing him away with a playful shove.

"It's good to see you too, Jess," Jake grumbles, dodging out of the way of her playful punch. 

"Hi, I'm Jess. It's nice to meet you." She says turning to you and offers you a warm smile

You introduce yourself a bit shyly, but feel more confident when Jake's hand slips back into yours. 

"Have you known this pest for long?" Jess asks you while gesturing to Jake. 

"Jess, be nice. I am literally your favorite customer and the son you never had," Jake complains. 

"Paula and I were actually very conscious in our choice not to have children, Jake," Jess says, clicking her tongue at him. 

Jake pouts and you can't help but giggle a little at the sight. "I've known him for a bit, yes," you respond. 

"Well, even if he is annoying, you've found yourself a good man," Jess says. You wait for Jake to correct her. When he doesn't you start to do so yourself but Jess has already changed the subject and started walking to the other side of the warehouse with a gesture for you to follow. 

"So, I got them fresh this week. And just like you requested, I'm letting you have the first freshcut pick, even before me." Jess explains to him. 

"I knew you loved me," Jake gasps grinning wide. Jess huffs out a breath at Jake but doesn't deny Jake's accusation which just makes Jake grin wider. Y'all walk to a pile of grey logs stacked close to the large barn doors.

They start a conversation that completely goes over your head, something about soil conditions, chain lengths, altitude, sap, and other details you didn't know impacted wood. You take this opportunity to look around the shop, and appreciate all the different types of wood and tools. You have only slightly lost focus when you suddenly realize Jake has said your name and is looking at you expectantly. He quickly picks up that you missed the question though, so he repeats it gently. 

"You should pick our first one, Sugar. Juniper was your idea." 

"Oh, I just pick one?" You ask looking at all the logs. Besides the fact they were different widths they all looked pretty much the same to you. 

"Yes, Ma'am," Jake confirms. He leads you to the ends of the cuts and starts talking about grains, and the potential knots and twists that would be in the wood when you cut into it. Jess leaves y'all to decide, saying she'll go grab her forklift to make getting the selections into Jake's truck easier. Jess declines Jake's offer to drive with a snipe about how he isn't forklift certified. Jake's muttered comeback about how he could be forklift certified if he wanted makes you roar in laughter. 

You eventually pick a trunk that overall doesn't look too special, but Jake said it looked like it would be easier to work with because of how sticky the sap was. Jake makes two other selections and also insists on helping Jess get the wood into his truck. 

Jess invited you to an early lunch where you met her wife Paula. Paula had clearly been prepared to host and spent the whole meal fawning over Jake. While Jess might deny treating him like a son, Paula certainly leans into it, and you can tell Jake doesn't mind from the glowing smile that stays on his face the whole time you're at their home.  

As promised Jake had planned time to stop at the farmers market, and an outlet mall, that included a target, where two do some light shopping. Finally picking up Jake's drycleaning on your way home. It's a fun day, and you were thankful you had decided to tag along.

"So Jake, are these for what I think?" You ask him excitedly when you have finally made it home and he is pulling the logs into the garage. 

"It definitely might be. After all, this is fresh Juniper." 

You stare at the grey logs of wood with their mossy, splintering bark that has already made a mess in the garage. Examining the wood you try to compare it with the Juniper you have seen in the past.

"I didn't think it was that color," you tell Jake scrunching your eyebrows together in contemplation. 

"Well, the wood isn't actually grey, just the bark," Jake explains. You watch as he pulls two pairs of work gloves from the workbench. He jerks the larger pair on, you realize with adoration that he had gotten a pair in your size. Jake doesn't hand the gloves to you, rather just leaves them out as an offering if you are interested in participating. The casual no pressure offering makes your chest warm and stomach flutter. Biting your lip you try to contain the grin threatening to split your face before joining him at the workbench and sliding the gloves on. 

Grabbing two chisels, he throws one on his belt. Then he picks up alo with two hammers, hanging both those on his toolbelt as well. You start to get distracted by the way Jake's tool belt sits on his slim hips. 

"Yes. Jess managed to expedite it for us in a special order. I'm so excited. You see, in the spring the sap warms up and it runs through the tree so it allows us to do this –" Jake explains to you. He angles the chisel into the bark, working it in. With a controlled hit from the hammer the flat head sinks in a little bit deeper. Wiggling the chisel makes the bark displace, allowing Jake to grab it and pull it downwards. A long section of the bark comes off before splintering and breaking off the log. The action reveals the light colored, bright, 'green' (fresh) wood underneath. 

"I can tell you've never experienced stripping before," Jake says cheekily while wiggling his eyebrows at you. You feel a bit amazed at the beautiful gem that's been revealed to you. 

"What?" you gasp.  

"Stripping is what this process is called," Jake answers while letting out a full bellied laugh, going so far as slapping his own leg. You roll your eyes at him but can't help your smile and excitement on joining in. 

"Some people strip wood with a power washer, but I think that's lazy. On top of the laziness, it prematurely ages and strips the wood of its natural oils, color, and saps! If we take our time though, we can get a longer lasting, vibrant cut. It's a lot of work, but I promise it will be worth it in the long run." 

Jake takes his chisel and edges it under the bark again. When he pulls the long grey strip of bark gives way with a crunch that sizzles against your ears. Jake continues to slowly peel more away to reveal the fresh color underneath, not pressuring you to join the process at any point. 

However when you do ask to help Jake is patient going over the process with you, explaining the best angle to keep the chisel. He provides steady guidance, only leaving you alone in the process when you tell him that you have a handle on what you're doing. 

You help Hangman strip one of the logs and just as he had said, it is a slow process. It is however extremely satisfying and lots of fun. He puts on a podcast after consulting you to find one you would both enjoy. At one point you accidentally dig your chisel too far under the bark and feel it sink slightly into the 'green' sap softened wood. Your heart drops, and when you peel it back you see that it has pulled a chunk of wood, leaving a gouge in the trunk. You freeze, noticing the damage of the mistake, pulling your eyes to where Jake is working. Just as you start to wonder if there could be a way to fix or hide your mistake, Jake looks over at you with a wide smile that crinkles around his eyes.

"Oh wow," he gasps, the smile falling. Anxiety claws at your throat, and you instinctively prepare yourself for something bad to happen, every muscle in your body tensing in anticipation. Jake's hand gently pushes yours out of the way and dips over the gouge pushing away some of the sap that was springing from the area. Jake clicks his tongue before saying. "Look at this, sugar" 

"I know and–" You are getting ready to spew the best excuse and explanation you can think of before Jake interrupts you. 

"I've seen this color juniper, at least not in person" Jake tells you breathily. You are momentarily surprised that his words do not contain any anger, veiled insults, or condescending tones. Then you remember that this is Jake, so of course you're not going to 'be in trouble'. It takes your eyes a moment to drop down to the thick trunk again. Where you had damaged the wood, it revealed a bright purple streak under the top grain. 

"It's purple," you say, eyes widening. 

"It does look purple does it?" Jake asks excitedly. "That means at the very least that vein will look like that through the trunk. If not all the pigmentation in the grain." 

"So, it's not usually purple?" You ask. 

"Sometimes red, but not purple. This one was a real treasure find, sugarpie" Jake answers. His grin was so wide you were a little worried about his face. However, before you know it, he is sweeping you in his arms and rocking you playfully while saying, "We are going to have to do something really special with this one."  

"Puzzle table," You say as if that was the most obvious answer. That was the whole reason he had gotten all these logs of juniper, after all. 

"Yeah, maybe for the puzzle table," Jake says noncommittally, though as he hums you can tell that won't be the case. He kisses your forehead and mutters a thank you.

Jake gives you another thank you, a little while later, once you two have started to work again. "We wouldn't have known about the color until I went to cut planks and then there would have been a lot less I could do to preserve the color." 

"I made a mistake, Jake."

"Not all mistakes are bad," he says kindly. "Sometimes they are just something that's meant to happen. They have to happen for us to learn something." 

"Says the man who famously never makes mistakes," you grouse back. 

"I make mistakes, but unfortunately, like everything I do, it's to the max. Either the best or the worst," he trails off with a shrug. 

"Because you refuse to be middling?" You ask him teasingly. You aren't surprised when his sharp elbow playfully taps into your arm, and if you bruise later-- it will be worth it.  

"We never should have read and watched Little Women," Jake grumbles. However, his open and light body language make it very clear to you he is being playful. You traced the shape of his dimples with your eyes enjoying the ease they brought to you. They seemed like the perfect place to rest your thumbs on his cheeks. It's nice how Jake comes with a built in guidance system. From his dimples, to the smile lines that will age nicely into kind crows feet all pointing to the freckle-mole by his right eye. You had already mapped out every place you wanted to kiss, given the opportunity. 

"You loved them both," you remind Jake. 

"Of course I did. It is a heart warming, stunning story. But you don't always have to make fun of how I teared up a little bit." Jake tells you, adopting a frown. Teared up was a bit of a down play on what had happened but you didn't call Jake out on that part. It wasn't a bad thing for men to get emotional and cry. 

"I only tease because you were upset about it for the entire next day. Which honestly was so sweet."

"It's not sweet, Sugar." Jake groans. 

"Jake, let's not do this dance," you sigh, rolling your eyes at him and turning back to your work on the trunk. You are much more careful now in how you place the chisel under the bark. In the middle of stripping off the next piece the podcast shuts off and some slow country music replaces it. 

"Now, Sugar," Jake says in an extra thick southern accent that makes you narrow your eyes. He eases in close to you and pulls the chisel out of your hand sliding it in his tool belt. Unbuckling it Jake sets it on the bench. Coming back to your side he takes your hand, delicately. Jake pulls your work gloves from each finger. Intentional and steady, the pads of his fingers brush against your revealed skin. He tosses the gloves to the side as well, and with your now free hands pulls you closer to him, towards the open space in the middle of the garage. 

"What dance exactly don't you want to do?" Jake asks you, starting to sway to the music and encouraging you to join him in the simple steps. Once you do he gleefully spins you in time with the music and draws you back even closer to his chest after. 

Blowing out a sigh you melt into his embrace. Dancing with Jake was different than any other man; he was confident and incharge, firm enough with his hold that there wasn't any space for you to really fall out of step with him, but he left enough room so you didn't feel like he was forcefully dragging you through the steps. He was good about taking the worry of thinking about the steps away from you, allowing you to just enjoy the movement and how his broad body felt pressed so close. 

"The dance where you try to sell some preposterous lie about not being a good man, and I have to convince you otherwise." 

"Ouch," Jake says. You lean back further resisting the hold he has in moving you. Jake doesn't allow the movement though, continuing to step dance to the music guiding you with him. 

"I'm sorry, Jake." you say already feeling a little bad. 

"No, no. I might have deserved that one," Jake answers, as the song wraps up, and you don't know what to say. He doesn't let go of you though, just adjusts his steps, leads his steps into the next one. 

"Let's find a different dance you do like," he says after a bit, shuffling you in his arms. "For example, we know you love the Texas two step."

"Do I?" You ask him with a laugh. 

"Yes, ma'am," He responds confidently, not leaving room to contradict him. "How do you feel about salsa though?" 

Jake turns you around the open space in the garage, going through dances he knows until you are both laughing. When he suggests cooking dinner and watching Dancing with the Stars for some new ideas you readily and happily agree, especially when he reminds you the logs will still be there tomorrow, and there is no real need to rush since you have at least a week until the sap is too dry to easily strip anymore.

…

"Marlee, your boss isn't going to pass you up for a promotion." 

"Well, she might if I'm pregnant," Marlee responds in a small voice that doesn't match her typical outgoing demeanor. You almost drop your phone but manage to keep your grip tight. 

"Marlene Machado… First of all, that would be illegal, and we would file a report with HR. And secondly, is there something you are wanting to tell me?"

"No!" Marlee says, "I don't know what you're talking about, me pregnant?! That's crazy talk. Maybe you're the one who's pregnant." 

"Okay, honey. Sorry, sorry." You sigh only partly apologetic into the phone. 

"No, I'm sorry." She replies in a quiet voice. "But nothing for sure yet." 

