#even though i absolutely did not fucking ask for it

[mythalism]

mythal and solas’s relationship was not exclusively familial or exclusively romantic but a twisted, toxic combination of both in a society that had completely different conceptions of both the concepts of family, sex and romance (that the game admittedly does not explore enough but should have) and trying to categorize it into exclusively one or the other simplifies and betrays the intentionally fucked-up ambiguity with which it was written and even if we had the chance to ask solas himself he probably could not give us an answer on the objective nature of their love because the entire point is that there is none, his conception of what they were was drastically different from hers and she used that discrepancy to manipulate him and even though her affection for him was true it was always secondary to her desire for power and the prosperity of the people and later vengeance meanwhile his devotion to her always came first and so when i say i am a solythal truther i am not saying they were just lovers or just mother and son i am saying that they had the most insane somewhat sexually charged freudian oedipal victor frankenstein x the creature “hateful day when i received life! accursed creator why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust?” all-consuming love and devotion that reducing to just romance or just family strips of all its insane juicy messed up morally fucked nuance that is truly the highlight of this game and one of the only remaining vestiges of past bioware’s complex and nuanced writing in veilguards story so please i am begging you to abandon the argument of “what were they?” and join me in the delicious pit of the answer is everything and it’s absolutely fucked

[adimouze]

post-las vegas WDC max/daniel, rated M. ~1300 words. @girlsdads mentioned something about a lil bit of LL hating in a fic so. I did a lil bit of LL hating too.

-

A face floats into Max’s field of vision probably three hours into the fifth different party Max had been shepherded to since the race ended. He’s about ninety-percent sure he’s still in Las Vegas. He blinks blearily at it, hoping at least it’s pretty enough to look at. It has been a while since. Since.

Liam Lawson blinks back. Not who he was expecting. Gross. 

“Max,” he says, sounding too sober for whatever time it is. The club is loud but Max can still unfortunately hear him. “Are you okay?”

Max attempts a sweeping gesture, he’s carrying a glass of something and it hits someone’s back, making Max drop it with a smash. Liam cringes, looking like he’s about to complain. “This is my party, mate,” Max says, cutting off whatever Liam was going to say. “I’m fucking great.”

“Christian just left,” Liam says, and Max kind of hates how he talks but what can you do. Maybe he just doesn’t like Liam. “I think there’s another party happening a few blocks from now, do you want to join me?”

If Christian left that means Max can leave without theoretically offending anybody, even though it is his party. Half of the people around him don’t seem like people he knows anyway. “Nah man, you go on ahead, I’ll head back to the hotel –”

“Oh then I’ll head back with you,” Liam’s probably the most cheerful he’s been since Max met him. “Yuki scored and left me here.” 

Pity isn’t something Max feels often, but he does feel a bit of pity now. In his first year he was never left alone in clubs, either Carlos or Daniel were always there making sure they were around to get him back to wherever before they took someone home or to their hotel rooms. More often it was Daniel, and more often Daniel didn’t take anyone home, because they were sharing a room and more often it was just fun to watch onboards together, side by side. 

No one else but them. 

Then again, Max was a teenager in his first year and Liam’s twenty-two. He wouldn’t need babysitting. 

“Alright,” Max isn’t sure where he is. He doesn’t know how to ask Liam without sounding like an absolute idiot. 

“I have a car waiting,” Liam adds, after Max stared off into the distance for a few seconds, willing someone to appear with a car. Maybe Max isn’t being as subtle as he thought he was. 

_____

Red Bull and VCARB drivers are often put up in the same hotel, usually the standard room but Helmut had finangled him a penthouse upgrade on Thursday, telling Max that he deserved a proper room to party in, like Max was going to bring home an orgy. 

He’s pretty sure Liam couldn’t possibly have gotten a penthouse upgrade too. He’s sure hotels only have one penthouse? He’s sure. If he was less drunk he would be surer. But Liam makes no move to push any buttons. 

“Mind if I come up for a nightcap?” Liam asks, smiling. This is the most Max has seen him smile ever since he got Daniel…ever since Daniel left and he jumped in the car. Max does not want him to come up for a nightcap but Max is feeling generous tonight. 

“Sure, why not.” Someone had spilled what seems like a bottle of champagne on him at some point in the night and his shirt is sticking to him. He’s too tired to shower. Meh. It’ll be a problem for hungover Max tomorrow. 

The lift goes up insanely fast but still feels too slow for Max tonight. He’s WDC, four times WDC, he’s used to faster things, sue him. Liam is still staring at him. 

“Good driving tonight,” Max says, for want of anything better to do or say. He has no idea where Liam finished to be honest. 

“I finished 16,” Liam says flatly. Yikes. Well. 

The door dings open onto Max’s floor. And. 

Daniel’s sitting on the giant sectional of the penthouse living room. 

He looks gorgeous. Max wants to stare forever. He looks broad and good and tanned, his beard has filled in a lot more than when Max last saw him in Monaco, his hair thicker. The sweatshirt he’s wearing looks less oversized than usual, fitting his shoulders instead of drooping over them, and his trousers make his thighs look great. 

He’s smirking. He looks like a frat guy. He looks like one of those men from Victoria’s magazines that Max definitely didn’t jerk off over. 

Max is probably drooling, and Liam runs into him as he’s stepping out of the lift. 

“Oh sorry mate I – Daniel, hello.” Liam’s voice is a bit high. Confused. Probably scared. “Didn’t realize you were in Vegas. Red Bull didn’t…”

Daniel stands up and comes over. Max is still staring. Daniel moves like an apex predator and Liam’s just the runt of litter in this.  “Hey Liam. Well. Red Bull doesn’t own me anymore mate, do they? I can be wherever I want.”

He claps Liam on the shoulder in greeting then grabs Max’s limp hand. “Came to see my boy be the World Champion again.”

Liam’s probably saying something but Max doesn’t care, because Daniel’s pulling him in, arms going around Max, sticky shirt and all, and Max is going to swoon because Daniel smells good, good, good, their lips meeting after ages, Daniel’s lips and tongue the best, most refreshing thing Max has tasted all night. Someone’s moaning. 

It’s him. 

“Um…”

Liam’s still there. 

Max tries to pull back but Daniel’s got his hands on his ass, lifting, lifting, and Max’s legs going around him in response, and Daniel’s got them on the sofa in a second, Max perched on Daniel’s wide wide thighs without even separating their lips once. It’s the hottest thing Max has ever felt. He’s going to come just from the thought alone. 

“Liam,” Daniel’s saying, pulling back a few centimeters to give Max some breathing space. “I’m going to fuck my husband on this sofa right now, and he’s going to be screaming loud enough to be heard from the moon. So like,” he pops the k, and Max’s dick twitches, precome dripping into his underwear, “unless you want a front row seat to that for some reason, shouldn’t you be heading to bed?” 

