[for lacha] honey whine, harvest reaping
Harvest Reaping: For some headcanons about our muses.
Every time Lacha would be on a date or stuck in her study for the day he would leave little messages in the cups of coffee or wine she had lying around or sliding down the rain on her windows. He’d leave jokes over her dates’ appearances in her drinks in an attempt to make her laugh and remember him waiting for her when they were discarded, always there, always there.
When Camellia was born Lacha gave him a much looser reign with her since she wouldn’t remember anything of him as a baby. It allowed him to bring her to the library and a far off park and anywhere he could that wouldn’t seem too suspicious yet give him time with his daughter while he could. Lacha would come to find him asleep on the couch with her cradled on his chest and would be both amused and slightly embarrassed but almost always would find a way to join.
While their quasi-relationship has been incredibly secretive for a majority of the time they’ve been dealing with each other they have allowed a few mementos here and there. Hidden in an iron safe that his mother guards along with his father’s keepsakes is a photo of them together, the only photograph proof of them ever, and a few early attempts at love letters they had in the early days before it became more discrete and required his hidden messages.
Once, and only once, did Gale ever attempt to find out what Lacha felt about her other lovers and whether they were to fill the gaps or meant more. It led to such a vicious argument that she slapped him and would turn him on silent every time he tried to speak for the next month. It only ended when he got on his knees and apologized in more ways than one.
Honey Wine: For my muse to describe yours while ridiculously drunk.
“She’s just...she’s so good, y’know?” Gale slurred, taking one step out of the bar and lurching forward when his foot met only empty air. That one step down had seemed a lot closer than he thought. The steps leading further down into the library seemed to go on forever and he hit each step with a loud thud. “She’s like....sunshine and daises and fucking roses but she’s also,” he hiccuped, “a total bitch when she wants to be. Raging. So mean.” Rowan only silently followed and would’ve likely let him just fall to the ground before she ever offered an arm. But at least she was there.
“But I just loooove her and she loves me but it’s not the same. She had my fucking kid but noooo, I’m the bad guy. I’m quiet like a mouse and then it’s like boom! Trouble.” He tried to roll his eyes but only ended up with a headache. Where did he put his feet again? “She’s still hot though. Fuckin’ hell, she’s got the best-” another hiccup, “best most beautiful body. And she does this thing with her tongue on my dick-” his foot slipped and went out in open air before he finally face planted.