"That's okay, Marls. It's only been a few months of this new medicine."

"Yeah, well um I guess that leads to my next problem."

"What's that?"

"What are your plans for Saturday?"

"I don't have any plans." You say running through your mental calendar to check. 

"Okay, perfect. So, here's what Javy and I are thinking." 

"So Javy is involved?" You clarify. 

"What? Of course, he is!" Marlee says sounding affronted at even the concept of not including her husband, which makes you almost smile for real. 

"Okay, okay," you tell her with a small laugh. 

"We'll pick you up. Then we'll carpool to the airport. Don't worry I already made signs. Then we want to take y'all to Olive Garden."

You distantly hear Javy yelling, "When we are there, we are family."

Marlee takes a moment to giggle, "I'll make sure you and Jake drink a bottle of wine. Preferably one each. Trust me, nothing helps with the ‘we haven't seen each other in six months’ awkwardness better than wine. Then we will drive you two home!" 

You aren't successful in catching your phone this time and it slams to the ground. You're frozen staring down at it, only managing to shake yourself and pick it up when you hear Marlee saying your name in concern. 

"Sorry, the phone slipped. What was that?" 

"Oh no, is it okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine," you answer the pit in your stomach growing till it feels like it might swallow you whole. 

"You don't need help with anything for tomorrow do you?" Marlee asks worriedly. You take a glance around the house. You had worked hard keeping things orderly and together while Jake had been gone. You knew how worried he was that things would change while he was away. It hadn't been easy and there were a few weeks there when you hadn't been able to keep yourself afloat very well. 

"Help with what?" You ask, trying to get her to confirm what you thought you had heard. 

"Any cleaning or organizing or any of that. Groceries so you and Jake don't have to go shop. Javy hates going to the store when he comes home. I guess there is something especially frustrating about them," Marlee trails off. You can tell that she is picking up on your off mood, and of course she was. She probably expected you to be ecstatic that Jake was coming home, and maybe you would have been if you had known about it. 

You realize there isn't a way out of this so you have to concede a truth to her. You bite your lip and let your eyes frantically comb over the house again before finally whispering. "He hasn't said anything to me… about coming home." 

When Marlee answers you can hear she isn't on speakerphone anymore, and asks you quietly, "He hasn't mentioned it at all?" 

"Not a word," you respond solemnly. 

"I'm sorry for ruining the surprise."

"I'm glad you did. I'll definitely want to clean and shop like you mentioned. And as nice as your plan sounded, maybe not this time. You two are the sweetest ever."

"I still feel bad. Are you sure you don't need help with anything?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Marlee!" You were not fine.

"Wait, babes, I'm worried."

"Don't worry. I'll talk to you later, yeah? I love you!" You hang up the phone and stare at it blankly. Trying to process the new information you had just gotten. Looking around the house you realized you weren't even close to ready for Jake to come home.  

You spend all of your free time panicking, cleaning and organizing the house, trying to make sure everything was just perfect for when Jake comes home. You almost had a breakdown when you couldn't remember if the quilt on his bed had been green or dark blue when he left.. The smallest details were haunting you. You had spent nearly an hour working up the courage to erase the chalkboard in the kitchen. Worried that you would forget some of the more important reminders, you erase everything but what you deemed Jake needed to know, like things that had come up concerning the house. It leaves a choppy, oddly spaced list, but you don't think you will have the energy to rewrite it without crying. 

You were asleep when Jake came home. Waking up to sounds that are familiar and yet gone enough that they don't sound right, confuses your tired mind before you are startled into wakefulness, fully placing that for the first time in 6 months someone else is cooking in your kitchen. Your alarm is slightly eased when you check your phone and see a text from Marlee. 

We're here with a gift, come down stairs as soon as you wake up &lt;3

 While you were put at ease knowing some manic axe murderer isn't in your house, you almost feel like you would prefer that to what you now know is waiting for you downstairs. You sit in your room for nearly an hour trying to work out what to do, if you should confront Jake and how to approach it, hoping inspiration or bravery will strike you into moving. It never does though, and instead there is a heavy handed knock on your bedroom door. 

Taking a big gulp, not having the strength to find your voice, you slowly creak the door open. You lift your eyes up and unexpectedly find Javy on the other side of the door. 

"Hey, sleeping beauty!" Javy says cheerfully. It takes you a few deep breaths to answer from your surprise. You don't know what the look on your face is, but the next thing you know, Javy is sweeping you up into a tight hug. You are frozen though, still strung out on what this must mean, that Jake is home. 

"Is he?" You start to ask, but not sure how you actually want to finish the sentence: home, safe, okay, the same. Javy doesn't respond, he just squeezes you harder. You try asking your question again to get an answer. "Is Jake?" 

"Hangman is here," Javy finally confirms. 

"I thought it was going to be this evening."

"Some of his flights got shifted around at the last minute." 

"Oh. And is he..?" You can't finish that question either. 

"He will be okay," Javy says lightly.  

"Will be? So, that means that he isn't okay now." You grimace, worry flooding your chest that is already so full of hurt. 

"It'll all take us some time to readjust and recalibrate. Just don't push him, and more importantly yourself too hard. Okay?" Javy says pulling away from the hug after another squeeze. You nod numbly, not entirely sure you know what he means but it is comforting to know your friend is here. 

When you don't make a move to follow Javy towards the door when he starts to retreat he levels you with a concerned look. 

"Why do you love Jake?" Javy asks, leaning back against your door. 

You open your mouth to protest that you don't love Jake– how can you love someone who willfully hasn't talked to you in 6 months? The words don't come out though, because in spite of it all, you do love him. You love him so much it hurts, and you made that choice even as Jake actively warned you against it. Javy waits patiently for you to respond, which just makes you feel like squirming more. 

"I do not see what that has to do with anything," you try to deflect but Coyote frowns at you and shakes his head.

"It's because he makes you feel better than a million bucks right?" Javy presses on with the question.

"Yeah, sometimes." You concede thinking of how it was before Jake left. 

"Or like you are the most important thing in the room? More important even than him?" 

"Don't know if I love Jake because of that. I think those are just side benefits. I love Jake just by virtue of him being Jake." You say trying to explain how you feel and Javy nods along to your words. 

"I get it," he says. You worry your lip and look at the door again, still not sure you can do this. 

"It's going to be okay. Marlee and I are here to play interference as long as you two need it. Remembering those things you love about him will help get through the rough patch. He is really worried about doing something wrong."

"What do you mean wrong?" 

"I would say he is worried about hurting you." And you had to resist the urge to laugh, because it was already much too late for that. Jake had been hurting you for months now.

"Has something gone wrong before, or is he just scared?"

Javy doesn't answer your question and he avoids your gaze and stares hard at a far wall. "Hangman and I aren't always stationed together." 

"Oh, I see."

"You're going to have to give him some grace and time; he will even out, I promise. If it gets too bad you can always call me, okay?" Javy's eyes meet yours again, and he gives you a sad smile. "I love Jake too, you know."

"Yeah, I know you do." You reassure him. "Thanks Coyote, you are a good friend to him, and me too." 

Javy is then urging you to finally leave your room, opening the door and gesturing for you to step out. He is asking you to be brave, and it's a lot easier to face your fears when you know someone else is there to help, just in case. 

"Hey what's taking so long up there?" Marlee yells up the stairs suspiciously. She must have heard your door open.  

"I am once again begging Javy to run away with me." You yell back to her playfully. Giving Javy one last tight hug and a muttered thank you, he strides confidently down the stairs. Anxiety and nerves eat away at your every step leaving a sour taste on your tongue. You keep your eyes trained on the ground, as you descend the stairs, still not ready to actually see Jake. 

Instead you keep your eyes trailed on Javy where he has automatically drifted to his wife's side and is already wrapping himself around her and kissing her cheek. 

"Well, were you convinced to run away?" Marlee asks her husband, hugging him back, clearly enjoying the joke. 

"No Ma'am, not this time," Coyote answers with a laugh. 

"I wasn't worried," she tells him. "I know there's only one person you would leave me for."

"I would never leave you," Javy responds, dropping the playfulness from his voice. However, Marlee persists. 

"That's not true, we both know if Jake asked, you wouldn't even hesitate." The couple both turn their eyes towards the kitchen, which you realize is where Jake must be. You are frozen on the last step of the stairs, unable to take your eyes off Marlee and Javy, even as they expectantly look back and forth between where you are standing and where he is. 

You decide you aren't brave enough, that you can't actually do this. You need to retreat up the stairs into your room and pack all of your things in order to get out of here as soon as possible. Jake was back now, all the responsibility you had to watch and take care of the house was released from your shoulders. Never facing him again seems like the obvious solution, you don't know why you had never considered it before. 

"I wouldn't ever ask Javy to run away with me, he snores too much," Jake says. His voice tricks your eyes into looking towards the kitchen. Thinking about Jake Seresin and seeing him are two distinctly different things. He is handsome, Jake always has been handsome, but after so long of not seeing him, it's glaring, breathtaking. 

You think you had expected him to change, which doesn't really make sense. Half a year, in the grand scheme of things, really isn't very long. You think maybe his uniform fits him a bit more snugly, that he looks even more fit than before. You weren't prepared… you weren't prepared at all. And now you are stuck because he is looking back at you. Jake blinks at you, and you stare wide eyed, too afraid if your eyes close for even a second he will be gone. 

"Hello. Good morning," Jake finally says. 

"Hi," you squeak. Then you are finally able to take the last step off the stairs and say, "It's good to see you." 

Jake flashes you one of his perfect practiced smiles and a wink. Then he gestures to the bowls and pans in front of him, "I'm making french toast." 

You wait a second, having to choke back a sob threatening to bubble in your chest. Then say, "I'm sure that will be good." 

Javy and Marlee's analyzing the two of you makes the awkwardness press in harder. Gulping, you try to seem casual about walking towards the kitchen. Jake watches you intently. At the last minute you change your mind and veer down the hallway towards the front door instead. 

"Sorry, I just have some errands I need to run," You announce loudly, quickening your step. Fumbling with the locks you burst out the front door, and stand heaving on the front porch. Gripping the railing hard, you lean against it trying to brace yourself. 

A minute later you hear the door open, and you close your eyes tight, wishing you had been smart enough to walk further away. There is a slight clunk against the ground and you see a pair of your shoes next to your feet. 

"Thought you might need shoes," Jake says quietly. Fuck, this hurt so much more than you though it would. You thought having him home would feel like a relief, not a fresh stab wound. You just shake your head, not sure you can say anything. Jake waits patiently but after several long minutes, he breathes out a quiet sigh. 

"Okay. Well. I think I should just apologize and get on with it. I'm sorry, I am so sorry." You can't stop the hitching sob that falls from your throat. 

"I know you didn't love back the same way, but I didn't realize you cared so little about me." 

"That is an inaccurate statement," Jake protests. 

"I don't want us to have a fight Jake." You mumble, nothing about this conversation was making you feel better. 

"Well I do. I want us to have a fight, because you should be mad at me. You should be yelling at me and cursing the ground I walk on. You should've burned down this house!" He exclaims, and you can hear his frustration. You open your eyes to find Jake standing stiff and straight next to the slightly ajar front door. Hands clenched tight, Jake was staring at like you were water and he had been stranded in the desert for days, parched. A direct sighting of his green eyes is all it takes to break your resolve.  

"I can't be mad at you!" You exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air. 

"Why not?" He prods you in a low voice.

"You know exactly why."  

Jake huffs, clenching his jaw he glares upwards, away from you. 

"You don't have to be this saint you know. You don't have to be this perfectly stable person for me because you feel like that's what I need. Please don't let me get away with hurting you." 

"I won't give you the satisfaction," you tell him coldly. 

"What?" Jake asks, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. 

"I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of confirming that you are the bad guy you've convinced yourself you are. So, what would you like me to say instead?"   

"I guess I want you to listen to the fact that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I left, I'm sorry for how I behaved, I—"

"Are you really sorry for what happened between us?" You ask in a small voice. You lower your eyes to look at the ground, not wanting to be too confrontational. 

