#but he's NOT A MEATHEAD

[willowser]

the thing about bakugou and attraction is that he's not shallow and i don't think he has a type. like, he considers the value people have—who they are, what their strengths are, their passions, their goals, their mindset—and i think those are the most defining factors for him when it comes to 'liking' someone.

and yeah, he's a man. he has initial and instant attractions to people. but i think they're fleeting and go as quick as they come. so i think he doesn't pay much attention to physical appearance, per se, when it comes to deciding who he wants to give his time to.

but—when he does decide that you are the person he wants to give his time to, everything about you is suddenly so attractive.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Carry my heart (and hold it gently in your arms)

Another Emmrook piece! I just feel like this old man is too smooth, and needed early pre-relationship old man flustering. Ghil can be a poetic flirt, as a treat.

Feat. My Ingellvar Ghil'danan, and the bone daddy himself, Emmrich Volkarin.

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

Strong arms wrapped around him, sliding under his knees and around his shoulders. There was something about the scent that soothed him, kept him from startling even as he blinked awake.

Something floral, like the soap Ghil used.

Dazed, Emmrich looked up, his eyes adjusting to the weak light. White hair turned to pale gold in the candlelight, spilling over a broad chest and draping across Emmrich’s lap.

“Rook?” He asked sleepily, before the full reality of the situation hit him. “R-Rook!” He flailed uselessly, locked firmly in place by Ghil’s embrace.

“Shh. You fell asleep, professor.” The warrior’s low tone was melodic and even as he climbed the stairs.

“You could have just woken me up!” Emmrich protested.

Ghil snorted. “We tried. Dozing off at dinner…should I take you on less missions?”

Emmrich glared, smacking Ghil’s chest. His ears were hot with embarrassment. “I'm not an invalid!” He scolded sharply. “You requested an expert on the Fade, which requires me to-”

A rumbling chuckle cut him off, the vibrating sensation warm and deep against his side. “I know,” Ghil said, almost affectionately. “I'm just teasing.” He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing down at the professor. “Would you like me to set you down now?”

No.

“Yes,” Emmrich lied. How mortifying it was to feel the longing rise up in his chest, a sweet ache he could not deny. “I'm perfectly able to walk to my own quarters. Where is Manfred, anyway?”

Ghil gently set him on his feet, and again the professor was struck with how startingly tall the elf was. Nearly his own height.

“In your room,” Ghil replied. “I asked Manfred if he’d prep your bed for you, just in case you didn't wake.”

Emmrich truly blushed at that. “You would have taken me all the way to my bed?”

The warrior opened his mouth, snapping it shut as if closing off a sudden thought. He coughed shyly. “Of course.” Whatever had run through his mind had caused a bloom of pink across his skin, flustering Ghil nearly as much as Emmrich. “Wherever…” his voice lowered, grew softer and more intimate. “Wherever you need me to carry you, I'll always be more than happy to.”

Something about those words caught Emmrich's attention. The lingering insinuation, perhaps of something…?

No. It couldn't be. Rook couldn't be interested in…

Fidgeting, Emmrich straightened his clothes. “Well,” he said weakly. “I appreciate the offer. And…thank you for carrying me.”

Ghil's lids lowered, heavy and inviting. “Anytime, professor.”

“You know what I prefer to be called,” Emmrich croaked out. If only anyone else was here. If only the low lights didn't lend an intimate, private touch to their conversation, as if they were the only two people in the entirety of the Lighthouse.

If only he were younger, braver.

The warrior stepped closer, reaching out, making Emmrich’s breath catch.

He plucked a long white hair off the professor's shoulder, smiling softly.

“Sorry. It's the worst part about having long hair,” he commented, pulling away.

Emmrich nodded. “Of course. Thank you, dear Rook.”

“Professor. Say my name.” The command was soft, but everything in Emmrich’s mind leapt to obey.

