#but 🤷🏼‍♀️

[gender-fluidz]

Idk here’s my butt I guess

[moldystrawberrie]

That fulfilling pop and slide when you finally get your next size up gauge to go though

[sadaveniren]

Two takeaways I have - which aren’t new but always are worth repeating.

- Louis print interviews are like the King James’ Bible. Only the red letters matter

- Instead of pooling money for billboards and advertising maybe fans should pay for therapy cause blanking stuff out is a ~trauma response~ and it’s ~not okay~

[romanoffsbish]

Trying to decipher if this girl liked my outfit in a gay way, or a friendly way is too much work. 🙃

[hangmanssunnies]

Do you ever realize someone is doing something malicious as payback on purpose, but you don’t say anything because you deserve it?

[lavenderprose]

Emmrich is a morning person and Rook is only a morning person under duress, which becomes only a minor issue after the gods are finally dead because Rook's ideal wake up time is roughly noon, and Emmrich's up at the asscrack of dawn every day whether he works or not.

It's six thirty AM and Rook's face-down on the bed, titties out and hair splayed across three pillows, and Elgar'nan breathed this last breath less than a week ago. Emmrich gave the various factions of Thedas exactly three days to demand Rook's attention and, on the morning of the fourth day, grabbed Rook with one hand and Manfred with the other and asked the Caretaker if there was an Eluvian that might deposit one anywhere in the area of the Cumberland countryside.

Emmrich apparently maintains a small country house here, for 'Whatever occassion might arise' (demented) and it's modest but pretty. Manfred trampled straight into the rose garden when they got here and hasn't emerged since, but Emmrich claims that's normal for him. Rook personally believes that Manfred, even, is still processing their mutual ordeal, but she's content to let him do it with the caterpillars and the rose petals. Not like a skeleton can be pricked by a thorn.

The moment they arrived, Emmrich sought out the housekeeper and told her that her services would not be required for the coming week, and to stand by on the subject of next week as well.

"Go celebrate the world not ending, Helga!" he'd said, maybe a bit too loud and manic, as he closed what was surely much more than a week's salary into her hand. Knowing Emmrich, there was already a very robust system in place to assure that his housekeeper received her generous salary every week--this was merely some sort of consolation pay for the very difficult task of being given a week of vacation.

Helga was Elven, at least as old as Emmrich and blinked at him like a vaguely surprised cat. She swept her gaze over Rook as well before leaving. She'd been smirking, Rook thought, as the door closed behind her.

Thus, they've been alone in the house, and Rook has been sleeping, staring vaguely into the distance, sleeping, reading from Emmrich's extensive collection, looking at the ceiling while trying to forget the sight of Bellara's blighted eyes, sleeping, bouncing on Emmrich's dick like it's her job, and sleeping sleeping sleeping.

They've been here for two days, more or less 48 hours, and many of those hours were spent in his lap. Fucking him, yes, but also just clinging onto him like an extra limb because right now, she feels like she might disintegrate if he isn't touching her. He reads to her. Smiles and laughs through so many stories from his life. She thinks about Solas disappearing into the Fade, maybe never to be seen again. The last God of her people.

When she goes too quiet, sometimes he tells her a joke or puts a little chocolate in her mouth. Once, he ate her out while humming the Nevarran national anthem and she laughed as she came. Sometimes he joins her in melancholy and they lay together and cope. Sometimes she cries, mostly from exhaustion and relief and grief, and he kisses her face. Sometimes he cries. From exhaustion and relief and grief, probably. She tucks her head under his chin and rubs her small hand up and down his broad back, and then she swipes the snot and tears out of his mustache with her very own thumb because she loves him, she loves him.

This morning, she flutters her eyes open and enjoys the texture of the silk sheets against her bare body (Last night, and for lack of a better term, Emmrich fucked her to sleep--apparently, when the world isn't in active peril, he's very into the whole tantric thing. Hours of crazy hot, dragging sex that destroys braincells, but only the ones she's better off not having.) and she does that for about thirty seconds before she realizes it's just barely light outside, blue and cool. Then she starts wondering why the fuck she's awake right now.