“Husband?” Liam’s stuttering. “Excuse me? You can’t – Does Christian know? He’s going to be so mad at you, Max what the fuck –?”

“Get out,” Daniel says. Max has never heard him sound like that. “Now.” 

“I’m calling Christian,” Liam says as a parting shot. “He won’t – he’s not going to allow this.”

“Yeah you do that, mate,” Daniel rolls his eyes then squeezes Max’s ass harder. God, he’s so hot. Max feels insane. Husband husband husband. “What’s he going to do, fire me again?” 

The lift dings shut again. They’re blessedly alone. 

“Husband?” Max snorts, shivering as Daniel’s fingers undo his pant buttons. “Bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

“The ring’s in the suitcase, baby,” Daniel says, smiling like a wolf, fingers curling around Max’s dick. Max grinds into the feeling, needing Daniel inside him right now. This is the best day of his life. “Was hoping you’d say yes.”

“Let me think about it,” Max laughs, and Daniel bites his nipple through his shirt. “Liam’s probably told the Herald by now.”

“I’ll personally send him the wedding photos,” Daniel cackles, licking up Max’s neck, leaving wet trails in the cold air con of the room, “if he promises to send me photos of Christian when he tells him I was about to fuck him in front of you.”

“Stop talking about Christian and fuck the World Champion already, husband,” Max says, his laughter turning into moans when Daniel all too willingly complies.

[captainsophiestark]

Worth The Risk

Jason Todd x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: DC

Day Twenty-Eight Prompt: "Just say what you want"

Summary: Jason's teammate has been trying to ask him out for a long time now, but he's always ducked the question before it's officially been asked. Now, it seems he's finally ready to talk about why.

Word Count: 1,955

Category: Fluff, little bit of Angst?

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"I'm telling you, Art, I'm starting to go a little crazy! He'll flirt with me all day long, but the minute I try to turn it into a date or a kiss or even a fucking conversation, he pulls back like he's been shocked!"

I could hear Artemis, one of my best friends, trying to stifle a laugh on the other end of the line. I narrowed my eyes, but didn't call her out on it. I had bigger problems right now, as far as I was concerned.

"Okay, when you say you've tried to turn it into a conversation...?"

"I mean I've gotten as far as 'so, Jason, I've been thinking' before he suddenly has a call coming in from Bruce or an urgent cramp in his leg or a super interesting bird outside the window that he has to go look at right now!"

This time, Artemis didn't bother trying to hold back her laugh. I scowled even though she couldn't see it.

Jason Todd and I had been friends for a while now, working together as vigilantes. We'd hit it off from the first time we met, and our relationship had always been a little flirty. More recently, though, it had felt on the verge of something more. And I wanted that. I liked Jason, a lot, and I wanted to see where we might be able to go, if he was interested too.

Most of the time, it did seem like he was interested. But for whatever reason, he kept pulling a 180 on me and defaulting to more platonic behavior than we'd ever had with each other any time I tried to bring it up. I'd decided to talk to Artemis about it, to see if she could give me any advice or anything, but so far she'd been absolutely no help.

"Alright, Art, I'm glad I've been able to entertain you tonight, but can you please-"

I stopped short at the sound of a knock on my door. I frowned. I hadn't ordered anything, and I wasn't expecting anyone. So who the hell was at my apartment?

"Hey, you still there? You alright?"

I hummed, standing from my seat in the kitchen and heading for the door.

"I'm fine. Somebody just knocked on my door, hold on."

I leaned forward to peer through the peep hole, and to my immense shock, I saw Jason Todd standing on my doormat. After a few moments of stunned silence, I finally managed a few words into the phone.

"Yeah, Art? I think I'm gonna have to call you back."

I hung up without waiting for her reply. I'd owe her an explanation later, but I knew she'd understand. Whatever this was about, it seemed pretty serious. Jason had never once shown up at my civilian residence, despite both knowing each other's identities.

I cleared my throat and stuck my phone in my pocket, trying to get a handle on the nerves that had suddenly exploded in my chest. After a moment, I couldn't stall anymore. I took a deep breath and opened the door to find Jason fidgeting almost as much as I was.

"Hey," I said, giving him a weak smile. "What's... what's up? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine," Jason said, glancing down and rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just... wanted to talk to you. About something. Didn't want to wait till the next time I saw you on the rooftops, hunting somebody down. I hope that's okay."

"Yeah! Of course, yeah. Come on in."

I took a quick step back from the door, holding it open for Jason and trying not to let him see my nerves. He walked through, but stopped in the entryway between the kitchen and the living room, looking a little lost. All I could do was stare at him for a moment as I shut the door. It was strange to see Jason in the middle of my civilian apartment like this, but it was also the kind of strange I could get used to.

"Here, take a seat," I said, heading to the kitchen and motioning towards one of the stools at the counter. "Can I get you a water or something?"

Jason cleared his throat, moving with me after a moment's delay.

"A water would be great, actually. Thanks."

"Sure thing."

I used the time it took me to get some water from the fridge, with my back turned to Jason, to take a few deep breaths. I was a vigilante, for god's sake, I knew how to keep myself from panicking in stressful situations. I wasn't going to let this impromtu visit unravel me.

I returned to Jason with a water for each of us, then sat down at the stool next to his. I was still a little nervous, but my heart had at least stopped pounding quite so quickly, and my hands weren't shaking when I set down the waters.

"So... you wanna tell me what's up?"

Jason cleared his throat, shifting in his seat before meeting my eyes. I gave him a little smile, and it seemed to help him relax, at least slightly. He smiled back.

"Listen... I really like spending time with you. And working with you and talking to you and... and everything. And Roy has been telling me he's sick of listening to me talk about you, so I'm taking his advice and coming to talk to you."

My heart did a backflip in my chest, but I refused to get too far ahead of myself. Jason still looked grim and stressed out of his mind, like he did when I tried to ask him out, which didn't exactly match the positive topic I was hoping this conversation might have.

"So... what are you saying?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light. "Because it sounds like you're building up to one thing, but your tone and your body language is pointing to something very different. Are you trying to ask me on a date, or trying to tell me you're not interested."

"I'm not not interested," Jason responded quickly. I raised an eyebrow, but he looked more stressed than before.

"Okay... so then, what is it? Just say what you want, Jay."

Jason took a long, deep breath in, closing his eyes for a minute and apparently trying to get in the right headspace. When he finally opened his eyes again and met my gaze, he at least looked marginally calmer.

"I want to ask you out."

"...I feel like there's a but coming."

"...But... I don't know, I just feel like you should be fully informed. I'm not necesserily the most... stable potential partner. I'm still working through a lot of shit from before and after the Lazurus Pit, and I'm a regular letdown to my family. That whole experience... I think it broke something in me. And I've been trying to fix what it broke, but I'm not sure I can. I don't want you agreeing to a date or anything else without knowing exactly what you're getting into."