"Of course I am," he sighs. It's a stab to your heart. You had treasured the long heartbreakingly beautiful evening you had with Jake before he left, and hearing him say he doesn't feel the same is harrowing. 

"Are you—" you start to ask but stop yourself. You ball up all the hurt in your chest trying to rationalize and compartmentalize. Realizing this is another one of those times you had to fill in the gaps. It was time you refocused on the realities at hand. There were no promises besides the one you had made. That you would love him regardless, and continuously. Reminding yourself this fact helps, you could be upset after, later. Every moment actually with Jake should be treasured, this was the first moment you were getting with him in how long and of course you had ruined it. 

"I'm sorry for every other thing I know I should be, and everything I willfully chose not to know too. I'm sorry, and well I want to go on forever. I want to keep telling you I'm sorry every second. So, I'm sorry. I'll say it a million times more. Like you deserve."

"Jake, stop. Sometimes the more times you say something the cheaper the words have become. So let's keep this one valuable. I'm sorry for pushing, and you've said sorry too. We can move on now." 

"I'll just be plain then." He says, though you can tell that the frustration and desperation are still burning hot under his skin. 

"Yes, Jake, be plain. That's the best option for us."

"If we step over lines?"

"We say something, stop and talk about it."

"Okay." He agrees, "We have to talk about the other thing now too."

"What thing?" you ask.

"My question, what happened between us." He says as if he hadn't just told you part of him regrets it. 

"You asked to be selfish with me Jake, and I said yes. I don't regret that, and I'm not mad about what happened. You had my permission and consent for all of it.' 

"I just kept waiting until I knew what I wanted to say, but then I never knew what I wanted to say," he explains. 

"Jake, I really…" You sigh and scrub your hand over your face. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

 Jake nods silently in response. "Okay, Later, then."

"Sure, like when the Machados aren't listening on the other side of the door." You say loudly looking at the front door that was cracked, having no doubt your friends were being nosey. Not that you really blame them, you probably would have done the same thing. 

"Do you still have errands to run?" he asks you. You look out to the street deciding you should at least take a small walk to sort through your thoughts. 

"I'm just going to go on a little walk. I'm sure I'll be back by the time breakfast is done," you explain. 

"Sounds good, sugar. Can I help you with your shoes?" He asks quietly. The only reason you nod your head yes is because you think you might start crying otherwise. 

Jake kneels down and hesitates for a long moment before his large warm hand is on your ankle, helping angle your foot into the shoe. His thumb makes a brushing stroke across the skin before doing the same thing with the other foot. When you get back from your walk, it's awkward. You completely avoid Marlee's attempts to get you to go off and talk with her. Instead, you decide that the best course of action is to pretend that nothing is wrong. You laugh at jokes and ignore how stilted and awkward Jake's conversation is with everyone. Then, after Marlee and Javy linger way too long, before you and Jake finally get them to leave. Once they are out the door and Jake has locked the door behind them, you both let out a sigh of relief. You meet Jake's gaze, both of you offer small smiles. It's the most normal moment you've had all day. 

"Welcome back, Jake." You offer tentatively. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I kinda just want to nap," he admits. You part ways at the top of the stairs giving him a strained smile and retreat into your room; Jake's eyes don't leave you until the door is shut firmly in place. 

It's much later that night when you hear some loud banging. You shoot out of your room worried, and realize the banging is coming from the other side of Jake's bedroom door. You knock on it firmly but don't hear a response. 

You knock again and the banging comes to a stop. You try the door and find it locked. 

"Jake, are you okay?" You ask him through the door. 

"I'm fine. Thanks," he yells back. You wait but when you don't get anything more, you have no choice but to leave him be and go back to your room. You don't actually even see Jake again until two nights later. You have been able to tell that he is home but Jake is as elusive as a ghost. 

You run into him next when you open your door one night to get some water before bed. Jake is standing on the other side, holding two water bottles. Part of you has a hunch that he had been standing there for a while. He looks shocked but a little relieved when he sees you. 

"I know I shouldn't be here," Jake starts slowly, taking his gaze off of you and looks down at his feet. 

"No, it's okay that you are here," you stutter slightly. "Is there something you need?" 

Jake nods his head along with your words, his eyebrows drawing together. Then he holds out a water bottle for you to take. "Can I just be here? Here, with you?"

"Of course, always." You say stepping backwards into your room leaving the door wide open for him. You shuffle to your bed and lift open the blankets ready to welcome him there with you. However, Jake drops the pillow he was holding on the floor nearby and lays down instead. 

You want to ask him questions about it but the edge he is on isn't one you want to poke or prod in any direction. While you are still hurt, knowing he is here is safe again, with you is equally as soothing, a small dosage of pain medication. 

"There's plenty of room up here with me too, you know." You decide to casually offer just in case. 

"It's too soft for me right now."

"I just thought I would offer," you say lightly. 

"I can't sleep. It's the worst part. Everything is too quiet and too still and at the same time not quiet or still enough. I think I might go insane." He explains in a low voice. 

"What can I do? What do you need?" You ask sympathetically. 

"Can we talk about it?" Jake asks hopefully. 

"No, Jake. We can't," You sigh and hear him sigh in frustration. 

"Someday, at some point, we are going to have to talk about it," Jake says so carefully you know he is consciously holding back the taunting frustration he wants to put into the words. 

"No, we really don't," You contradict him. 

"Sweets," Jake responds, sounding wrecked. 

You think you should give into him again. You should allow Jake to talk his heart out and seek penance from you. How this should be a time when you are strong for him. However, as much as you want to give Jake the world, there must be times that you curl around your own heart to try and shield it from hurt. 

"Listen, Jake. I don't need to know why you didn't talk to me while you were gone. No matter what your explanation is, it's going to hurt my feelings. So, I would rather not know. Please, let me pretend something a little kinder." 

He is silent, so very quiet for so long you almost wonder if he has left. Evaporated from existence, that he never came home at all, and you've been living an elaborate hallucination. You turn on your side just to check in the soft lamp light that Jake is still laying on the floor. 

"You should have said no to me before I left. It would have saved us both a lot of grief I think." 

Jake's words feel like a punch in the gut, rattling around like a wrecking ball, leaving a bloody massacre behind. With a heavy blown out breath you say, "No it wouldn't have."

"No, it wouldn't have," he sighs in agreement. 

"It would be nice though, if we could go back to before." 

"Before?" He asks. 

"Yes," you say, clutching your blankets tight. "If I could pretend that you never got orders and didn't leave. I would jump to that in an instant. 

"You want to pretend nothing happened?" 

"Isn't that an idea?" You huff a small broken laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

"What if I don't remember exactly how things went before?" Jake wonders. 

"Jake, I wasn't serious," you say cautiously.  

There are several long minutes of silence where you wait for him to say something. Finally, you hear Jake let out a long heavy audible groan while shifting. "If you don't want to talk it out. Pretending is probably our best option then. Otherwise, what are we going to do, sweets?" 

"Sugar," You correct automatically. 

"Hmm?" 

"You usually call me sugar, or honey. Not sweets" 

"Ah, that's right, and darling. I got it mixed up because you're so sweet to me."

"I'll help you. If you don't remember how it goes." 

"Thank you," he says. And you can't believe he is actually agreeing to this idea, or really that you are either. 

"Do you not like sweets?" Jake asks eventually. 

"It's fine enough, I guess." You answer as lightly as you can. Then you go through another bout of silence. You nervously play with the edge of a blanket hoping that this tension with Jake will ease. It's always gone away in the past, but that was also before. 

"That's what you want then? Tomorrow, we go back?" Jake asks again. 

"Yes, tomorrow," You confirm. 

"Sugar?

"Yes, Jakers?"

"Can I ask you a question?" He asks. You laugh lightly, feeling a bit of the nervousness ease at his tone which has become much lighter. 

"I never understand why people say that. Aren't you already asking a question?" Jake chuckles low in his chest in amusement. He doesn't follow along with the joke though, just leaves it there hanging in the air. 

"The answer is yes," you tell him casually. 

"You don't know what the question is." 

"Yes, you can ask me a question," you clarify in a whisper. Jake makes some rustling sounds and you hear him come closer to you.

"Are you sure that bed is big enough for two?" He asks. 

"Why don't we find out?" You laugh feeling more at ease. 

With a nod Jake crawls onto bed and turns to face you on his side. However, he doesn't scoot in close like you expect. He is stone still on the other side of the bed, laying on top of the covers, only shifting his pillow once. 

"What would you do, if I told you the last time I said yes, it had an extended warranty?" You ask while turning on your side to face where you are in the bed now. 

"How long are we talking about here?" Jake asks. 

"Unfortunately, I think it expires some time tomorrow." You watch Jake work his lip in contemplation, while examining your face closely. 

"Why would you let me be selfish with you again?" 

"I think it's because we are selfish. Maybe it's a little bit because I don't want the memory of the last time I tasted you to be bitter." 

Jake rolls away from you onto his back, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. "Stop letting me take things from you."

"We both deserve a night where we are selfish with each other, I think." You tell him reaching across the gap between you. You set a hand on Jake's cheek ignoring the prickly stubble there. 

"To have you and let you go again the next day would be torture," Jake says all while leaning into your touch. 

"Just a kiss this time," you offer, urging him by his cheek to come a little closer to you. 

"It was supposed to be just a kiss last time too." Jake's eyes are bright where they burn into yours. He inches a little closer and you lean forwards as well, reducing the gap between you two that much more until there is just a miniscule space now.  

"I know," You answer against his lips, letting your hand slip into his hair. Jake's lips move with yours crowding in close, like he is trying to breathe all of you into himself and commit you to memory. 

"Maybe, it can be more of a promise?" Jake eventually gasps. 

"A promise?" You question. 

"A promise not to hurt you like this again," Jake answers.

"That's not an easy promise to keep," you warn. 

"That's true, but I'm willing to try anyway." He kisses you again and dips his tongue into your mouth. Jake swallows your little whimpers; he tastes just as good as he always has. It's very easy to be selfish with Jake "Hangman" Seresin.  

…

It's a slow road to trying to get back to normal. Jake circles around the house like he is lost. Picking things up and setting them down, starting conversations with you and leaving halfway through them. Shadows stretch across his face and his increasingly dark stubble and facial hair. You are a little surprised to find that he doesn't have a red beard like most blonds do. The facial hair only serves to make him look increasingly gaunt.

Jake even denies your offer to start a puzzle together, telling you that wasn't something he could handle at the moment. You try not to seem like you were watching him like a hawk, but you definitely are. Until one day he stood up from the table in the middle of dinner and announced that he was going camping. 

"Oh okay. Do you know how long?" 

"Yeah," Jake sighs, "I'll be home before next weekend, and I promise you when I get home I'll be normal again."

"You don't have to be any which way for me Jake," you tell him gently. 

"I know, but I need to do this for me too, sugar." He explains while putting away dishes. You watch him complete the task; Jake is antsy even with his hands occupied. None of the projects or tasks he has picked up since being home have been enough to occupy him with real distraction. Two days ago, you had walked into the garage where Jake had rigged up his camping hammock to the ceiling which you felt like he was swaying precariously 8 feet off the ground. On top of that Jake had music blasting, a documentary on Yosemite playing, while also whittling a piece of wood. 

"Okay. I'll miss you." You eventually say. Jake purses his lip, and after a heavy gulp he nods his head. Once the last of the dishes is away he spins on his heel and heads towards the garage door. 

You hurry after him, "Jake?"

"Yes, sugar?" He asks, not pausing his trajectory. 

"Are you leaving right now?" You ask him surprised. 

"Yes, I packed earlier today."

"Can I have a hug before you go?" You ask him hesitantly. 

Jake freezes. He rubs his hands across his face pressing briefly into his eyes while sighing a very soft "Fuck." Then he turns to you fully looking abashed. "Yeah, sugar. What do you need before I go? I'm sorry I should have asked that first."

"No, it's no big deal. Honestly." You tell him backing off not wanting to be too much. Jake shushes you softly while stepping closer. 

"Tell me how it goes. I need to remind myself about this part."

"Well," you start off hesitantly, "normally I would get a hug goodbye." 