“Ghil’danan,” he whispered hoarsely.

The look he was rewarded with practically turned his insides to jelly, filling him with heat. He was far too old for stomach butterflies, for the yearning of a new infatuation.

And yet.

Ghil took his hand, lifting it up and examining the rings there absentmindedly.

“If the sound of my name on your lips is the last thing I hear, I don't think I'd mind,” he commented casually.

By all that was good, this man was sent to kill him personally. Nevermind Lucanis, the true assassin was right here.

His cheeks flared with heat as Ghil leaned down to kiss his knuckles, that lilac gaze flicking up to pin the professor in place.

“Goodnight…Emmrich,” he murmured, before stepping away.

Emmrich found himself at a loss for words. Those lips had been so soft against his skin, the sensation lingering like veilfire long after Ghil had vanished from sight.

Letting out a shaky breath, Emmrich slumped against the wall.

A snicker caught his attention.

Taash leaned in the hallway to their room, just barely in sight.

“Get it, professor,” they said, smirking before slinking back into their quarters.

Emmrich just covered his face and wished he could sink into the floorboards.

[randomwriteronline]

You know its true that out of the four stone toa we know Onewa is the exception due to being An Asshat but i think we could focus more on Pouks being the white sheep of a flock of goats. Hes the only one of them who was like, formally employed and working an actual job as a toa. His siblings are just his coworkers. I dont think he knows a sport. He was so glad Pohatu and Hewkii were nothing like Onewa for all of twelve seconds before dreadfully discovering that they are exactly like Onewa, just in previously unimaginable ways, such as the batshit circumstances of their toahood and accidentally kicking a ball into each others face at mach speeds for fun

[willowser-but-nsfw]

literally COULD NOT stop thinking about this. all day. i blame @violentoxidation. afkljalijlajf

katsuki comes back first, just as the atrium roars with applause.

it's a good enough distraction to return to, the sharp sound of hands echoing in his eardrums, bringing him back to the here and now. there's enough sweat coating his hands to make him nervous and he's thankful for the dimmed lighting, at least, so that he can stick to the shadows as he wipes them on his slacks.

someone passes by with a drink tray and—he's fucking thirsty. always is, after stuff with you. doesn't matter how much goddamn water he drinks, it's all gathering at the small of his back and behind his knees and in the crease of his elbows. good thing you convinced him to bring the fucking jacket.

god, hopefully he doesn't stink.

katsuki isn't a fan of the bitter, sharp taste of alcohol, but at least it's something; downing a flute of champagne in one go probably is a mistake, but it's not his first bad decision of the night and with you around—as a little fucking minx—it's not bound to be his last.

he feels gross. he really, really does. call it post-nut clarity or whatever the fuck, but—he goddamn knows better than this. what a great headline that would make, catching him with his pants down at the fucking hero summit. adding lecher to the list of shit the media has against him already. public indecency charge at the least, not to mention the shit storm that would hit you, too.

he should have waited until you were both home; hell, in the car in the driveway, at the very least. thank fuck nobody walked in or saw you coming out of the same place, like horny teenagers in a public goddamn bathroom. gross.

—so why the fuck is his dick still throbbing in his pants?

it's infuriating, to realize he's just as much of a pervert as kaminari denki.

who, of course, is the first to notice his arrival back at the table, swinging his own glass precariously as he calls,

"yeah, kacchan!" the celebratory tone in his voice makes katsuki's stomach flip, and all his sweat runs cold. "let's get fucked up!"

katsuki's a terrible liar and he knows it, but he still tries to feign indifference, reaching for the cup that is most likely kirishima's. "ain't drinkin' that shit, i just want water."

"pfffft, lies!" denki spits all over the tablecloth. "i saw you down that champagne back there!"

"why the fuck are you watching me?"

"are you okay, man?" kirishima asks, frowning as he eyes katsuki up and down. "you're sweating."