I frowned, which Jason seemed to take as an expected bad sign. His shoulders slumped a little, and he looked resigned. I shook my head.

"Jason... what the hell are you talking about?" Jason opened his mouth like he intended to speak, but I held up a hand to cut him off. "That was mostly a rhetorical question. Believe it or not, I've gotten to know you pretty well in the time we've spent together, working side by side in life and death situations and passing days upon days with each other. And frankly? I like you. A lot. If you hadn't sent up the signals for a hard no everytime I tried, I would've asked you out a long time ago."

Jason sighed. "I still feel like you don't know what you're getting into. I don't want to go down this road and have you end up regretting it and hating me."

"Okay," I said, letting out a sigh of my own. "First of all, let's clear something up. Not once have you disappointed me or let me down, not in all the time we've known each other and worked together, even though you've had plenty of opportunities. And Jay, I didn't know you as Robin. I don't know the old you that you're so intent on comparing yourself to. But the guy sitting in front of me right now? He refuses to see it, but he's a wonderful person and friend, and anyone would be lucky to date him."

Jason flushed and looked down at his lap, but I didn't stop.

"Second, if I ever hear Batman or another one of your family members calling you a disappointment, it's game over for them. I'm punching them in the mouth like they deserve, and that's the end of that."

Jason snorted, briefly picking his head up to give me a look. I grinned back at him.

"And third..." I let the smile fall from my face, adopting a serious expression instead as I gently reached out to take one of Jason's hands. To my delight, he let me. "Third, nobody knows how things're gonna go when they go on a date with somebody. There's no real predicting that, there's no garuntees that we'll be perfectly matched and instantly work out and never have trouble forever and ever. But I know you're a good person, and I love spending time with you, and I trust you with my life, and my heart likes to do a gymnastics routine whenever you're in the same room as me. So if you feel similarly about me, and you want to give it a shot...?"

Jason sighed, chewing on his lip for a moment as he stared at me. Finally, he nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I really do."

"Good. Then that's that, Jay. There's no garuntees of anything, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. The only way to really lose is to let fear keep us from taking a shot at happiness, right?"

Jason shook his head, but he was smiling all the same as he took my other hand in his, too.

"I guess you do make a pretty convincing argument. But seriously, are you sure you want to do this? It... feels like it could lead to a lot of complications."

"Jason, I'm sure." I laughed. "Honestly, I have been for a long time now. Are you sure?"

I saw Jason take another bracing breath. Then he straightened, shoulders back, and gave me a genuine smile.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Great! Then what do you say we turn tonight into our first official date? I was just about to make dinner, and I've got some good movies we can pick from."

Jason's smile grew, taking on a little bit of an edge.

"That sounds perfect to me. As long as you promise to let me take you out for our second date. Somewhere nice."

"Believe it or not, that's not going to take too much convincing."

The two of us shared a smile again, and I gave Jason's hands a squeeze before standing and heading for the kitchen. He joined me, and when I stood at the counter to lay things out, Jason only hesitated for a second before coming up behind me to wrap his hands around my waist. He leaned in to place a soft kiss on my temple, and I leaned back, a smile on my face.

This time, my heart didn't do a backflip. Instead it radiated warmth through my chest and into the rest of my body. I knew we were at the beginning of our road, and there were no garuntees about what might be at the end of it. Still. I couldn't help having a good feeling.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @samreich @misshale21

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue @lavender-dinos @g0atmansbridge182

[peppermintquartz]

(felt like adding something to this)

Buck stumbles out of bed and gets to his door before the knocking gets any more agitated. No one has texted him to say they're coming over, so it may be an irate neighbor here to complain about the KitchenAid.

He's not ready to see Tommy standing outside in a black fitted tee and tight jeans.

Tommy looks... different, in the week since he walked out on Buck. His shoulders aren't rounded and his posture is perfect. There's a sharpness to his jaw and his hair is gelled with a swoop. And he's wearing boots instead of his usual sneakers.

"Evan?"

Buck blinks. Something is wrong. This isn't how Tommy says his name, unless Tommy really doesn't -

"Tommy."

"No, not Tommy. I'm Donovan. Tommy is my younger brother - twins." He flashes a smile, and it's so similar to Tommy yet so different that Buck's mind is reeling. "He was supposed to introduce us next week, when I have time to come and stay for the weekend."

Inhaling sharply, Buck takes a step back. "He has a twin. Six months... What other secrets did he have? Maybe he's not even gay! M-maybe he has a, a wife and three kids and that's why-"

"Hey, Evan, breathe. Relax."

"Don't call me Evan," Buck snaps at Not-Tommy. Donovan. "Shit. This is... This is bullshit."

Donovan steps back and holds up his hands. "I don't know what I'm supposed to call you, because Tommy only ever talked about his 'boyfriend Evan' to me."

"Buck. You can call me Buck."

"And I prefer Rocker." Rolling his eyes at Buck's quizzical frown, he says, "Tommy and I are twins that didn't grow up together. Since we were eight, we've been living with different parents. Divorce. Mom got me, Dad got him. It sucked for Tommy and Mom tried her best, but, well."

"Still doesn't explain why Tommy didn't mention a twin."

"Look, can we talk inside?" Rocker asks.

Buck folds his arms and blocks the door. "No."

"Dude, I just wanna-"

"Donny!" The shout comes from the elevator. Buck looks over and his heart skips three beats. It's Tommy, the real one, and he looks an absolute mess. He's a little broader in the jaw and the features of his face softer, gentler. He's not shaven, there are bags under his eyes, and his hair is frizzy and tangled in the longer parts. The shirt he has on is a size larger and his jeans are relaxed fit and he has his blue Reeboks on.

That's his Tommy.

(His. His his his his his.)

"I'm trying to help," Rocker says, his hands on his hips.

Tommy makes a face and his mouth goes thin and unhappy. "You can't just show up at my boyfriend's place - ex-boyfriend. I meant." He clears his throat and glances at Buck. "Sorry. We'll leave."

"Hell we are," says Rocker. He slings an arm around his twin's waist and catches Tommy's free arm before he can land a punch. "Baby bro, I've taken down armed men who want to kill me. Your efforts are futile."

"You're the fucking worst."

Buck stares at the two, and exhales heavily. Stranger things have happened. He steps aside and says, "I've a walnut loaf and an apple pie that needs eating. Come on in."

As Tommy is dragged past him, Buck says, "If you call me Buck, I'll whack you with a rolling pin."

Donovan Rocker tilts his head and a delighted smile creeps onto his face. "Oh, so that's why I can't call you Evan!"

"This had better be good," Buck grumbles, even though he's secretly happy to shut and lock the door with Tommy in here with him. His brother can find his own way down from the balcony.

"Donny, not today."

"Hell you mean not today," Donovan Rocker pushes his way into his twin brother's house. "You drunk called me, crying about your boyfriend whom you were supposed to introduce to me next week, saying that you broke up 'for his own good', and you think I won't take a couple days off to check on you? Fat chance, fathead."