The answer becomes apparent immediately: Emmrich is in the ensuite bath, running water and making the weirdest, loudest noises. She thinks at first that he's managed to gag himself with his own toothbrush, but then he sneezes, blows his nose with a honking noise like a malfunctioning horn, and clears his throat so thunderously that Rook thinks he must somehow be drowning.

She rolls out of bed and wobbles into the bathroom, birthday suit and all, because clearly he's become sick in the night and it's now up to her to guide him back to bed and care for him. She's surprised, then, to find him looking hale and healthy in front of the sink. He's wearing nothing but silk pajama pants and down slippers. He's making an absurd clicking sound and swirling a finger inside his ear.

"Are you okay?" Rook demands, propped on the doorjamb.

Emmrich jumps a foot on the air, winces as he jabs his own eardrum, and says, "Ow! Darling, please don't sneak up on--"

"You are being so loud," she says, because the polite section of her brain hasn't woken up. "Are you choking? Are you sick?"

"No," Emmrich says slowly. "I just--oh, the door must have fallen open. The floor isn't terribly even here. I'm sorry, darling--sound does carry in this old house." He twirls a finger behind his ear and clinks again. "I fear I suffer seasonal allergies, dearest, and it's been a long while since I slept more than a night or two outside of the Necropolis or the Fade. There's quite a bit of...mucus..." He clears his throat.

"Gross," says Rook, and then, "It's dawn, Emmrich."

"Mm-hm." Emmrich is now leaning across the counter, two inches from the mirror and examining his mustache like a jewel appraiser.

"Why are you making heinous old man noises at dawn?"

His eyes veer towards her reflection in the mirror, and they make eye contact in the glass. Very neatly, and with a raised eyebrow, he says, "Heinous old man noises."

Rook starts making hawking, gutteral noises in the back of her throat. It's a pretty faithful imitation.

"Dearest," he yells over the sound. "I apologize for waking you--"

"I cannot believe," says Rook, "that I'm going to spend the rest of my life being woken up at dawn by the hacks and sneezes of a man who wears wing tip shoes."

She's halfway through a half-asleep snicker at the hilarity of her own statement when Emmrich fixes her with a surprised look in his wet eyes and she realizes she's never actually voiced the idea that has become an unspoken certainty in her mind: That he's the love of her life, and her life may not be as short as she was thinking it might be this time last week, and that she wants nothing more than to spend the rest of her ambiguously-numbered mornings waking up to him.

She also realizes the truth of the situation. The baths in the Lighthouse were communal, and one never knew which companion they might encounter during their morning routine. Emmrich is fastidious and spends a great deal of his energy in broadcasting the image of a man who is utterly put together in everything he does. Never a hair out of place or a thread loose. It's a privilege of the highest order to witness him this way. Sleep-mused hair, shadow on his jaw. The bleariness of sleep in his eyes and, yes, even the throat-clearing and nose blowing.

Emmrich clears his throat and whispers, "Forgive me. I've...lived alone. For a very long time."

Rook's eyes water as she croaks, "Not anymore. I don't...want you to."

A smile spreads his face. It is wobbly, boyish, and so so beautiful. The absurdity of the situation finally reaches her--she is very naked and he's only slightly more dressed and there is a perfectly warm, perfectly comfortable bed steps away.

"Come back to bed," Rook says. "Please?"

He does.

[shellshocklove]

Yes please!

<3

[solarial-lane]

changed my username, questionableoverlord to solarial-lane

[lad-boyo]

.

[l3viat8an]

MC:*standing in front of the HoL and yelling as loud as they can* Solomon, what are you doing? Don’t walk on my roof!

Solomon:*on the HoL roof* Just a minute, you have some fascinating fungi up here.

MC: What!?

Solomon:*now yelling back* I said; YOU HAVE SOME FASCINATING FUNGI UP HERE!

MC: I don’t care! Get off my roof!

Solomon:*grumbling to himself* you’re no fun.

MC: What did you say!?

Solomon: I said; I love you hun!

[sadaveniren]

could also be just a layover!