"Ahh," Jake hums, "that's right. And I do that part like this?" Jake wraps you in his arms, draping them high on your back. You wait a moment before draping your arms around his neck.

"How's the next part going again, sweets?"

"You squeeze my waist a little harder and lower." Jake follows the direction his arms tightening around you drawing you flush against his chest. 

"Now?" He whispers. 

"You would probably kiss my forehead."

"Just your forehead?" Jake asks breathily. 

"I'll leave that one up to you, Jake." He unwraps a hand from your waist to hold the back of your neck, keeping you steady. 

"And if I want to kiss somewhere else?"

"You've got my permission Jake," you tell him trying to keep want and desire out of your voice. Jake parts his lips and leans in closer brushing his lips to grace over your cheekbone. 

"You can have it, Jake," you remind him.

"No," he answers and closes his eyes. "Not again, not yet. I'll be home in a few days."

Once Jake leaves you know there is something you have to do to help him. It's an idea that gets stuck in your head and then you can't get it out. He had been spending time daily in his hammock in the garage, and you noted that Jake had taken it with him when he left. You missed how he used to casually be in the living room, so you started brainstorming some ideas on how you might entice Jake to join you again. 

So, you go to the kitchen and pull out the rolodex, find the card dedicated to Miss Celeste and give it a call. Russell answers the phone, and you can hear the man smiling through the phone as you ask after his wife. It turns out Jake's grandmother is just as blunt but kind hearted as you had been led to believe. After a longer conversation with her, she and Russ offer you some advice and tips

You aren't wholly sure how you managed to get it all done. Eventually having to call Coyote to help you move some of the living room furniture. However, after significantly less sleep than you already get, there is a large comfy hammock in the living room. You and Javy had to sandwich Jake's large comfy chair much closer to the couch than it was previously, but y'all managed to make it all fit. 

Jake comes home from camping quietly late one night. The stubble he had been supporting before is a full-on beard now, and his hair is longer than you have ever seen it. This look is intimidating to you in lots of ways, like some mirrored version of Jake that you don't know. He offers. quick hello when he comes in from the garage, breezing past you and towards the stairs.  

Jake doesn't make it to the stairs though instead he stands frozen at the edge of the living room for five whole minutes just staring at the hammock. You watch him closely, trying to gauge his reaction. 

"It's a surprise for you." You say after the amount of time he is standing there increases to a concerning duration. Compelled to do something you explain, "I know your hammock has been one of the only places you have been able to relax."  

"This is very sweet. I appreciate it." Jake starts evenly. It's contradictory as you see him grit his teeth, and his fists clench and unclench at his sides. 

"You don't like it?" You ask him.

"It's not that," Jake tries to explain. "It's just you can't randomly switch the living room around and add new furniture like this." 

Your mouth drops open in shock. This might be one of the first times Jake has ever told you there is something you can't do in the house. It's jarring, he has always spent so much time tailoring everything to your likes, desires, and aesthetics that you hardly even think about the house as Jake's and Jake's alone anymore. Frustration bubbles under the shock twisting into anger at the situation. You were trying your best, doing all the things you thought you should, and it still didn't seem like enough. 

"That is so rich coming from you for so many different reasons Jake." You say agitated, rolling your eyes. 

"Why are you upset?" Jake asks you, finally looking away from the living room. 

"Why are you upset?" You parrot with emphasis. 

"Well, what did you expect? I left for a few days and now there is a hammock in the living room. That's an outdoor item you brought indoors," Jake responds snappily. It pushes you right against an edge that you are unfamiliar with living on now. You had forgotten how it was to live in a hyper aware state, trying to manage and monitor someone else's emotions. 

"You act like you haven't done the same thing," you tell him, gesturing frustratedly at the juniper chest. "I was doing something nice for you. However, if you don't like it, I'm sure you're more than capable of taking it down and moving your furniture back and fixing your living room."  

You leave Jake in the living room and go to the kitchen. He grumbles to himself upset which makes you feel even more on edge. However, you refuse to let Jake blowing back into the house prevent you from finishing the dishes you had been stacking and putting away. 

"It's our living room," he finally calls back to you.

"You aren't acting like it."

"You could have given me some warning," he reasons, but it has a slightly accusatory tone. 

"When Jake?" You ask him, upset. "When you called me and told me you were coming home? When you text? How exactly was I supposed to let you know?"

He doesn't have an answer and you slam the door of a cupboard harder than you intend. Inside, the stack of bowls were more precariously placed than you thought. The cupboard closes and bounces back open, the bowls ejecting and crashing hard against the ground. Several of them shatter when they make impact, sending ceramic shards flying across the area. 

You aren't expecting the sound to trigger you. It most likely does because of how high strung and worried you already are. The house is such a safe comforting space you don't really have a game plan for when PTSD attacks hit you here. A chill makes its way up your spine, while the sound of shattering glass rings echoing in your ears, for much longer than it echoes in the room. It's all it takes for some flip to switch in your head. 

Managing to take small gasping breaths, you try to assess the damage of the sharp ceramic pieces around you, categorizing how many bowls had broken. It doesn't help you to fight off sudden panic that is creeping in when you notice one of the destroyed bowls was one Miss Celeste had made for Jake. It was a soup bowl stamped with a silly song Jake liked to sing anytime he used it. Distantly you hear Jake calling your name but can't fully process it. He is stepping towards you, fear rings through your body, and instinctually you go to step back away from him. Flinching hard every one of your muscles feels like it's attached to a live wire. Your fight or flight mode activated but you are still mostly frozen in the middle with short panting breaths, your eyes flit across the room trying to find a suitable escape path. 

"Sugar, please don't move. Just stay right there. It's okay." Jake is repeating, holding his hand up, showing you his open body language. Your breaths continue to come out gasping, but eventually you are able clear the cloudiness up enough with the help of Jake's soothing.  

"Jake, help," you whimper. Training your eyes on Jake you think that he is the only available escape, from the glass around you and this attack. At your words, his whole face shifts overcome with a serious ‘get things done’ demeanor.

"Are you hurt?" He asks calmly. You can't answer him just offering a shaking shrug. "Stay right there for me, Sugar. Okay?" 

Jake is shoving his feet into some boots, then crunching through the broken ceramics and glass before picking you up. He carries you to the living room, setting you down on top of the closed puzzle table. Once you are there, he kneels in front of you. Picking up each of your feet, Jake carefully examines them for injury. Then gives the rest of your body a scan; he is clearly relieved to find that there weren't any cuts. 

"Wait here." He orders you gently, walking back to the kitchen and setting about cleaning the mess. 

"I can clean that," you try to tell him in a weak attempt for Jake to stop.

"You just stay there looking pretty and take some breaths, sweets." He responds from the kitchen. You decide to give in, which is probably for the best with the way the numb panic is still very present at the edge of your consciousness. Your heart is still beating erratically as well. 

Jake is expedient and thorough about cleaning, going through the whole kitchen and dining room with his shop vacuum searching for any hiding slivers. When finished he makes his way to the living room and crouches by your side again sighing heavily. 

"I'm sorry," he says, setting his large warm hands on your knees.

"I'm sorry," you apologize as well. "I should have waited and asked you before changing the living room."

"You don't need to ask. I've just been on edge and wasn't expecting it. I do appreciate the thought. And you know I do love hammocks so, I'm sure I'll love it."

"We don't have to keep it," You remind him.

"We are taking it for a trial run," Jake responds. Then a few moments later he lets out a heavy sigh and says, "You know we are doing it all already, right?" 

"What's that?"

"It" Jake says gesturing with his free hand in the air. "We fit together. We're," Jake takes the slightest pause, his hand grips yours so tight you almost ache, then he drops it completely. "A bridle joint or maybe, a box joint." 

"We aren't ever going to fit with anyone else are we?" You ask him, clarifying. 

"No, we aren't. I think it might just be this, Sugar. It's just us." Jake says the words like a confession, an admission, an honest reality. 

You try to analyze the look in his eyes, but over anything else all you can focus on is how tired he is. You pick Jake's hand up again. Standing from the couch, pulling him with you. Jake asks no questions; he just follows you as you guide him. You tug him with you to each of the doors as you make sure each one is locked, jiggling them to be sure. Then he follows you to the kitchen as you grab two of his glass water bottles. You hand one to him and take his, gripping it tightly while his other hand remains loose in yours. 

You keep leading him then as he follows you up the stairs. Finally, You open the door to his room, and freeze in the doorway. A gasp catches in your throat. It's empty. The whole room. Not a mattress or a bedframe, no side tables or a dresser. It's all gone. There is one chest, a basket with some blankets, and one pillow. Jake stands close behind you, and you hear him audibly sigh into your ear. 

You take a deep breath to steady yourself and pull Jake through the room, leaving no room to address the issue and heading straight to the bathroom. You turn on the water for the bath and let the tub start filling. Turning to Jake and finally, let go of his hand. He looks lost at you, and you bring your hand up to lift his chin up a little higher. Jake takes your direction and those gorgeous sea-glass green eyes look at you. 

You tug at his shirt twice before he follows the movement and pulls it off. You step out of your own pants but otherwise stay clothed. Jake follows you sliding off his jeans. You go to Jake's bath chest still in place and grab a scent you think will be soothing, adding it to the bath. 

You reach to pull down his boxers, and he shakes his head in a small no. When you start to pull off your shirt, Jake's hands stop you there too. He gives you a pleading look, and you shrug back, leaving your shirt in place. You motion for Jake to get in the bath, and he wordlessly does as you say. Making room for you between his knees, Jake scoots until he hits the back of the tub. You step into the warm water and slide down to settle in.  

Jake's head falls forward so his forehead presses into the space where your shoulder and neck meet, taking deep breaths. You shudder, feeling the air of his breath against your neck. Jake's large hands are gripping the side of the bathtub hard. You are shocked that the feeling of the wet clothes sticking to your skin hasn't rocketed you out of the bathtub. But like it often is, it's hard to focus on anything that's not Jake when he is this close to you. 

After a while, when Jake lifts his head and leans back, you do as well, leaning into his chest, his arms slide around you, pulling you even closer, as you draw imaginary designs on one of his forearms. 

"What's it mean for us?" You finally ask him. 

"I'm worse than I was before," Jake says to you quietly. 

"Before me?" And that actually makes you want to cry because it sounds so true. Things certainly would have been less variable without you around in Jake's life. No one to throw him off his routines. And before him weren't you better able to protect your heart better than this? You had been calloused and strong before. Living with Jake and in this house has been like a fine grit sandpaper buffing you so now you only have smooth soft edges. 

Has that been the way it's been between the two of you this whole time, something bad that was disguised as good? You can't come up with an answer, and apparently, neither can he. So it sits there, wilting, rotting between the two of you.

The silence is loud and almost echoes in the bathroom, with no room to hide. You finally take one of Jake's hands in yours and play with his fingers. He seems content with this, relaxing even further into the water. One of his knees occasionally bumping into you playfully, as if you could forget that he was there, as if there were anything besides Jake on your radar. 

Then he is whispering your name against your neck, right behind your ear. Gooseflesh bursts across your skin, and his beard is coarse and scratchy against your sensitive skin not having been trimmed once since it started growing. You try to shift away but his lips follow you. Tired of the game you reach a hand behind you and fist it into Jake's long hair, tightly tugging his face away from your neck. Jake gasps in response. 

You drop your hand feeling like he has been sufficiently warned from the action, which you know would have descend into tickling. Jake grabs your wrist and turns it, and then ghosts his lips over your pulse point. After two more soft kisses there he presses three to your palm, and on each finger. Each press of his lips is intoxicating even in a place as insignificant as your hand. With your ring finger Jake's kisses are three times as long and lingering. It's an action that has you slamming your eyes closed to keep the tears from escaping. He finally releases your arm and you drop your hand back into the warm water. 

Something starts to thaw out there, in your chest. The combination of the physical warmth of the bath and Jake's blazing body heat. However, it is the feeling, the emotional warmth of it that makes the difference. You tremble slightly feeling completely overwhelmed, the idea of being anywhere else or trying to move is devastating to your system. 

"Sugar pie?"