Tommy groans and drops onto his sofa. "Whatever, man."

"What happened?"

"He asked me to move in with him."

"Tommy that's awesome! You love the guy!"

Tommy cracks open an eye. "Donny, he didn't even tell me he loves me. And I have a fucking house, okay? I have a whole damned house which you are sitting in."

Rocker makes a face. "Did you say that to him?"

"Like that's gonna make a difference." Tommy shuts his eyes and tilts his head back. "Fuck. Fuck all this. At least now he doesn't have to know how shitty I am."

Humming in sympathy, Rocker sits next to Tommy and carefully gathers his twin into a hug. Tommy resists a little at first, but then gives in to lie on Rocker's shoulder, curling his socked feet onto the cushions.

"Sometimes I think Mom should've fought harder to have custody of us both," Rocker says quietly, after a while. "She'd have got that low self-esteem out of you somehow."

"Yeah, well. Wishes and horses."

Rocker kisses the top of his twin's head. "I'll stay here tonight, baby bro. Seems like you need someone in your corner."

"I'm only eight minutes younger," Tommy grumbles, but he doesn't chase Rocker away; his arms wrap more tightly around his twin, pretending it's not a different body he wants in his embrace.

[iichfilwypj]

HOLAA! primero que nada, amo tu forma de escribir 😭💗 y segundo, podrías hacer un Percy x reader, que sea como me dio moon and tides coded? Es que siempre me ha parecido romántico que la luna tenga una influencia en la marea

mar y luna | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of selene! reader ღ warnings: none! ღ wc: 579 amé esta idea!! me basé un poco en un mito que encontré, 'luna y mar' porque siento que muestra bien la dinámica! espero que te guste hermosa! <3

In the daylight, life was bright and awake.

Just as it should be, right? The sun illuminates everything, demanding movement and action, filling the hours with responsibilities and distractions.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the moon ascended to claim her throne, something within shifted. Perhaps it’s the solitude, the quiet that falls when the sky grows dark and the stars emerge, waiting to hear our wishes.

Percy, for example, spends his whole day eagerly anticipating that moment.

His friends didn’t get it; his mom definitely didn’t get it, and his dad –well, who knew with him? 

But there was something about the night that lit a spark in Percy, something no one could explain.

Okay, fine!

He could explain it. 

It was her. 

The pull was impossible to resist, trust me. He could feel the invisible thread between them tighten, tugging him towards her from the very start; once he got close enough, there was no escaping. 

His humor reflected her presence, his actions seemed so deliberately calculated. His choices and thoughts always seemed to lead back to her. 

Basically, his entire life seemed to revolve around her, depended on her.

While the others laughed during the day, he felt trapped, yearning to break free just to get to her. 

By night, though, he found her, just as he always did.

“You really can’t stay away, huh?” She teased, her voice as soft as the night itself. 

“What can I say?” He shrugged, trying to act cool even as his cheeks warmed. 

She laughed, brushing her fingers through his hair, and he crumbled instantly. Closing his eyes, he leaned into her touch like he needed it, all pretense forgotten.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she murmured, a chuckle escaping her lips.

“Hmm, you probably should. Or maybe not, I think you’re the one who can’t stay away.”

“What!?" She asked, her tone caught between curiosity and amusement. "How come?”

“I’ve done my research, love.” He drew shapes into her hands, some words and moons marked invisible in her skin.

“Oh, have you?” She asked, swatting his hand lightly.

“Absolutely,” he said, dodging her next playful swat with a laugh, “and the evidence is undeniable.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes as he grinned wider. “Alright, genius, let’s hear this theory of yours.”

He shrugged his shoulders, pulling away from her enough to look at her face.

The moonlight illuminated her beautifully, and he was about to shut the fuck up and kiss her.

“You’re the moon. And the moon,” he leaned in closer, stroking her cheek gently. “is guilty of high tides.” 

She stared at him for a moment, trying to hold back her laughter.

“You’re impossible.” Then she gave in, her giggles spilling out as she shoved him back onto the sand. Instantly, he laughed too, grabbing her arms to pull her into him. “You got me, nerd. I can't live without you.”

And it was a silence understatement; it was true, for both of them.

They knew they couldn’t; her mother, the goddess of the moon, had strictly forbidden it. Breaking her rules was tempting fate itself. 

But it didn’t matter. They were drawn together, no matter how much the world, or divine mandates, tried to keep them apart.

Something bound them, aching for one another when apart and feeling even more drawn when they were together.

And as Percy held her under the glow of the moonlight, he didn’t even try to imagine staying away. 

Because, honestly, he knew he couldn’t.

to me, anyone who says that they don't like the moon is lying. have you seen her? LOOK AT HER!!

[eowynstwin]

So, Ikea and Bunny. I need to talk about them too, though no one has explicitly asked about them.

The truth is, I am still so fucking angry at those two. There is not a kind thought in me for either of them. Either my worst suspicions are true, and they conducted the whole affair from behind the scenes, or they were willfully stupid enough to swallow Myka’s story for the sake of their own blog engagement. Because I sure never heard of either of them before this happened.

Those two were needlessly and joyfully cruel to me. They languished in attacking my character, my maturity, my intelligence, the way I phrased things, or that I did not say what they thought I ought to. They called me a sociopath. Ad verbatim they said my brain "doesn't fucking work right."*

I have been VERY open for a while now about being autistic. I certainly already had it in my blog description by the time they came after me.

They went on to accuse me of poor reading comprehension, bullying, and abuse. They accused me of setting my followers on Myka. When I referenced one separate occasion in which I had a public disagreement with another blogger earlier this year, they spun that reference out into a HISTORY of influencing my followers to go after others I didn't like. (There was no request for clarification on my part before they took that and ran with it.)

Bunny even went as far as to explain what Myka's original post meant, the way a third grade teacher might, to prove her point about my lack of reading comprehension.** Bunny, just call me a fucking retard and be done with it.

Then, as people began to point out that they were in fact doing the same thing they accused me of doing, they had the audacity to remind everyone not to harass me. So it's okay when you forget about that, girlies, but guillotine for me because I forgot?

When the truth finally came out, they backpedaled REAL quick. I even got some apologies in my inbox.

Genuinely. From the bottom of my heart. Absolutely fuck the both of you. I didn't have you blocked until I left. In fact, the both of you FOLLOWED ME. You never ONCE tried to talk to me first anyway. You two saw your chance to tear me to pieces and you fucking took it.

Disclaimer, because I know these two people by now: this is no call to action for anyone to go after them. I doubt you could anyway, since all of their blogs have been inactive since June. (the-original-honeybun is crashtestbunny's main.)