"yeah, i—fucking do that, numb-skull." katsuki chews an ice cube between his teeth, trying to remember how his hair looked before he left the bathroom. fuck, did he even check?

denki laughs. "yeah, dude, that's his thing!"

katsuki's nose wrinkles, suddenly offended. "it's not my thing to just sweat, asshole. there's a lot that goes into this shit that you couldn't even comprehend—"

"dude, are you sure you're okay?" kirishima asks again, and then his eyes go wide, like he's figured something out. katsuki hopes not. "did something happen between you and—"

at the very mention of your name, katsuki's stomach tightens and bullets slide down his temple. he can't even think about you right now, because it only reminds him of how much of a scandal this could have been, how badly he wants to take a shower after having his ass out in that bathroom. probably needs to torch these pants.

he can't even think about you right now because—he's never gonna get the image of your face in the mirror out of his head, the way your dress looked bunched up at your hips. how smudged your lipstick got and the imprint it left on his thigh. how fucking wet you were over this perverted shit and how much he liked it—

"dude?"

katsuki snaps, slamming his hand on the table hard enough that the glasses shake. his voice is too breathy when it comes out. "don't fucking worry about us!"

"about who?"

all of katsuki's blood sings—violently—when you run a hand across his back, leaning into his arm as you shuffle to get into your seat. he can tell you've reapplied your perfume because his mouth waters immediately, like he's going to be fucking sick, though the tension in his balls says otherwise.

kirishima eyes you warily, jumping back and forth between the two of you. "everything okay?"

"with us? oh, yeah," you lean into the table, trying to catch katsuki's attention though he keeps it zeroed in on a wrinkle in the tablecloth. "we're great, right?"

from his peripheral vision, he can see the swell of your cheeks from your smile. it matches the even, light tone of your voice, painting you as the picture of fucking innocence even though you were just in the public fucking bathroom asking to get railed.

"please," you said, with your big, pretty eyes, which gleamed in the hall light. and you don't ever ask, because you don't fucking have to, but you asked then and—how the fuck was he supposed to say no?

katsuki finally glances at you and—he needs another cup of fucking water. you look goddamn perfect, perfect, like nothing ever happened, except that there's this little glow surrounding you. some bullshit aura of happiness because you got what you damn wanted.

you smile at him, bright and coy, as he looks at you, and when you pull your lip between your teeth, katsuki nearly sinks his teeth into his fist. underneath the table, his body directly disobeys him.

"yeah," he rasps, eyes returning to his empty cup as your hand rests near his knee. "we're peachy."

wasn't his first bad decision of the night, and it's not bound to be his last.

[hanzajesthanza]

andrzej sapkowski in the witcher presents his reader with many curious and refreshing takes on the fantasy genre, such as "what if dragons were good" and "what if elves were incels"

[sgt-dignam]

are you mr. schmidt? dr. schmidt. he's in there. he don't eat anything on wheels, so put it on a table. the man you're serving, he's the one who put those astronauts on the moon, built the rockets they rode.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023)

[whamber]

feeling inconsolable about Lydia Stormborn...

[roro-the-sleepy-monster]

Thinking of taking my Meathead Ingellvar out for a spin as Inquisitor Lavellan

Unfortunately now all I can think of is how fast Solas would disapprove of him.

Meathead: you remind me of someone, you know

Solas: Oh?

Meathead: Yes, my father. I hate him, but at least he's got more hair than you.

Solas: Greatly Disapproves

[ministerofchaosabsolute]

Eddie

[are-we-really-doing-this]

John Cena vs uh…Brian. Of Philadelphia.

WWE Velocity. February 8th, 2003. Yeah.

[uncanny-tranny]

The hyper-veneration and almost fetishization of the USA's troops have honestly given rise for some of the worst types of people who want power without effort, I think.