"Yes, Jakobi?" You answer back just as quietly 

"We haven't been doing so good, have we?"

"No."

"Our mental health?"

"Positively dismal. We both probably need to be institutionalized." You tell him. Jake nods along, in understanding with your words. 

"Do you think I could convince them to let us be roomies there too?" 

"Not sure even you could swing that one, honey." You respond. Jake's eyes and whole face positively light up moments after you say the words. 

"Honey?"

You hum thinking it over before smiling and nodding, "Yup."

"But that's my nickname for you," Jake says in a pouting tone but the bright expression he is wearing hasn't dimmed. 

"Yeah, and sugar, darling, babycakes, anything related to pie—"

"I called you Huckleberry pie once and—"Jake protests but you barrel onwards cutting him off. 

"Well no more honey for you anymore. You use half the sweet names under the sun, I'm allowed to have one. And I think it's honey." You cup Jake's scratchy bearded cheeks and smile softly. "You're my honey, now." 

"Why honey?"

"Because you're so sweet."

"I'm not," Jake says brokenly, all playfulness having been sucked out of him. His head is heavy in your palm as he eases into your hold.

 "You're sweet," you repeat more firmly. Then continue, "Plus I can just imagine how snug and happy you would be in those honey combs."

"Hexagons are one of the superior shapes," Jake sighs.

"Sure they ar, and you are golden like honey." You run your fingers through Jake's hair again. He shutters hiding those sad green eyes from you.  

"I never knew just how blond the sun could make your hair," You sigh when you reach the end, scratching back up his scalp to repeat the process. You are turned fully to face him now, sloshing the water a bit to settle more comfortably. However Jake doesn't move, he seems almost as if he could be a statue made of glowing gold. 

"This tan also makes no sense," you tell him, trailing your hands over his shaped shoulders. 

He squints a single eye open at you, and you freeze as if you've been caught. Instead Jake's hand's pull your knees to settle on either side of his hips. Dragging you that much closer to him. It makes your breath hitch and Jake's eyes darken, however, he still leaves a bit of space. 

"One of my grandpas was Italian," Jake says with a quirk of his lips. The single eye he had opened closed as the smile melted off his face. Your hands resume their path, after massaging Jake's shoulders you knead his neck. Which just leads to playing with his hair again. Your train of thought was lost until you noticed a small light but fresh scar on the top of his bicep. You lean forward and  gloss your lips over the skin there. Jake's hand tightens where he is holding your thighs. He takes a careful breath in through his nose, and a long exhale. He follows that up with two more shallow but steady breaths and then just like that the tension releases from his body as he releases the air out.

"Where did you learn how to breathe like that, cowboy?" You ask him, letting your thumb continue to trace the strange new scar you have been examining. 

"Oh, so, I'm cowboy now?"

"Mr. Cowboy, my honey." You coo back. Jake's eyes flutter open again, he blinks slowly at you heavily lidded.  

"You are avoiding the question." You prompt him by raising an eyebrow. 

"It's not as bad as you're probably thinking," Jake answers a moment later. 

"I'm thinking, you did a whole summer of Vipassana, and meditation in some foreign country that made you have concerns about being that white guy(™)."  

As his lips lift in response to your joke, you think Jake's dimples are some of the prettiest things in this world. Suddenly, you find it unacceptable that his beard hides any part of them from your view. You see the hint of them but it's not the same you think as you trace the shape of one. Your left hand remains pressed over the new scar you had discovered. 

"We both know I could never do vipassana."

"I have evidence to the contrary," the words fall from your lips before you can stop them, and you regret them instantly. 

"Don't be mean to me," he begs you. In the same breath he speaks the words you are already halfway through saying, sorry.

"I'm working on leaving it I promise," You tell him.

"We don't have to leave it, we could talk about it." Jake suggests hopefully. 

"We are leaving it Jake," you say back sharply and he snaps his mouth shut chewing at the side of his cheek for a moment before responding. 

"Okay. I know I hurt you deep, and it's still fresh," Jake responds. His jaw clenches and you feel it jump.  

"So, it wasn't meditation? Is this going to be another riveting USNA story?" You ask him, steering the conversation back on a lighter track. 

"It was before Annapolis."

"Tell me more," you laugh, dropping your hold on his face, leaning forward and resting your check against his bicep.  

"You're going to laugh at me," he pouts.

"I find that an entirely likely probability," you answer teasingly. 

"I had to take friendship classes in middle school." 

"I'm sorry, you did what?" You ask Jake to repeat, trying to process this bit of information. 

"This other kid and I hated each other, and we were constantly getting into it. The worst part is we had lockers right next to each other. He accidentally hit me with his locker, and I lost it. So, I slammed his head right back and we started brawling. Anyways, long story short, our school counselor made us take friendship classes, and taught us breathing techniques. It was all bull shit, but we ended up being friends afterwards, bonding over how stupid friendship class was."

"At least you got some good breathing techniques." 

"Something like that," Jake laughs back. 

"What's this one then? It's new." you say ghosting your lips over the scar you had found again. Jake sighs, glancing at the scar himself. 

"You are going to be mad," he starts. 

"Why would I be mad, honey?"

"I got two more moles removed." The admission makes you pull back and give Jake a weary suspicious glare. 

"Have you not been wearing sunscreen again?"

"No, I've been wearing sunscreen ever since you told me about it, I promise. The Doc just asked about one of them and wanted to do a biopsy. So, I said he might as well just take them all off while he was at it."

"And?" 

"Everything came back benign. Nothing to really worry about, Sugar."

"I always worry about you, Jakers." You sigh with relief and kiss that scar again, enjoying the feeling of having your head pillowed on his arm. 

"I know, I'm sorry." Jake whispers back. You wish he had just left it as I know. 

"I don't want to make you worse, Jake."

"You don't make me worse. I am worse, no one has ever inspired me to act quite as selfishly as you have. I don't even know how to wholly be anymore without you." 

"I just want to make things better for you." 

Jake groans quietly, "Maybe someday it will finally click that you make everything better. That you are stunning, and gorgeous, and just over all the best." 

"We could clear cut a forest, and not find a single tree that's sappier than you Jake." It inspires a quirk of his lips but not the laugh you were hoping for.

"You are probably right," is all Jake says back, continuing to trace shapes into your skin. It's quiet for a long time as you two just exist together, coming down from the emotional turmoil of the night. 

Eventually, You ask, "Jake, where are you?" 

"I don't know. I don't know, Sugar," He sighs and tilts his head back letting out an exhausted breath. 

"Are you in the clouds?" You ask. He thinks before shaking his head no. 

"Are you on the ocean?"

He feels the water around him briefly then settles his hands on your skin again. "It doesn't appear so."

"Are you on base?"

"No." 

"So, where are you?"

"I know I'm here with you sugar, it just doesn't feel real." Jake answers. 

You examine him closely from his wet hair to the defined muscles of his shoulders and neck. How much muscle Jake gained deployment almost pushed him into a category you would describe as too buff, but not actually going over the edge. As you trace the shape of his face you can easily identify what one of the problems is. 

"You are being suffocated," you tell him as your fingers trace up his cheeks and around through his hair there.

"Why do you have a beard Jake?" You ask in a gentle curious tone. 

"I don't have to shave until I go back to work."

"You should shave sooner," You say encouragingly. 

"Too tired," Jake says, stretching out one of his legs in the water. 

"Do you want help?"

"You want to give me a shave, sugar?"

"I'd be willing to give it a go if you feel like it would help," you answer plainly. He thinks about it before nodding. 

"It would." 

That's all you need to hear before you are stepping out of the bath. Immediately you hate how the wet material of your shirt clings to your skin. So, you quickly rip it off and throw it into the shower. Jake groans behind you and you point a finger back at him while grabbing fresh towels and Jake's shaving kit from beside the sink.  

"It's nothing you haven't seen and you can control yourself," you chastise him. 

"But you are so fucking beautiful," Jake groans making absolutely no effort to hide the way his eyes trace over your body. 

"You were two minutes from falling asleep."

"That was before," Jake whines as you come back to the bath and he sees you in even more detail. 

You set the shaving kit to the side within easy reach and settle yourself back into the water. You sit so your bare chest is pressed against his. This makes Jake close his eyes throwing his head back  whispering a quiet "Fuck."

When his eyes open again, they are slightly dilated with lust. It makes you smile at him whispering, "hi there." 

"Hi," he breaths back.

"Hi," you say again, smiling wider. Jake can't stop himself from smiling as well, lips drawn upwards. His hands trace up your bare sides and you give him a small glare. Grabbing his chin you tilt his head back once more. 

"Yup, hold yourself just like that," You tell him, pausing to make sure he doesn't move. You start to lather up some shaving cream spreading it along this neck. 

"Have you shaved someone else before?" Jake questions. 

"Not really. So, you might want to give me pointers. I don't want to cut your pretty face." You answer with a teasing tone. 

Jake hums in acknowledgement thinking for a long moment. Then he starts to detail the intricate shaving ritual he normally keeps. You follow each one of the steps. It's a slow process, shaving him. You are worried that you will cut him or make some other mistake in the process. Jake isn't hesitant or shy about giving you sweet and gentle encouragement. 

Finally, Jake's face is free of hair again. You help wipe away the remaining product, and dab on the aftershave in his kit you brought over. Jake winces but gives you a tentative smile when you stare at him examining your work. You smile back softly, setting things down that are in your way, feeling relieved to be done. 

The two of you finish your bath before getting out and drying off. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you head back to your room changing and settling into bed. Jake follows not long after in a pair of comfy pants and a soft muscle shirt. He asks if he can join you in bed even though you already pulled the covers back while waiting for him. 

Jake takes a bit of shifting to get comfortable until he is laying on his side facing you, meeting your gaze as you shift to see him better. You lift a hand to cup his face enjoying the fresh smooth skin there. 

"Ah, there he is," you say with a soft sigh. The lines of Hangman's face are prominent and easy to follow again. A tear spills from Jake's eye and you push it away gently. Leaning forwards Jake angles his lips to barely brush over yours before he pulls back. 

"Please?" You ask him, going to follow his lips for more. 

"I don't think we should," Jake responds and snuggles his face into your neck to avoid the temptation of your lips. 

"But we fit. We fit perfectly," you whisper. 

"That's exactly the problem," Jake answers. "I won't do wrong by you again. And that means I don't want to rush anything. Are you in a hurry?"

"Does that have a timeline?" You ask, ignoring your frustration. 

"It does in a general sense."

"Care to share?"

"Sure," Jake mutters tiredly into your neck. "I think it's been going for a while. Right?"

"That's right," You answer, letting your hand drift into his long hair. It is almost all the way dry now and fluffy. He had a haircut scheduled before he started work again leaving you only a few days left to savor this. His eyes close, and a small smile graces his face. With a gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp a tiny whine tumbles out of him. Jake seems too tired to care anymore. His nose just nuzzles your neck, and he places a tiny kiss there. You sigh, and resume playing with the silky strands. 

"And how long before we have it all figured out, Honey?" You ask. 

"As I see it, the rest of our lives. So, give or take sixty-ish more years."

"We are making it the long haul huh?"

"Yes, Ma'am. We will, so there's absolutely no reason to start at a sprint." 

"I thought you had a need for speed." You tell him teasingly. 

Jake huffs into your neck, sucking in a deep breath he blows it out slowly tickling your skin. "I have a great comeback for that."

"Oh really?" 

He hums in affirmation. Then he sleepily manages to crack an eye open and looks at you, while he mumbles, "But I am a sleepy boy. Wait, no…  a sleepy man"

You chuckle and kiss Jake's forehead. "Goodnight, sleepy boy"

"Sleepy man," he tries to correct you, but the words are hardly coherent. It takes less than five minutes before Jake is fully asleep, and you aren't far off yourself. Jake is so warm, and itis so easy to match your breaths with his deep even ones. Falling into a dream where you spend sixty years with Jake, even there in your dream you realize that still might not be enough. 

… 

Read the rest of this chapter on AO3. Sorry again, Tumblr wouldn't let me put it all here (and that it's so long). My first reblog of this here on Tumblr has the other half as well.