But these two did permanent damage to my reputation within this fandom. Even if they were to delete every single post they made about me, there would still be versions of them circulating. Their blogs are still fucking UP, ostensibly for accountability, but exactly how accountable are they if they haven't actually been there to take it?

*Specifically Ikea. Scroll her blog if you need proof. The post is still up. **Also still up on her blog, crashtestbunny.

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

My brain is absolutely mush so I'm leaving Sky period sex smut here. Pat pat. I'm so sorry you have to deal with my demons.

Don't ever apologize because I LOVE YOUR BRAIN. Your Sky requests are breathing life into me, so don't you dare feel bad <3

Crimson Comfort

Pairing: Sky x Reader

Warning(s): Period sex :). Reader is assumed female because of menstruation

Masterlist

You awoke at the crack of dawn, when the sky was but a mere sliver in the darkened horizon. A beam of tangerine light shone through the small crack in the shades, nearly blinding you as you groaned and attempted to reshuffle into a position that wouldn't sacrifice your poor eyes to the sun's fiery wrath, which was proving slightly difficult with the heavy arm sling over your midsection.

Sky, per usual, was dead asleep, his back pushed so far against the wall that you were sure he would have tumbled to the floor had it not been there. You froze when he snorted in his slumber, face wrinkling so slightly that you almost missed it. The arm around your stomach tightened minutely, fingers digging into the flesh of your side.

You waited.

Sky let out another snort, expression relaxing.

You allowed yourself a huff of relief, carefully readjusting to face him, successfully warding off the sun for another few hours. Mission accomplished.

There was a rustle.

"...Morning," Sky's voice filtered through the calm, heavy with sleep. His eyes remained closed, but you knew it didn't make him any less alert.

Fuck, you swore internally, which was an appropriate thought considering the events that had occurred just last night and the fact that he'd managed to catch you off guard yet again. Instead of vocalizing your thoughts on the matter, you flushed a dark color and mumbled, "Go to sleep, the sun's not even up."

"Hm..." he hummed. Eyes the color of the stormy sea blinked open, pupils contracting slightly as he registered the golden light washing in from the window. He gazed at you through a thick, unbrushed mess of golden curls. A thin embroidered shirt separated your flesh when he pulled you closer, head rising to nose at your hair, breath huffing at the strands. "I can't," he decided after a moment. "Not when you're awake."

You leaned in, the tip of your nose brushing the bobbing apple of his throat. "We'll be useless in the morning," the joke slipped from your lips, bouncing off his tanned skin and flailing in the atmosphere above.

"I don't mind," he huffed back. Your heart stuttered. "It's fine."

Just to maintain the bit, you snorted softly. "It's not."

Silence.

"What are you doing?" You asked when he pushed the blankets down, his hand gently cupping the back of your right thigh and hiking it over his hip, something warm and hard slotting against your core. You hadn't bothered putting on shorts after last night, leaving you in only one of his tunics and a flimsy pair of underwear.

"Is this okay?" The man in question mumbled against the top of your head, thumb stroking careful circles over your flesh. He was always so gentle with you, even though you had done this thousands of times. He always asked, and you loved him for it.

You paused–as if there was a reason to consider such an obvious answer–and nodded, kissing along the bobbing column of his throat. "Touch me," you said, and you couldn't have meant it more.

He obliged with a sharp inhale through his nose, the hand on your hip sliding to the hem of your tunic, fingers dipping beneath the fabric to trace firebrand lines up your side, eventually reaching the slopes of your breasts. You whined against flesh when he took one of your boobs in hand, thumb flicking lightly over the already pebbled nipple. You already felt so sensitive and he had barely started, which wasn't that thought provoking in your hazy state, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Did you have something to do today? Something important? Whatever it was, it would have to wait, because there was no way you were letting the world tear him away now.

Sky's other hand came up, pushing lightly at your chin to coax you into gazing up at him. "Can I kiss you?" He asked, despite already knowing the answer. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the query, scooting up slightly to slot your lips together. It was warm and oh-so-perfect, leaving you both breathless and aching for more. There was a tugging feeling in your belly, and you felt wetter than the ocean, hands clinging to his strong shoulders for any semblance of stability.

"Link," you breathed when the kiss ended and you were forced to resurface for air. Your chest heaved as the sheets crinkled around you, mussed from sleep and the numerous activities that had occurred before.

The hero palmed your breast with a bit more purpose, face flushing slightly when his name fell from your lips. "It's okay," he whispered in a tone that perfectly matched yours, eyes burning loving holes into your flesh. "I've got you."

You felt yourself shiver at his words, tilting up to steal another sweet kiss. The movement of your lips was unhurried as he continued to knead you, moving to your other, neglected breast after a few moments. This time, he tweaked your nipple, and the sharp sensation had you yelping into his mouth. Fuck, that actually hurt a bit.

As if sensing your pain, Sky stopped all movement, breaking the kiss as his brows knitted together in worry. His hand withdrew from your tunic, resting on the curve of your hip, still slung over his own. "Are you okay?"

You blinked a bit, confused yourself. Sure, you were usually more sensitive in the mornings, but this was new, as was the ache in your abdomen-

You froze when something warm and wet leaked from you, in a far larger quantity to be arousal. There was a stab of pain in your stomach and the realization hit like a dive-bombing loftwing. "Shit," you hissed, scooting off of him to confirm your fears. Sky tried to follow, only to freeze in turn when he noticed the crimson blood staining his thigh, right where your core had been.

"Oh no," Sky's voice filtered as he came to the conclusion of what had just occurred. With startling grace, he all but leapt from the bed, jogging to the bathroom and returning with several thick towels in hand. His lips formed a thin, worried line as he moved to the foot of the bed, pulled the covers all the way down, and climbed back to your side. "I'm so sorry," he all but whispered, using a hand to encourage your hips to lift so he could slide a folded towel beneath them.

"Don't," you huffed slightly, sitting up and ignoring the fresh bout of cramping in your belly. It wasn't the worse you'd had, but it definitely wasn't the lightest, either. "It's not your fault."

"I know," he said in a tone that told you he didn't. "...Does it hurt?"

"No more than usual," you shrugged, determined to keep the worst of it to yourself. You had survived alone for many years, so what made a few days any different? You did, however, have no shame in asking him to fetch you things. "Could you bring me a glass of water? And some of those herbs from the potion shop?"

Sky nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. "I'll be right back," he said, though the look in his eyes was reluctant. Still, he was up in a flash, padding to the kitchen to fulfill your request. While you waited, you busied yourself with dragging the soiled sheets from the blissfully clean mattress, making sure to keep the towel beneath you to prevent more accidents.

Once the offended sheets had been properly grimaced at and balled into a corner of the room, you sat back down on the bare mattress, grimacing at your predicament. You were usually good about keeping track of your cycle to prevent the headache of extra laundry, but a few mishaps were bound to happen, though you were glad this particular one had occurred in the privacy of your own home, even if it did interrupt what was to be a wonderful morning with your boyfriend.