Oh I agree it could (though why he’d need to fly through Atlanta to get to a place he generally goes in the USA from the UK is anyone’s guess) but I was just saying that the Masters is 100% more likely than doing a Marvel movie - that again! hasn’t been green lit!

[zenlosingit]

Initially shared these on twitter, but the other day I was doing a bunch of warm up sketches of little ideas I had and with some of Bingqiu with a baby, it got me real emotional when I got to the end product.

They’re dads your honor.

[iocaisaint]

I don't know how to explain but one thing I'll always love about Nesta is her accomplishments and how she's seen in the eyes of canon vs how they genuinely don't register to her (like not in a humble way she genuinely just never thinks about)

like she's able to circumvent a high lords glamour through pure strength of will

she then treks on a 4 day round trip through wolf country in the dead of winter to go get her sister back, simply because it wasn't right she was taken when the family has only benefitted from that

this leads into ACOMAF where Feyre thinks about asking Rhysand if he can force Nesta's hand if she doesn't agree to host (daemati powers) and then questions if he could even do it to Nesta

We've got literal gods talking about some Nesta "you're the one the wind whispered about" in ACOWAR

her having the King off Hybern scared as a human simply because she pointed a finger at him

Then there's the king slaying obviously

Then at some point between ACOFAS & ACOSF she manages to deal with her terror of bathtubs through pure exposure therapy and no outside help

Then there's the weapons she made

Not being able to be contained by Rhys at the height of her power (+ him admitting that she scares)

Kelpie slaying, dread trove, pure death etc.

Then there's the mother imbuing her power into Nesta's friendship bracelets? This one was genuinely crazy

Her managing those 10,000 steps that were difficult for even the bat boys on nothing but strong thighs and spite!

This is one I hate but the IC just throwing her at any single man (Helion & Eris) in Pyrthian to get what they want and it working

Holding the pass for Gwyn & Em, murdering Briallyn, stopping time, making a deal with a soup pot, having a one on one with the mother and saving Nyx, Feyre and Rhys in one morning

Then HOFAS she's calling up the dread trove through universes and slaying the wyrm, getting Gwydion and going down as saviour of another universe

This entire moment>>>>>> "Rhys nodded without looking at the warrior, and focused all his fury on Nesta. To her credit, the female stood stiff-backed, chin high. Imperious and unbending. Ember couldn't help but admire her.

Rhysand’s violet-blue eyes guttered into pure darkness at the challenge in Nesta’s expression, her stance. A predator recognizing a worthy opponent—and unsheathing its talons. His hands curled at his sides, as if invisible claws were forming."

Then we get into Nesta's pov and her only desires are to go home to her man, hang out with Emerie & Gwyn, get her hands on a pegasus, read smutty books and eat chocolate cake 😭

I may not like how her story went but I'll always appreciate that this part of her stayed the same

[puckinghischier]

Currently sitting here daydreaming about being on the boat with the Hughes boys. Like, just imagine sitting in front of where Jack is as his hands rest against your shoulders where he’s softly massing your bare shoulders as he’s talking with Quinn and Luke as he cheekily plays with the strings of your bikini top, but you go to playfully slap his hand away as he’d chuckle and lean down to kiss your head as he’d pull you in closer as he’d whisper, “Sorry, pretty girl. Just can’t help myself when you look so beautiful. You know what that bikini does to me.”

“no, seriously, i think he’s gonna be even better this year. have you seen the work he’s been putting in this summer? the man is basically the hulk now,” luke rambles on, talking about someone on an opposing team, the name lost on you, not having tuned in to the full conversation.

you’re too busy feeling the warm sun on your darkening skin, basking in the feeling of being on the water.

“okay, you’re exaggerating a bit. he’s definitely been working hard, but he’s only worrying about strength, not skill or stamina,” you hear quinn’s voice respond.

you’re listening intently for clues at this point, too nosy for your own good, wanting to figure out who they’re talking about, but you can’t be bothered enough to ask.