It's why you see some entitled asshole troop who think they can do whatever to civilians because we "owe" them for them "putting their lives on the line" or the type of person who thinks they personally will stick it to a random Afghan civilian for what "their people" did on 9/11 (a racist institution fostering racism? Colour me shocked (sarcasm)).

As a US citizen, I'm personally really concerned with this attitude we have toward troops. As somebody who hates the institution of the military, I also hate that it fosters a genuinely toxic mindset - it's much like the mindset that is instilled in cops; however, when you are overseas, the people you harm are not typically US civilians, so people can sweep under the rug the injustice of terrorizing civilians who aren't "like us."

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

My thorn-laden heart (it's yours, it's yours, it's yours)

A companion piece to Carry my heart (and hold it gently in your arms). From Ghil's POV! Yes there's a Hanahaki reference in here. Tender and bittersweet, and absolutely delightful to write how differently Ghil and Emmrich view each other.

Feat. My Ingellvar, Ghil'danan, and the bone daddy himself, Emmrich Volkarin.

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

Nobody could wake him.

To be fair, nobody wanted to. Emmrich had been uncharacteristically quiet on the way back, exhaustion seemingly making him drag his feet.

It had been a rough day to begin with. Antaam, Ventatori, and a mad dash to get rid of a bunch of magically charged poison had left its mark, sprinting from one end of Treviso to the other.

“Why don't you carry him, Rook?” Neve said teasingly. “You know he's going to be hurting tomorrow if we leave him sleeping here.”

Fuck. She was right. As much as he knew she was actively tormenting him, Neve did bring up a good point.

Ghil sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “If he kills me, make him bring me back,” he groaned.

Neve smiled in that wickedly mysterious way of hers. “Perhaps. Good luck.” She trotted out of the room, leaving him alone.

Emmrich looked so young. The gentle touch of sleep drew the lines away from his face, reminding Ghil of how he'd looked fourteen years ago.

Bittersweet memories. The professor didn't even remember him from before he transitioned, and Ghil didn't know whether that was a blessing or a curse.

He walked over, sliding a hand under Emmrich's knees, and the other around his shoulders.

The necromancer was much lighter than he expected. All legs and bone, gangly in a way that often came off as grace.

It was a miracle Ghil managed to keep his eyes on the battlefield on any given day.

Emmrich barely stirred. It was as if he recognized the person who held him would never do him any harm.

Maker. Cradled in his arms was the manifestation of his bleeding, beating heart, ruby-slick and beating with the spark of life this man had installed years ago.

Every time Ghil got into his head about it, he reminded himself Emmrich was only human. It would be unfair to put him on a pedestal.

Still, as his feet carried him towards the main building of the Lighthouse, he couldn't help the relentless flood of affection. Time spent together actually learning who Emmrich was only made a longtime crush bloom into a deep, unshakeable love.

Like brambles, rooting deep into his heart where they could never be dug out.

He would choke on those blackberry blossoms before ever trying to get rid of them.

A questioning hiss drew him from his thoughts. Manfred’s eyes glowed in the dark, reminding him of a cat.

“Manfred,” he whispered. “Would you set up what Emmrich needs for bed?”

The skeleton nodded, a chipperness to his steps as he scuttled up the stairs that wound up to everyone's separate quarters.

As he followed, he felt the professor stir in his arms.

“Rook?” Emmrich said sleepily. Maker’s breath, that fucking nickname. It drove Ghil mad some days.

Coming to full consciousness, the professor flailed, and Ghil was forced to tighten his hold, lest the man brain himself on the stone railing. “R-Rook!”

“Shh,” Ghil hushed. “You fell asleep, professor.”

Emmrich looked at him, aghast. “You could have just woken me up!”

He couldn't help but snort. This man was too cute for his own good. “We tried. Dozing off at dinner…should I take you on less missions?”