The door opened, and you were grateful for Sky's quick return. He walked to your side, bearing a cup of water and a small pouch of herbs that you swore up and down on. He plopped beside you, offering the cup with a slightly strained smile.

"Thank you," you sipped the water, then took the herbs and poured a small amount into the cup, grimacing at the bitter taste coating your tongue. You drank until the cup was empty, gagging minutely at the less-than-ideal flavor.

Sky watched with a sort of nervous anticipation when you placed the cup on the nightstand, one of his hands moving to rub the small of your back. "Is it helping?" He asked, followed by a more confident: "Do you need anything else?"

"I'm fine," you shook your head and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek with a half-smile. "I don't suppose you're still open to cuddles?"

The hero's expression instantly softened and he wrapped his arms just under your chest, coaxing you to lie back on the bed. You went willingly, one hand reaching down to make sure the towel stayed beneath you at all times. A sharp rush of blood left you, but the pain in your abdomen was fading as the herbs took effect, leaving you relaxed and, dare you say, boneless against the broad expanse of his chest. Your head fell back against the pillows, eyes closed and breathing coming in small, content puffs. "I'm always open," he mumbled into your hair, nuzzling the soft skin of your neck. "I love you."

You tilted your head to press a kiss to his forehead, already falling into the warm embrace of sleep. "I love you, too, Link."

You awoke to a horrid cramping in your abdomen.

Groaning, you willed yourself to move, to do something other than lie in pain, but it was futile when the feeling only doubled, coupled with an unpleasant flood of... fluids from you. You felt gross and sticky, and the urge to curl up and hide was a strong one.

Sky was already awake, expression concerned as he watched your movements. The fact that he hadn't succumbed to sleep surprised you, but it was quickly overpowered when another cramp crashed over you. Deft fingers, calloused from years of training, stroked your side, occasionally dipping beneath the hem of your tunic. He did nothing, though, only asking, "How are you feeling?"

You gave a noncommittal, pained huff, resisting the urge to roll off the side of the bed and let the fall take you.

"That bad, huh?" Sky's smile was deeply sympathetic as his fingers pressed under your tunic once more, applying gentle pressure to your belly in the form of small, soothing circles. It wasn't the biggest help--without heat, at least--but you allowed him to continue, gazing up with bleary eyes.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Just over two hours," he answered quickly, and you chuckled tiredly at the embarrassed flush licking at his cheeks. It was cute how he thought that would make you uncomfortable.

"Thanks," you mumbled, eyes falling closed once more. His hand felt warm against the cool flesh of your stomach, and you trusted him to know what you needed in a situation like this. "...Do we have any more of those heat packs from the academy?"

By heat packs, you meant the emergency warmers the knights were required to carry when times grew tough, which you would have never asked for had the academy not sent him home to you with several hundred of them one random afternoon. You were still trying to figure that one out, honestly, but the flash of elated recognition in his eyes was everything. "I'll get you one!"

With that, he was gone, presumably to rummage in the closet the packs were kept in, while you were left to mourn the temporary loss of warmth. You instantly relaxed when familiar footsteps padded in, followed by a sharp snap as the pack in Sky's hand activated. He was smiling as he pushed it beneath your tunic, right where his hand had been. The warmth that bloomed over your skin was heavenly, and you could have cried when he rejoined you on the bed, chest practically molded to your side, continuing to rub those sweet, gentle circles atop the pack. "Is that better?"

"Much," you all but groaned, too blissed out to offer any true eloquence in your words. "You're the best."

"Anything for you," he murmured, nuzzling your hair as he continued his ministrations. You felt safe in his embrace, like a warm blanket after a cold day.

The only thing that broke you from your reverie was another rush of blood from between your legs, which were still bare as you had elected to free bleed on the towel until your stomach decided to stop stabbing itself. You shifted your hips, feeling a bit too wet for comfort, and Sky was instantly alert, assessing the situation with a diligence usually observed when he had a sword in one hand. "It's okay, I'll get you another one," he soothed, sitting up to pick another towel from the good-sized stack on the bedside table, sliding the old towel out and the new one under your hips.

It was purely by chance that the pad of his thumb accidentally brushed over your sore core, though the borderline moan the action elicited certainly wasn't.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, but the damage had already been done. Sky paused, brows raising as he processed your reaction. You could tell by the way his face flushed crimson that he wanted to try it again, but held back for your sake.

You didn't want him to.

The way your thighs closed on his hand was almost instinctual. You had done it many times before, but never for this reason. Sky's fingers felt warm, though a bit stiff, between your flesh. "It's fine," you whispered once your voice returned, face burning brighter than the hottest hearth. "Please..."

"O-Okay," Sky cleared his throat, obviously still reeling from the suddenness of the situation. His fingers fanned out, coaxing your thighs to part once more, baring everything to his smoldering gaze. It was your first time doing this, so you expected a bit of nervousness on both sides, but the flash of hunger in those blues of his only solidified your desire. "Tell me if I do anything wrong."

"Promise," you managed to squeak before he reached forward, tracing two fingers down the seam of your lips, gathering both blood and arousal. It was enough to send a fresh bolt of warmth zinging through your belly, curling up the length of your spine.

"Link," his name was a breathless prayer on your lips when his thumb found your clit, applying the gentlest pressure to the tender, swollen bud. The sensation was jarring, and you would have been embarrassed by the way your hips jerked had he not shushed you, fingers moving a bit lower to spare you some relief, coating themselves in a mix of fluids that you should have found disgusting, but the only thing on your mind was how hot he was like this.

"It's okay," Sky shifted, using his free hand to coax you to sit up, slotting himself between your back and the headboard. Your head fell back against his shoulder when he pressed the heat pack closer to your skin. "I'll take care of you."

And so he did. He was a man of his word, after all.

You felt helpless as you squirmed and shivered under his ministrations at your slit, spreading your wetness over your thighs and coaxing you back to intimacy, making sure to avoid your sensitive clit until he knew you could handle it.

A single finger teased your entrance, dipping in with a patience that could have rivaled the goddesses, testing your slick walls for any sign of pain or discomfort. "Does it hurt?" his question came as a breathy whisper against the trembling skin of your craned neck.

"N-No," you murmured, hips canting forward in an attempt to coax him to continue. Every nerve in your body cried for relief, and who were you to deny yourself? His finger pressed all the way in, and your hips squirmed. You needed more.

Your breath hitched when the pad of his thumb brushed the underside of your clit, testing your reaction with careful precision. This time, it wasn't quite as sensitive, and you took the action with a soft whine, head falling back further against his shoulder.

"There you go," the hero encouraged, rewarding you with an open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, right where your pulse beat the strongest. He pumped his finger slowly, giving you plenty of time to adjust before a second one began to circle your entrance, only dipping in when your hips rocked up, trying to draw him in. "Shh, I'll give it to you."