[steamberrystudio]

19/05/2024 Devlog

Hallo everyone! I'm actually updating tumblr in a fortnightly fashion! Yay for actually having the time to pre-write the post!

Writing:

As I mentioned last time, I am now embroiled in an epic battle with Chapter 10! 

I mean...I'm revising chapter 10. 

As I mentioned, this is a really big chapter and I expect it to get bigger as I flesh out some of the character interactions. The first love scene of each route (...ish) is in this scene too so obviously I need to check those out and make sure they're appropriately fleshed out.

I think last time I said the ending sequences in Chapter 10 were functional but needed to be fleshed out? I have no idea wtf I was talking about. One of them was literally a list of bullet points. 🤣🤣

In fairness, I think I recall that when I was editing Asher's path, I had an alternate ending idea for that section and just kind of roughly outlined it but left it for Future!Esh to work out because I wanted to finish up with Asher's edit. I just forgot that ending existed. The ending scenes all occur at roughly the same spot and the entire section was around 1500 words long. It's now about 7200 words long so...there's that.)

But with the endings out of the way, I'm now working on editing all the character-specific content. Which...is *most* of the chapter.

The chapter is currently 73,000 words and I do expect it to be over 80k by the end, taking the lead in terms of being the longest chapter.

I imagine the next two weeks will be me working on Chapter 10 but hopefully...*hopefully* I'll be done by then. And on to the final stretch of writing. 

Art:

Received a new BG since last time. Huzzah. Still slowly but surely getting those rolled in. 

I have also been keeping notes of additional variations for the sprites I want (or need) to add. Mostly just hair and outfit variations I want to add in to match the text. That isn't really art but it's art related anyway.

Other Stuff:

I have been working in some slightly different sprite choreography (?) than what I usually do because it's something I have been wanting to do for a while but have kind of been putting off. But I played a game recently that really inspired me to stop putting it off and try to code some of it into the game so I can see how it looks.

And so far I'm really liking it.

I've also been working on a few other minor changes/fixes for the game here and there.

Upcoming Weeks:

So far the editing process is going pretty smoothly. And I can only hope that continues. 

As I mentioned, I do still think this chapter is going to take me another couple of weeks. Because...by itself it's the length of novel. 

Once it's done, I feel like I'll kind of be in the home stretch. So yeah.

See you then!

[cinnabundoll]

may I ask about your palette hcs../nf

Hello hello!! So glad you asked!!

My headcanons (maybe even half of them) are canon expanded mostly. I like to work with what I'm given so that's a heads up before I actually explain them as it might be confusing if you aren't up to date with Lasser's ask blog

But I'll link them for reference! ^^ I'll bullet them just in case the explanation to each one is too lengthy.

That being said I'll be sharing my Palette headcanons that I can recall or still remember up to now under the cut

If the text is hard to read due to it being small, please tell me in replies! Some of these are personal so if you don't understand something, please ask me!!

CHAPTER 1 - CHARACTER LORE WISE

Palette's weapons are inspired by his parents, and additionally, his mentor

Palette has 3 (parental) figures in his life and coincidentally, has 3 weapons. That is - His Roller, Bazooka, and His sword.

In this case, his weapons mimic each of the important figures in his life. Palette and Ink have weapons that revolve around painting tools, Palette and Dream have ranged weapons while Palette and "Just(ice)" have blades/swords

It has been mentioned a few times that Palette dreams of becoming like his parents as they're a big inspiration to his aspirations as well. I also wanted to add Just as he had been his mentor (and even caretaker/teacher) ever since he was young (assumption) in which I will explain further in the next bullet

Palette's personality is heavily influenced by them

Now Palette's backstory is not as solid as it looks - It might be changed in the future but this is what I've gathered from older posts and a more "recent" one

(Important note, these are from Palette's creator themself, I only compiled it into one paragraph for reference, I couldn't find the first sentences as it's really deep into the blog)

If we take the current backstory that Ink and Dream took care of Palette, assumingly they've taken care of Palette for around 1-4/5 years until they made the decision for Just to take care of him

If you don't know who Just is I recommend reading these posts → 1 2 3 4

As stated by Lasser themself, Palette's personality stems from both his parents (and personally asked a friend for each one). Though I do think it resembles more of Dream's (selfless, caring individual, protective)

I can't say much as I haven't really researched any of the sanses since I focus more on their shipkids

Ink, Dream, and Just's personalities form Palette's. Just is the one with the most influence as he's technically Palette's caretaker and mentor, living with him until he got older and got his own house on the island.

Palette's childhood

This one is vaguely specific I highly recommend going back up to the posts about Just if you haven't read about him

This is more of a blabber ?? Not sure what to really call it it's like being given an idea in an instant and poorly writing it down

Palette comes off as a motivational and an inspirational person to others. I headcanon that how he was raised actually shows that - There are two stages into Palette's childhood, The 1st where he was in the doodle sphere and the 2nd where he was on the islands.

The 1st is where Ink and Dream were still taking care of him, with each parent taking turns in the process. (They still had jobs to do) Palette learned the basics, Ink and Dream shared their stories and experiences with him and taught him how the world works. But because he is limited to one place (a.k.a being raised in the doodle sphere) he lacked experience himself.

The 2nd one is where Ink and Dream decide it's dangerous for Palette to be in the doodle sphere further and decide to visit Just and asked him if he could take care of Palette

This is where he mostly gains what he needed the most to fully grasp and to develop what his motivations were and what he wanted to do in life or what his dreams were.

(Scroll back to see the pic to what I'm referring to)

The island he grew up in is an abandoned au, not many people lived there, and it was difficult to get things around. Just, the one who took him in, is a protector of the islands - In order for Palette to learn, he teaches him the hardships of life and his experiences by guiding and showing him throughout the rest of his childhood

When Just needs to do something, he includes Palette in it, such as, doing favors or helping people on the Island. This way Palette is able to learn things his own way with of course, the help of Just.

CHAPTER 2 - BODY HEADCANONS

Paint marks on his body (mainly arms, face etc..)

Palette is a messy painter and even forgets to wear his artist apron often. Faded paint marks still cover his arms over the years

Tan/Sun-kissed (?) (Human version)

Palette travels a lot and is exposed to being under the sun for periods of time, this resulted in his skin being tan. In addition, Palette is naturally warm and great at hugs.

CHAPTER 3 - MISCELLANEOUS

Basically just a collection of random headcanons of Palette, no explanation needed

In a Pokemon Trainer setting, Palette's from Unova, a Water/Ground specialist with Oshawott as his partner Pokemon (And he even hides a Wooper in his hat)

Palette is a fan of studio Ghibli films (not sure which one is his most favorite)

Palette has a collection of plushies that are scattered all over his room

When Palette is in his own little world and brainstorming ideas, he paces around the room for who knows how long, also expressive through movement.

Palette uses a lot of emojis and emoticons in his text messages

Palette's ukelele is painted personally by him. The paint is a bit worn as he's kept it for years.

Palette keeps his own box for all his trinkets and treasures he found on the beach

Palette carries a lot of accessories on his bags, keychains etc..

I think Palette would be a fan of farming or cozy games in general, maybe like Stardew Valley or Sky:Cotl. Papa's games if he wants to challenge himself

Palette knows a lot of info about aquatic animals, specifically penguins, he's basically a walking Wikipedia if you ask him about it

Palette notices things about people without telling them directly. If he's with a group of people and someone is left out, he'd bring up that person into the conversation for them to be included. BUT sometimes he slips up and says something wrong, his apologies are always sincere.

Palette prefers comfort over style. Most of his outfits are flowy or free to move in, his boots may symbolize "getting more grounded, natural, and earthy in the steps you are taking to actualize your aspirations"

And a lot more that I wasn't able to include (bc my brain is fried) Overall I analyze his character more than making headcanons of him 🤔 and most of the time it's connecting to only one topic (as you can tell in Chapter 1) but yea he's a silly goober I love his character, he keeps my sanity and creativity in check

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 25, 2021 8:00 p.m. the black pearl

[grant] well, i know it doesn’t fix the existential angst and you shouldn’t ever feel like it needs to go away instantly, but i guarantee you will be a good dad.

[grant] any kids you have will feel loved. they’ll be set up for the future no matter how everyone’s lives play out. i know you’ll do your best, and i know soobin will, too. you guys have worked so hard to have such a long and healthy and sincere relationship.

[grant] and the fact that you’re worried about any of this means you’re going to do a good job. shitty parents and shitty partners don’t ask if what they’re doing or about to do is wrong.

[grant] everyone is going to make mistakes sometimes but it’s about getting most of it right, and i believe you will. soobin doesn’t hold it over your head that for a while, your fear made you a little controlling. you improved and she forgave you. you’re smart, you’ll adapt, and most of all, you should know you’re loyal. at the end of the day, a parent who puts their kids first and never turns their back on them is the best parent in the world in my eyes.

[grant] mistakes can be forgiven if you put your kids first and treat them like a human being who matters.

[henry] thank you. i appreciate it. that means a lot coming from you.

[grant] and i understand your main fear in the first place. i've thought about it many times. i never worried about myself dying but others dying. elizabeth, uh...yeah. those big family losses seriously will ruin you forever in one way or another. the way you lost your father only makes it worse. it does strip away any feeling of invincibility you have.

[henry] you can say that again.

[henry] i'm glad someone understands.

[grant] you can never really know, i guess, what’s going to happen to you or to anyone you know, and it’s not helpful to say it’ll be fine because we all know crazy and terrible things happen. it's unfortunately mathematically true. but trust me, i'll kill you if you die!

[henry] you’ll kill me if i die? haha.

[henry] thanks for making me laugh, too.

[grant] yep. i will re-kill your ghost.

[henry] i'll kill you if you die.

[grant] thank you, buddy! you’re a real one.

[henry] dude, ugh, i googled life insurance policies a month ago. ew, adulthood.

[grant] life insurance is a good thing to have, though.

[henry] it is, it is. even if my hypothetical kids just buy a fucking pool with the money.

[grant] i mean, if it benefits them, right?

[henry] let me add a note to the policy saying you can either get an in-ground pool put in or free college tuition–one or the other.

[grant] does that include getting a sick ass waterfall feature installed on the pool or no?

[henry] by the way–

[henry] disclaimer that this is just an idea, not concrete at all, but soobin and i briefly mentioned moving back to korea as a way to make sure our kids have a good life.

[grant] wow, really? it is worth thinking about! it is rational. most of your family is here and all of soobin’s family does live here, and you do have to consider what’s best for you and your family, current and future. before i did move back home, when i was with you know who, i thought about this, too, if we ever had kids that maybe we could or should move back to michigan so they'd have my whole family around.

[grant] and just so it’s on the record, you have my full support in any decision here.

[grant] are you interested in moving back?

[henry] i don’t know. i haven’t lived here since i was five years old. i've only visited, and then came back for one year to do the military service because i was wary of giving up my citizenship. but i almost did because truly, i did not want to go into the army. that shit sucked.

[grant] what does soobin think?

[henry] well, it was her idea. i'm very whatever about wherever i live. i feel no strong pull one way or another at the moment. but it’s different for her.

[henry] she lived here much longer than me. she cares much more and has a preference. i mean, she spent pretty much her entire life here except since college and during the school semesters between sixth and twelfth grades because her parents sent her to a fancy private school there.

[henry] i will say, soobin’s main point isn’t wrong, and it's the one you brought up. most of our family is here. it’s like you and michigan. that’s where your folks are. and that support is invaluable when you have kids, both for their social development and for financial reasons. plus, my mom actually wants to move back. she never talks about it, but i know she does.

[grant] i get that, too.

[henry] like i said, she’s just never been the same since my dad died. which i don't fault her for. she does her best to be happy, you know, but i think she feels very alone, even more now that i don’t live on the upper peninsula anymore. she was with him forever. they were soulmates. and her life drastically changed after he died.

[henry] this has been the first time she's had a job since, god, the 1980s. she loves being an art teacher for school kids, but that's a huge change in addition to the sudden loneliness.

[henry] and on the loneliness side, she has your family and they've been close for a long time.