The glare he received made him grin, followed by a scolding smack. “I'm not an invalid! You requested an expert on the Fade, which requires me to-”

Laughter came bubbling out of Ghil’s chest, cutting the professor off. “I know,” he said, unable to control the wealth of affection spilling from him. “I'm just teasing.” Emmrich’s disapproving face only made him smile more, even as he stopped at the top of the stairs. “Would you like me to set you down now?”

“Yes,” Emmrich retorted. “I'm perfectly able to walk to my own quarters. Where is Manfred, anyway?”

Ghil glanced up. The skeleton was already gone from view. “In your room,” he replied, setting Emmrich on his feet. “I asked Manfred if he'd prep your bed for you, just in case you didn't wake.”

An odd look crossed the professor’s face, something that Ghil couldn't read. “You would have taken me all the way to my bed?”

I'd take you to mine, if you'd let me.

Ghil swallowed the inappropriate response, mentally smacking himself up the back of the head. He coughed instead. “Of course.” Ghil could feel the stark blush spreading, hating how easily it would show on his skin. “Wherever…” he faltered. What a chicken. What a coward. Alone in the Lighthouse with the one person he'd ever wanted, and he still was weak.

Ghil wanted to be someone who could be relied on. Not necessarily a hero, fuck that, but a bulwark against the endless storm of their lives.

That required courage.

He forced the words out, quieter than intended. “Wherever you need me to carry you, I'll always be more than happy to.”

Emmrich’s lips parted, his eyes wide like he'd come to some sort of revelation.

Whatever it was, he kept it to himself, looking away as he brushed invisible wrinkles from his clothes. “Well,” he replied quietly. “I appreciate the offer. And…thank you for carrying me.”

Ghil’s chest felt warm. He gazed at Emmrich tenderly. “Anytime, professor.”

Emmrich stared down at him disapprovingly. “You know what I prefer to be called.”

In the low candlelight, a single strand of white hair stuck to Emmrich's clothes. It was odd, something that didn't belong with the professor’s seamless image.

Ghil was reminded of the way Emmrich looked in the early morning, his moustache askew and his clothes rumpled.

He smiled. Not so seamless after all. Another imperfection, to be loved as it was.

Before he knew it, he'd reached forward, plucking it from the professor’s clothes. “Sorry,” he said absentmindedly. “It's the worst part about having long hair.”

Emmrich nodded. “Of course. Thank you, dear Rook.”

The nickname scratched at him, a reminder of his leadership. His title. His crown, snug around his throat and drawing tighter every day.

“Professor,” he said, before he could help himself. “Say my name.”

Internally he cringed. It came out as a command instead of a request.

-’danan,” came the whispered reply. It shocked Ghil back out of his head, sending his heart stuttering.

Holy shit. Holy shit. He was going to die, right here on the floor. Emmrich was looking at him in a way he'd never seen before, and it filled him with an impulsive confidence he rarely felt.

Taking the professor's hand in his own, he absentmindedly noted the callouses there. Years of magework had worn into Emmrich, a tapestry of skill written across his skin.

“If the sound of my name on your lips is the last thing I hear, I don't think I'd mind.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he leaned down, intent on hiding the blush that was definitely coming.

Instead, he kissed the back of Emmrich's hand, silently grateful for the way they'd healed him again and again.

Ghil glanced up, meeting Emmrich’s eyes. Kind eyes, wide with pupils blown.

He had to go. He had to run away, before he ruined this moment by doing something stupid and impulsive.

“Goodnight…Emmrich.” Quickly, Ghil turned on his heel, fleeing to his room.

He hoped he hadn't scared the man off.

He hoped tomorrow, Emmrich would still grace him with his presence.

[fizzytoo]

new tav new tav new tav (that failed arcana check is none of your business)

[pianokantzart]

This show is going to make me regress into my middleschool self where I spent all my free time feeling emo about Knuckles The Echidna

[penguin-in-the-mist]

The Flock letting all their dads know they all made it to the meet up point

[krytus]

teddy sears slaying as zoom in the flash finale