“he’s definitely gotta work on his diet, too. heard he eats nothing but sugar and junk after games. can’t be helping the stats any,” your own boyfriend chimes in, nearly being able to feel the words leave his body as you’re leaned up against him, letting him rub soothing circles on your bare shoulders.

quinn and luke both mumble something in return, but you’re distracted by the switch up in rhythm of your lazy massage. his hands creep down farther towards the front of your shoulders, brushing your exposed collar bones.

leaning farther back, letting him know how much you like the new pattern, you force yourself back into sleuth mode.

“i just can’t imagine paying that much for a personal trainer out in LA just to throw it all away with bad habits. heard he’s been partying like crazy, too,” it’s quinn’s voice that gives you the clues.

LA? so they’re talking about someone from either the kings or the ducks.

as you’re running through your mental roster of each team, you feel the small strip of fabric on your shoulder be lifted from your skin, jack’s fingers slipping underneath to caress the soft skin there.

you keep yourself focused on your train of thought, knowing trevor has an affinity for sugary snacks and junk food, but surely they’re not talking about him?

“it just seems like a waste to me. kid’s got a lot of potential, but seems like he’s throwing it away before he even gets started,” your ears perk at the sound of luke’s voice.

so they’re talking about a prospect? or a rookie?

focusing even harder, thinking back to all of the conversations of jack’s you’ve overheard concerning this season’s prospects, you try to remember any mention of a player that fits the criteria.

however, all that focus you’re channeling goes straight to the feeling of one of your thin straps loosening dangerously. snapping your eyes open, you turn your head to try and see what happened, noticing large, nimble fingers toying with the half-untied not.

you bring your hand up immediately to swat his out of the way, clamping it down to stop any wardrobe malfunctions from occurring.

saying nothing, you turn ever so slightly to glare up at him, noticing the cheeky smile on his face as he looks at his brothers.

you bring your other hand over to re-tie the knot, huffing when you feel his rough hands move to the other shoulder, already toying with the other strap.

“would you stop it? we’re on a boat with your brothers. behave,” you quietly scold so that only he could hear, not wanting to disrupt the conversation you were trying so hard to decipher.

he glanced down at you, smirking before leaning his mouth down to your ear. “sorry, pretty girl. just can’t help m’self. look so pretty in all these colors,” he whispers against your skin, letting his hot breath fan over the sensitive spot behind your ear.

you shiver slightly, craning your neck to give him access to more of your skin, the sensation making you unable to focus on anything else.

“know you wore it just for me. s’my favorite, told you that, didn’t i?” he asks you, focusing his touch on your upper arms now, rubbing up and down in a teasing manner, drawing out goosebumps on your smooth skin.

“mmm, can’t remember, did you?” you basically pant out, swallowing a groan at the feeling of his lips placing a kiss to the top of your neck, tongue peeking out only slightly to taste your warm skin. he knows how quickly you fall apart at the action, eliciting the exact reaction he wanted from you.

his chuckle vibrates through your body, but the sound is covered up by the hum of a boat speeding by your stationary one, bringing you back to the reality of where you were.

you sit up, distancing yourself from jack only slightly, eyes glancing around to make sure no one witnessed the little ‘moment’ you and jack just had.

you swallow thickly, willing every nerve in your body to calm the fuck down.

quinn and luke are too wrapped up in their conversation to realize jack hadn’t chimed in for a few minutes, so they were completely oblivious to what he just tried to do.

relief washes over you, sinking back into jack.

“don’t think this is over, sweet girl,” he speaks lowly into your ear once again. “can’t promise they won’t hear just how happy this little suit of yours makes me when we get back to the house,” he finishes, causing your stomach to drop in anticipation.

you gulp as he raises back up, going back to rubbing your shoulders as if nothing ever happened.

“what do you think, jack? think he’s got the stamina to compete?” quinn asks his younger brother, continuing the conversation neither of you were focused on anymore, not noticing how rigid you’ve suddenly become.

“oh, i don’t know. guess we’ll have to see,” he shrugs. “we all know how important stamina is, after all,” he squeezes your shoulders, letting you know his words were meant for you, not his brothers.

when you can practically feel the smirk on his mouth as he said those words, you decided that buying this bikini was both the best and worst decision you made this summer.

[themissingmango]