[grant] she was literally over at my aunt bridie's house the other day making shampoo with her.

[henry] yeah, so she sees them pretty often and she also has her book club and some other friends, but she knows way more people here. seoul's where all her family and friends are.

[henry] i want my mom to be happy, you know? it’s my job as her son, and i'm the only child she ever had. she doesn’t need me to look after her every day, not really, but i want to and she deserves that. and truth be told, a part of me believes that if she comes back, i would feel not very good about being away from her.

[henry] i think that if i encourage her to come back or talk to her about it and she does go through with it, that would sway me more to soobin’s side. again, i want my mom to be happy, and i'm also scared of losing her. it doesn’t matter if it’s sudden or slow. i don’t want to lose her, and especially not if i feel like i've spent my whole adult life away from her, not prioritizing what time is left with her.

[henry] not to be morbid, but she’s almost 60. at some point you do ask yourself how much longer you have left with your older family members around. life is unfortunately very short.

[grant] of course. that’s totally understandable. she's a great mother, and you wouldn't want to miss out on that. and i'm sure you don’t want your kids to not have their grandma present in their lives.

[henry] but then i have to start over with my job and maybe i lose contact with my friends if i leave. i do have friends here–sorry, they weren’t able to come hang out this time, maybe next time–but my real two best friends are in michigan. it’s you and ben. i don't let anyone else get that close to me except for soobin because to me, my best friend slots are full. i don't want anyone else. no one else is worth it.

[henry] and i always said you’d be my kids’ godfather. i don’t want them to miss out on knowing you the way they should.

[grant] there’s facetime! and i'd come visit. and i'm so goddamn annoying, i will be texting you about everything i think about in the world for the rest of our lives. you're not going to lose me.

[henry] i try my best to believe i won't lose you.

[grant] also, don’t stress out too much about this yet. you do not have to make any of these decisions now, and when you do need to, the right answers will come to you.

[grant] and listen, one last thing and then i'll shut up. i don’t know how, i don’t know why–i don’t think there is an answer to this–but the people we lose are still with us, even if only in spirit. i am famously a skeptic, but i felt something this year that changed my mind. i know you miss your dad but he’s still with you. somehow he’ll see your kids grow up, and he’ll be there guiding you to make the right decisions.

[grant] your dad loved you, like, beyond what words can express. he loved your mom just as much. he would never willingly leave you. if there's something after this mortal existence, he's still with you.

[grant] oh, and we should probably eat this pizza before it's frigid.

[henry] fuck, i forgot about it. thanks for reminding me. yeah, let's demolish this pizza, and then i'll take you to that cool arcade i told you about. we'll make up for the awful arcade experience at your cousin's bachelor party.

[yuesya]

When I read the way you described Megumi in the daughter au as the "reluctant babysitter", the first thing that came to me is that: "Damn, Shiki has a walking zoo as a babysitter".

Then came the images of young Megumi and baby Shiki just staring at each other, one in total confusion about what to do with a kid this small, and the other in curiosity with her big blue (cursed) eyes. Then somehow it end up with Divine Dogs being summoned as a playmate for the little girl. (Maybe with some other small Shikigami as well)

On another note, there is something that I have been wondering about: Do you have an estimated number chapters for each arcs before you write, like "This arcs will have X number of chapters, this one Y,..." I have always been curious about how fanfic writers such as yourself planned out your stories.

Also, any chance of all these snippets and aus being posted on AO3 in the, hopefully, near future? I love Zenith and all its glorious Au, but navigating these tags can be a pain in the ass some times. :v

Megumi would be a reluctant babysitter, but still an effective one! I think the Divine Dogs would be very effective in keeping young children preoccupied and out of trouble. The rabbits seem like they would make good playmates too, but at that point in time I don't think they would've been part of his repertoire. Maybe we add some toads for variety haha...

Or, maybe this kickstarts Megumi into working harder to add more shikigami to his roster! Such as: Shiki asks for new shikigami playmates and Megumi tells her he doesn't have any others, and she just kind of nods silently in understanding and doesn't say anything.

The next day Megumi walks through the door a little charred, a little smoking, but with a brand new mini-Nue sitting on his arm.

I don't have an exact number of estimated chapters before I start writing. I can't speak for anyone else, but for me personally, I always have a general idea of the overarching plot and major events before I start writing. Minor details get filled in as I go. Like, for a minor arc I'll tell myself, 'A, B, and C are going to happen,' and that's what I work with. Except sometimes D and E come along for the ride, too, so there's also that...

I do not see myself posting AU snippets on AO3 anytime in the near future, apologies! Like you mentioned, they're rather disorganized and not even written chronologically. Many of them are also responses to Tumblr asks, which only adds to the confusing nature of it all. (For those who are curious, all snippets can be found under the '#Writing' tag.) I have an index of sorts compiled on Ko-fi, but it's still rather disorganized without context. I don't want to post this mess onto AO3 since I think it could very easily get even more confusing.

... I figure that if people are looking through the Tumblr tags, then at least they probably know what they're looking for haha. Apologies for the inconvenience!

Currently I have no plans of posting these snippets on AO3, unless they get developed as proper stories in their own right. Which would probably be a ways into the future, if it ever happens.

[lopposting]

DLC interview notes Compilation + speculation

[Please note, these are all rough translations]

Compilation of links I found of director choi discussing the DLC, from as way back as 2022.

It looks as though, as of 2022, the DLC would pertain to the world of Pinocchio, and we probably won't see Oz related stuff just yet as teased by the Dorothy appearance in the end cutscene. Given that the DLC is slated to be released soon-ish, we can assume that it's been planned far in advance and that the 2022 interview is relevant to the content of the DLC that will be released this year [Just my assumption].

Q. You reinterpreted the fairy tale ‘The Adventures of Pinocchio’ as a cruel fairy tale. Do you have any plans to release other fairy tales in DLC form in the future? [Choi Ji-won] Rather than thinking about another fairy tale, the DLC plans to unravel Lies of P's world as originally conceived. We are not immediately thinking about expanding the fairy tale with new material or new IP. Of course, if there is an attractive fairy tale, there's no hesitation in choosing it. Gametok (KOR) [2022 Oct 17]

The worldview envisioned for Pinocchio is vast. I want to show a lot of what has been prepared through DLC. Rather than a new fairy tale, I want to [elaborate on the world of Lies of P]. However, if there is an attractive fairy tale there's no hesitation. We are fully willing to consider it as a next project. gameabout (KOR) [2022 Oct 11] (Nearly the exact same answer)

gamey (KOR) [2022 Oct 17] (from the same event/panel probably. Maybe this is just the exact same answer processed through different media outlets? I'm not sure)

DLC has been in preparation for some time. Plus, talk on expanding on the story elements in the main game, and pretty much confirming it will expand on "truths" that were not covered in the main story:[LETS GOOO]

Q I’m curious if there are any plans to add DLC or PvP content. A General Director Choi Ji-won = DLC has been in preparation for some time. The 'Lies of P' worldview that was thought of at the beginning of development is much more extensive, and we plan to unravel that part through DLC. The main theme will be the journey to find the truth and explore the world that was not covered in the main story. PvP content is not being considered. dailygame (KOR)[2023 June 9]

(Again, it seems like there is more to the story than what was really present in the final game.)

[Note!!: This may not confirm PVP content is not being considered *for the DLC*? This is what I think is a pre-release interview and he may be referring to PVP not being in the main game. I'm not sure. Although, I don't see PVP being added given LOP's linear style.]

I notice he mentions story in many cases when talking about the DLC. This makes me think that the DLC will be primarily story-focused:

gamey [KOR]

pinpoint news [KOR][2022 oct 17]

[from the director letter video, while talking about the DLC.]

- DLC를 통해 콘텐츠를 추가하거나 스토리를 확장할 계획이 있는지? 최지원 PD: 지금도 DLC의 구상을 하고 있다. 제대로 된 이야기가 보장된 작품을 만들고 싶은 욕심이 있다. 이 세계관과 관련된 다양한 이야기를 더 확실하게 확장하고 싶기 때문이다.

- Are there any plans to add content or expand the story through DLC? PD Choi Ji-won: We are still thinking about DLC. The ambition is to create a work that guarantees a proper story. This is because [we] want to expand more clearly the various stories related to this [world/universe]. gameabout

"I'll put it this way: there are more stories I want to tell in Lies of P, so I hope [it] does well." gamesindustry (ENG)[2023 Sept 20]

As of August 27 2023, he mentions that DLC has already gone into production (sportsseoul)(KOR):

More notes: LOP's development time was supposedly remarkably tight. It seems like it had a development time of roughly three years? LOP had tight goals and a very tightly focused scope (no multiplayer) to achieve that timeframe [also just a good article below]:

"South Korea belongs to the PC package and console game barren land" - article

Again, please note these are rough translations

The full list of links I found of LOP team mentioning the DLC below (also just a ref for myself):

gametoc

gameabout

pinpoint

sportsseoul

inven

dailygame

gamey

[pascaloverx]

Strangers?

Part Four

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Author's note: This fanfic is set in the creation of Jenny Han. Conrad Fisher and other characters mentioned in the future do not belong to me. I hope you like this fanfic, depending on how it goes, I'll decide if this fic will have more parts or just this one. This fanfic is recommended for all audiences, there will be no adult content in it, only possible inappropriate language and alcohol consumption.

You and Conrad were basically already dressed appropriately to spend time with Jeremiah and Belly. The couple is putting away all the food that you and they brought. You and Conrad are currently grabbing sticks or anything to start the fireplace. Conrad is silent, as if something is bothering him internally.

"Do you want me to pretend I'm feeling unwell, and we discreetly escape from here?" You say, offering a subtle smile, hoping for a positive response from Conrad.

"And where would we be heading, Miss Y/N?" Conrad says, adjusting the twigs in his arms with a playful tone.

"I'll let you take me wherever you want..." You say, gathering a few more twigs, looking at Conrad appearing excited at the prospect of you two escaping now.

"You shouldn't say that to me, honestly, if it were up to me, you'd be under..." Conrad is about to say something cheeky. You can sense it, perhaps even wish for it. Unfortunately, you both hear Belly calling you to come for dinner.

"I guess you'll have to save that story for later." You say, giving Conrad a peck on the lips, leaving him seemingly discontent as you head towards dinner with Belly.

You both stack the branches and wood you've gathered, and Conrad uses his lighter to ignite the fire. You watch him closely, realizing that he is terrible at making fires but that he is persistent when he wants something. You, Belly, and Jeremiah are already seated, enjoying a mix of soda, snacks, and chocolate bars. Luckily Belly bought marshmallows for you to eat later.

"Well, how did you two meet?" Jeremiah asks as you all eat together this time, Conrad successfully getting the fire going after a few tries.

"Funny story, we met just a few hours ago when I rescued him from some quality alone time contemplating life. But, to be honest, I did it for selfish reasons." You reply, taking a sip of your soda. Jeremiah and Belly seem surprised in some way, but Conrad appears relieved. Did he think you were going to spill about the crisis he was having before you rescued him?

"So, you didn't just bring a stranger to Cousins?" Belly asks, and you feel a bit uncomfortable. Conrad tenses up, while Jeremiah observes his girlfriend's question, clearly coming off as jealous.

"She was already heading this way, and in fact, she brought me." Conrad says in a dry and serious tone. It seems like the campfire atmosphere is no longer as friendly.

"Even so, it's strange that you chose to come here with someone you barely know..." Belly responds, the tension in the air becoming palpable.

"What does it matter whether I've known her for five hours or two years? We both needed company, and that's what we found in each other. And if you ask me, this isn't the strangest thing happening around here right now." Conrad seems more irritated than usual.

"What do you mean by that?" You watch as Belly drops the snack she was holding. Jeremiah, like you, seems to be processing what's unfolding.

"It's obvious that the weirdest thing here is my ex-girlfriend questioning me about coming here with a stranger while she's in the company of her own boyfriend. And, to top it off, he happens to be my brother. Now, Belly, that's what I call strange." Conrad adds, tension escalating around the campfire. The flames of the campfire dance, mirroring the tension among you. The crackling of the fire echoes the discomfort in the air as everyone searches for words to ease the heavy atmosphere.