A low moan was your response when he pushed the second finger in, carefully crooking them against your gummy walls. The cramps in your belly had faded to a dull ache, leaving behind a far different type of throbbing in your abdomen. One of your hands fisted in the mattress while the other gripped his forearm, encouraging his movements with gentle, desperate squeezes to corded muscle. Sky was kind enough not to comment, busying himself with kissing a path down the length of your neck as his fingers crooked, searching for the spot that he knew would have you seeing stars.

"Ah!" The yelp tore through your throat faster than you could stop it. Your hips lifted slightly, only held down by the hand splayed on your abdomen. "FUck– right there–!"

"Here?" Sky's chuckle vibrated through your entire being as he complied, applying more pressure to the spot within you, occasionally scissoring his fingers to stretch you open. Your nails dug into his forearm, sinking into flesh and you struggled to regain even a shred of composure against the onslaught of pleasure, but it was for naught when his thumb reacquainted itself with your clit, padding slow, easy circles over the stiff nub. "It's okay, you can let go. I've got you."

As if on cue, the coil that had been brewing in your belly snapped, so suddenly that you didn't have time to censor the noises rolling from your parted mouth like the crashing waves of the ocean. It was too much and not enough, you thought as your body seized impressively, walls clamping down on his fingers and neck practically dislocating from how hard you threw your head back. Sky helped you ride out your orgasm as best he could, pace never once faltering as you gushed around him, squirming and whimpering.

By the time you finally came down from your high, you were panting like the air had been punched from your lungs. A small, satisfied grin crossed Sky's face as he withdrew his fingers, absolutely coated in crimson slick to where they met the meat of his hand. "How do you feel?" His voice filtered through the fog, and you took a steadying breath.

"Like I could die happy," was your tired reply. He hummed in acknowledgment, though you hardly registered the noise when he brought his hand to his mouth, gaze flicking intently over his fingers. There was something deeply contemplative in his eyes, and you flushed when pink lips parted, his tongue darting out to flick across his pointer finger, gathering the barest hints of wetness. "Oh–"

"It's not bad," he mused in a way that made you turn as red as the offending digits. Storm-blue eyes flicked to meet your own, dancing with equal measures of ravenous mirth and tender hunger. "I'm not a fan of blood, but I think I could get behind this."

"Please stop talking," you squeaked, a millisecond away from covering your face in your hands. Watching him lick his bloodied fingers wasn't something you ever thought you would enjoy the sight of, but the deeply depraved part of you cheered at the image, while the other, more reasonable part prayed for the salvation of your souls. "It's gross."

"Maybe," he grinned, and you wondered how someone so sweet could be so resonatingly smug. His tongue darted out again, lucking a much bolder stripe up his bloodied palm in a manner scarily similar to the way he acted between your thighs. "But you're not gross."

"And you're weird," you muttered under your breath, though you couldn't deny that his actions had definitely helped. "Thank you, though. I feel a lot better."

"Good," Sky's head dipped down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, shifting slightly to make sure the towel was still nestled beneath your hips, and it was then that you felt his bulge, hot and heavy, against the curve of your ass. He was hard. Maybe even painfully so, considering the spectacle he had just watched. That wouldn't do, not after everything he had done for you.

You shifted to sit up a bit straighter, gently nudging the cooled heat pack off of your flesh. Sky's brow furrowed in confusion when you turned to him, gaze questioning. "Is something wrong?"

You nodded to his very obvious hard-on–there was even a wet spot in his pants, for crying out loud–smiling slightly when his gaze snapped down, as if seeing it for the first time. His blush darkened. "Do you need help with that?"

"No," he answered quickly, then amended when you studied him: "I mean– not right now. I can wait."

"Are you sure?" You asked, tilting your head as you pivoted to face him, keeping your butt firmly planted on the towel. There was a mild cramp in your belly at the movement, but you knew it would fade as soon as he got his hands on you again. "I don't mind."

"It's fine," Sky continued, somehow managing to look simultaneously guilty and horny out of his mind. "Your health is more important than my pleasure."

True, but you also felt like your 'health' was about to take a nosedive if you didn't get him inside you in the next five minutes. Not that you would ever push him, but the ache was there, waiting to be satisfied. Still, you nodded, determined to respect his wishes as much as he did yours. "Okay," you murmured, leaning forward to plant a kiss in the corner of his mouth. "Want to cuddle until Zelda comes to the front door to find out if we've died or not?"

Sky's grin grew tenfold, and he kissed both of your cheeks in gentle succession, hands cupping your cheeks like the finest china. "I'd love nothing more."

I kind of want to write a part two for Legend's period fic now 👀

Also please forgive me for the title, I can't name things for the life of me.

[whimsicalpolitical]

what are your thoughts on Ross and reader telling each other their kinks and maybe trying a few? new content of Ross has me going crazyyy

okay okay I have a few 🫨, 18+mdni

Hair pulling:

To start with. Ross’ hair is really fucking long right? That means you can properly pull it and he’s soo fucking into it.

He’s lazily thrusting into you, his hand clutching yours next to your head and his mouth is somewhere in between your neck, sucking, biting and groaning against your skin when you clench around him.

When he repeatedly hits the spot that makes you go weak you can’t help but move your hand from his lower back to the nape of his neck, your fingertips digging into his scull before tugging at his dark hair.

“Jesus fucking christ,” is his first reaction, his hips faltering and his teeth on his bottom lip, needing to focus before finishing too soon.

“Sorry-“ you apologize out of breath, thinking you hurt him.

Ross shakes his head though and swallows, “don’t apologize,” he groans, grabbing your leg and wrapping it around his back, “do that again?”

Your fingers are hovering near his head and Ross hums in permission. You stroke his hair for a moment before tugging, just as hard as the last time.

“Oh, fuckin hell,” he groans, your move pulling the same reaction out of him as it did a minute ago.

Ross’ pace increases, moving in and out of you, holding your leg in place while your hand never leaves his hair again.

“Like that?” You ask giggling.

He rolls his eyes, catching the look on your face. “Don’t look so bloody pleased with yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not,” you say, but you’re obviously lying, and he knows it. You lean in, fingers tugging at his hair just slightly, testing, and his breath catches. His eyes flutter closed, and the sight of it, the way his lips part with a soft sigh, does something to you.

“Thought you said you liked it,” you say, pulling back just enough to whisper it against his jaw.

“Didn’t say to take the piss, did I?” he mutters, but he’s already leaning into you, clearly not as annoyed as he sounds. You laugh, pulling his hair a little harder, and he lets out this low, involuntary moan that makes your stomach twist.

“Ross,” you say, pretending to be stern, even though your own voice is breathless.

You kiss him hard, fingers curling tighter in his hair. He makes another one of those sounds, this time more desperate, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer.

“MacDonald, discover a new kink?”