"Are you doing this to punish me?" Belly questions Conrad, and it seems that before he can respond, Jeremiah intervenes.

"If you want to argue about anything, at least wait until we're not making the new acquaintance feel utterly awkward with your behavior." Jeremiah interjects, trying to diffuse the tension.

"In fact, I think you guys need a family moment or whatever this is. I'll head to my car and see if I can get a signal to call my mom." You say, trying not to let on how uncomfortable the argument was. The worst part is, you're not even sure why it bothered you so much. You get up walking to your car and feel a weight on your chest as if you want to cry. You tell yourself there's no reason to do this and pick up your cell phone to call your mom.

"Where are you, Y/N Y/L/N?" Your mom's tone already signals trouble for you when you get home. What a wonderful day you're having.

"I'm in Cousins, Mom. Don't worry, I'll be home in a few hours." You talk while watching the love triangle talk about something you have no idea what it is from a distance. You observe them calmer than before and from a distance, Conrad captures your gaze, as if he could read your thoughts. His look is intense, and you feel mesmerized for a few seconds until you refocus on your mother, who is complaining about you being out of touch for hours.

"Did you know Noah just dropped by asking about you?" You hear your ex's name, and you automatically feel irritation at the thought of him being around your family. To think he once said dating you was almost like charity.

"Mom, do me a favor. If he asks about me, tell him I'm dead. And don't let him get near my house or you. I just don't want him anywhere near our lives." You speak, trying to maintain a certain softness in your voice, but you really want to scream as loud as possible that you hate him.

"Message received. I'll do my best to keep him out of our lives. But tell me, how are you? Is there someone special, or do you need anything?" Your mother asks with a mix of curiosity and concern in her voice. You're glad to know she cares.

"I'm good and just need some time to clear my head. As for being with someone..." You smile, thinking about Conrad, but try not to let it show too much.

"From the way you answered, I can tell you're already enchanted by someone, whoever that may be. Youth these days, wasting no time..." Your mother uses that tone every mom uses when they want to make a critique without being too direct.

"Not planned, Mrs. Y/M/N. I just happened to meet someone who seems nice. And, to be honest, time is too precious to waste. Before you ask, his name is Conrad, and we're in Cousins. You might remember this place. It's where my idiotic ex brought us to meet his parents." You say as you think about how much you wasted your time with Noah. Your mother sighs on the other end of the call.

"Don't you want to go home and get some motherly affection?" You smile at your mother's proposal, knowing that this is completely out of character.

"Mom, go distract yourself, watch a movie or a soap opera. I'll be fine here, enjoying the beach and the company..." In your head you wonder why you allow yourself to feel all this considering the argument you just witnessed.

"Alright, dear. Take care there, and try to let yourself be loved again." Your mom speaks with a mix of concern and motherly advice.

"Mom, don't go imagining that I'm in some romance. Conrad seems to be... but his heart is already taken, and I just can't deal with that kind of drama right now." You may not be convinced by your own words but what matters is that this is what your brain says.

"If I had thought like you, I would have never met your father. But I'll let you make your own decisions. Call me anytime, and don't forget to eat properly." Your mother says hanging up the call and you turn around, only to be met with a strangely smiling Conrad.

"Did you lose something here, Mr. Conrad?" You playfully ask, trying to pretend you're not dying of embarrassment.

"Fisher. If you're going to call me by name, I think it sounds more charming with the last name included. And yes, I did lose something, actually." Conrad responds, approaching you and gazing at you gently as if he's enchanted.

"What did you lose, Mr. Fisher?" You daringly ask, inching even closer. Your faces are nearly inches apart.

"I lost control over my heart..." He says, holding your waist and kissing you. A spontaneous kiss that makes you lose your balance. Fortunately, Conrad catches you, pressing you against the car door. You allow yourself to get lost in Conrad's lips. When you pull away slightly to catch your breath, Conrad starts kissing your neck tenderly.

"Do you want to get in the car and have some privacy?"You say, opening the door behind you. Conrad nods in agreement and follows you as you get into the car.

[shiny-jr]

Okay I've just been my lurker self the whole time so now I'm extremely late to the party but I just have to say sth bc personally contrary to my expectations rather than Pomfiore I really loved the Scarabia result a lot. Well I guess the ending messed with it a bit for me personally bc I just can't imagine it ending in a satisfying way no matter what, but anything up until then? JUICY you literally had me at the edge of my seat the whole time the tension between everyone was SOO good it felt like really. Exciting? Reading it honestly

I'm not good with wording things like this so I wish I could just beam by feelings and experiences into your brain so you can Understand but like. It was an absolutely amazing read and I can't believe so many people have and continue to brush past it

Like yeah I didn't expect it esp bc so far I don't think I ever came across anything centered around the Scarabia guys that didn't just make me feel extremely neutral but it might just be my fav so far. Rotating in my brain regularly.

(also on that note PLEASE post the results here too unless I somehow missed that!!! I need them in my Tumblr collection to re-read)

Okay passionate 4am rant over thank you for your time. Also yeah I'm extremely tired so I just wanted to add that i hope this doesn't come across as me not liking the other stuff or sth bc I absolutely LOVE it. Your writing in general but esp damnation it's so so good okay byeee back to my hermit existence I go

Seriously? Well, I'm glad people are still enjoying Scarabia. As I mentioned before, Scarabia along with Octavinelle are the two results I am not particularly proud of. But they're there. They're a thing. They exist. Out of all the results thus far, Scarabia gave me the most trouble with by far. There were just a lot of obstacles and pauses when writing that particular result, as it was actually the only result thus far that I had to rewrite.

Unfortunately, the Scarabia duo always get bypassed for other dorms, which is really unfortunate because their relationship and chemistry is very intriguing. I don't think I portrayed that all too well to be honest.

Anyways, all the results thus far on already on Tumblr. The only ones that are missing are Ignihyde and Diasomnia, because they are currently still in the works. But the progress with those two seem to be going pretty steady, actually, faster than anticipated. At this rate if it continues like this, I'll have both results ready in time for the next milestone. But that's far ahead in the future, so I'm currently not too worried about that at the moment.

Thank you very much for your words, anon! I really appreciate it. I hope you did end up finding the results on Tumblr alright, but just know that they're there already. Check the masterlist if you are having trouble finding them, or just send me a dm and I'll be glad to send a link.

[brightside-of-the-upsidedown]

Baby, I Got Sick This Morning

Chapter 10 I wanna lay you down in a bed of roses (For tonight I sleep on a bed of nails)

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Harringroveson, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Word Count: 56,393

Status: On Going

Chapter Summary: Our boys take a break, Steve gets some rest, there is talking and- not talking. Beware Teddy Bears, for they are fierce ❤

Chapter Notes: Yes, sorry for the late update. Health has been dragging me down and I've stayed busy with work on top of it. But I hope this chapter finds you all well!

Thank you to my partner for his support and to my amazing beta, Leti, who could use all the love right now ❤ go read and support her fics on @leticheecopae! Tell her Harle sent you ❤

The next update may take 2 to 4 weeks, hopefully not that long but I like to let people know what to expect as I'm writing as I go.

Thank you all for hanging in there with me ❤ your support means a lot!

Story Summary: Steve is dying, but what hurts the most is watching how it's affecting his family, his friends, everyone around him.

Nothing seems to be helping - not his community rallying around him, not magic itself, and not the devoted attention of Eddie Munson. Eddie is a rock and a hurricane in Steve's life. Steve might also be a little bit in love with him.

Then, one day when all other options run out, Eddie introduces him to one Billy Hargrove, and Steve's already-screwed-up life might be taking a turn. But is it for the better or for the more dangerous?

Notes: not all of Steve's chronic issues will be healed. He will always have some disabilities because I ain't about about that 'cure all' shit. They're just saving his life here.

As for the magical pregnancy: it will be in the sequel, so you'll be able to read this as a stand alone if it's a squick for you. I gotchu buddies ❤

Tags: Terminal Illnesses, Chronic Illness, Fantasy, What If Stranger Things Was More Like Buffy The Vampire Slayer?, Magic Shit, Mentioned Malpractice, Magic Practice, Magical Healing Cock, Future Magical Pregnancy? It's all complicated and Fairy Tale Rumplestiltskin bullshit, Magical Creatures, Demodogs are Hellhounds, Steve is bad sick from an injury, head injuries, Head Injury, Past Torture, Past Relationship(s), past Stancy, Tinnitus, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Chrissy lived and is living her best life somewhere, mention of cults, Steve's having a bad time but it improves, Steve Needs a Hug, he's gonna get one and more, Billy Hargrove is Bad at Feelings, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve with long hair, I'm running out of ideas for tags so I'll add more later, please suggest tags if you like, slow updates but please comment it helps so much

[off-color-darkrai]

NOTE: This is MY arbitrary opinion. You don't have to agree with it. You can, but you don't have to.

So, I grew up going to Disney World and Disneyland, it was a fundamental part of my childhood.

If someone asked me if I was going to take my own kids there if I had any... I'd likely say No.

You heard me, no.

Disney has been scrambling for a while now, story wise, imagination wise, (if I have to see another shitty live action remake of an originally good movie remade to be terrible to appeal to modern audiences I'm going to hurl). It's like they're embarrassed to be related to pre 2015 Disney.

Disney is acting like a stereotypical emo teen freaking out about back when they weren't annoying and lame, and trying to seem cool now by trying to destroy everything that people used to like about them. They've added and upgraded rides and lands before, test-track has been upgraded at least twice, Animal Kingdom had the expedition Everest ride added and Avatar land, etc. but all of these updates were either simply updates, or were pretty spaced out.

What Disney is doing with it's parks right now is wildly different.

They're clearing out multiple classic rides at multiple parks on the same time table, for what? They've already removed almost all of the original rides from Hollywood Studios, and they're threatening to take out the rest, not to mention they forgot the park's theme in their push to add a bunch of rides from newer franchises that keep breaking down.

Does anyone remember that Hollywood Studios was supposed to show off how movies were made? It had a backlot tour, a stunt show, the rides were themed around sound stages, they had art of animation where you sometimes got to see some of the newer movies in the works. They had an amazing playground based on 'honey I shrunk the kid's. Couldn't we have tied galaxies edge in using the sound stage entrance scheme? Who thought it was a good idea to cut the Indiana Jones stunt show's run? Personally I'd love to watch a Marvel stunt show.

Epcot was supposed to celebrate humanity, future world divided into natural innovation and technological innovation, while the rest of Epcot celebrated world culture and diversity. Epcot is doing better than a lot of the other lands/kingdoms, but I have no clue why Guardians of the Galaxy is right next to Mission Space and not in Hollywood Studios or something. Again, Marvel Stunt show people, come on.

Animal Kingdom is about to lose Dinoland USA right as they finally got to live up to the promise of having existing animals, extinct animals, and imaginary animals (which they're supposed to have had since the beginning, if you'll notice the dragon on the signage and the dragon head on one of the ticket kiosks). I'm all for the Pacific islands, south America area, I just don't like them removing the dinosaurs for it.

And last, but not least... Magic Kingdom... Oh boy Magic Kingdom... Why is Tom Sawyer Island becoming Car's themed? Why did you take the country songs out of country bear jamboree? Why are you going to retheme big thunder mountain? Why isn't Tiana's bayou a sit down river ride and restaurant while splash mountain is about Brother Bear? Why did you ruin the flow of Haunted Mansion's in ride story by putting the hat box ghost in the foyer before the sayance instead of at the top of the stairs by constance? Why must you shit on my childhood? Why are you like this?!

I'm not going to shell out the massive amount of money I would have to shell out to go to Disney to ride a bunch of rides I have no nostalgia for, full of brand new perpetually broken animatronics, for new age Disney movies, half of which suck because the writing is trash that my imaginary kids could write better than. You're shocked you're losing money? Gee, I wonder why.

If they chill out and calm the fat down and stop over charging and trying to get rid of anything that happened or was created before 2015, maybe I'll reconsider. For now they're just pitiful, (and way too expensive).