“Don’t—” he tries to catch his breath, and you can tell you’re driving him a little mad. “You- bloody hell.” He’s laughing now, but it’s shaky, almost nervous, and you love it.

“Was that a yes?”

“Yes, it’s—” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut. “Shit, yes, alright?”

“‘Alright?’” you mock, loving how undone he sounds. “Sounds like you more than like it.”

“You’re a nightmare.”

Mutual Masturbation:

One of your biggest fucking turn ons, kind of teasing for yourself, is watching Ross touch himself.

You’re both absolutely drunk after a night out and when you grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen he’s man spreading on the couch, wearing black jeans and a black sweater which is not covering his stomach.

Your eyes drop to his happy trail that disappears in his pants.

You gulp, smirking and watching him lock eyes with you.

“Alright there?” He asks, one of his hands smoothing the sides of his hair.

“Mhm,” you hum, taking a sip of your glass.

You stride towards him but instead of sitting as close to him as possible you sit at the end of the couch, draping a blanket over your lap.

Ross is scoffing trying to pull you over, “what are you doing?”

You giggle into your glass and push him back with your foot.

“Can I ask you to do something?” You ask innocently.

“Ask away, love.”

He leans back again, his hand still grasping your ankle and watching your every move.

You press your foot down lightly against his crotch, feeling the heat of him through the denim. Ross’s eyes widen slightly, his mouth curving up in a slow grin, one that’s equal parts warning and promise.

“That’s dangerous, love,” he says, his voice dropping low, almost a growl. He catches your ankle with one firm hand, holding you in place.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t back down. “Can you touch yourself?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “Please.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, the teasing look fading, replaced by something more intense.

Ross laughs, “you’re pissed, are you not?”

You lean your head forward to attach your lips to his jawline and then his neck. You leave wet kisses there before you pull back again.

“Perfectly fine, Ross. It was just a request I-,” you sigh, “if you’re not in the mood we can-.”

“Piss off,” he chuckles, “can’t just make me hard and then pretend that I don’t want this. Elaborate though, darling, how’d you want me to touch myself.”

“Uh,” you blush, smiling and already feeling tingles in your lower stomach, “just- please, make yourself feel good, for me?”

Slowly, he lets go of your foot, guiding it off his lap, his fingers lingering a moment too long as they slide down your calf. His own hand moves to the waistband of his jeans, fingers playing casually with the button, but he’s still watching you—waiting.

“Bold request,” he says raising his eyebrows, “I’ll do anything you want me to do though, d’you know that?”

“Mhm,” you nod, glancing up at his face for a split second before your eyes drop to his fingers who are slowly unzipping his fly.

Ross laughs, “I see.”

He doesn’t stop looking at you. He doesn’t stop when his hand sneaks inside his pants, brushing his fingers across his bulge over his boxers. You can’t see though- but that’s exactly what he wants.

He doesn’t lose his composure yet, smiling when you pout and kick your foot against his thigh, “you’re unfair.”

“Am I?” He asks, squeezing his cock, hissing while doing so, “got to tell me exactly what you want then.”

“Wanna watch,” you reply instantly, “please.”

You lean forward again, sliding his hand out of his pants and he lets you. He’s stronger than you but he’s enjoying this.

You slip your hand beneath his boxers, connecting your hand with his hard cock and slowly stroking him.

“I so badly want to watch, Ross,” you pout, your face as close as possible to his. Like this, you notice his eyes going darker.

“Hands off then and move to the end of the couch.“

You eagerly nod and move back to your spot, licking your lips when your boyfriend finally lifts his hips and pulls his jeans down to his ankles and then sliding them off completely.

Now, he's only in his boxers, the outline of him clear beneath the fabric, and you catch a glimpse of wetness where he's already leaking. He notices the way your eyes dart down, and a wicked smile spreads across his lips.

“Didn’t know you were into something like this.”

“Me neither,” you joke.

It doesn’t take long until Ross needs more than little touches over his boxers. When he tugs himself out he groans and immediately wraps his fist around himself.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks, his hand in a slow, deliberate movement.

“Yes,” you breathe out, unable to look away.

Ross laughs softly but it’s quickly replaced by his breath hitching when he squeezes his tip.

“Feels a bit weird, though, just you, watching.”

“A bad weird?”

“No,” he says quickly, “not bad at all, just different, a good different.”

The first time he breaks eye contact is when he throws his head back as he starts to speed up, his cock glistening with his pre cum.

“Fuckin’ christ,” he groans, “didn’t think I’d be doing this tonight.”

You bite your lip and watch every move while you open your the buttons of your blouse.

Ross’ eyes drop down to your breasts and can’t help but let a groan slip again.

“Take it off,” he orders, pointing to your black lace bra.

You do as he says, your body completely in his control.

“Absolutely gorgeous, love, want you to feel good as well.”

He tilts his head back slightly, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, and you take the opportunity to lean in closer, your lips parting as you drink in the sight of him. When his gaze snaps back to yours, there’s a wildness there that sends a thrill down your spine.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice ragged. “You’re too good at this, love.” He’s starting to lose control, you can see it in the way his hips jerk up into his hand, the way his brows draw together as he struggles to keep his composure.

Your breath catches, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. His eyes widen, dark and burning with desire, and he swears softly under his breath.

“Touch yourself,” he orders suddenly, his voice rough with urgency. “Wanna see you, too.”

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, his eyes raking over you with undisguised hunger. His hand falters for just a moment before he picks up the pace, his gaze fixed on the way you move.

You copy his moves from earlier, your hands opening the fly of your jeans and pulling them down.

You can feel the flush spreading over your skin, but you don’t look away, not even when your own hand dips down, pressing against the ache between your legs. He’s watching every movement, his eyes hungry and desperate, and you can tell he’s close—so close to the edge.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his voice almost reverent, and you can feel the sincerity in his words.

“You too,” you manage to say, your voice shaky but genuine. “I... I love watching you.”

His lips twitch into a shy smile, his eyes softening. “Yeah?” he asks, almost disbelieving. You nod quickly, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you.

“Yeah,” you echo, and he chuckles quietly.

For a while, there’s no sound but the shaky breaths you’re both taking. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, but he opens them again almost immediately, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of you.

“Don’t stop,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Want to see you like this, keep going, love.”

You shudder at the intensity of his gaze, feeling the warmth pool low in your belly as you move in time with him. He’s letting himself go now, completely caught up in the moment, and you can see the tension building in his body.

Suddenly, his breath hitches, and he stares at you, eyes wide and desperate.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he mumbles, “I’m close-“

“Me too,” you whisper, your hand trembling slightly as you match his pace.

His eyes flick to your hand, watching every movement with a kind of reverence that makes your heart flutter.

“That’s perfect, just like that, love. Do it like I would, that’s right.”

He talks you through it, making sure you feel as good as he does.

“Oh fuck-“ he groans, hips thrusting up and his hand moving faster than ever, “jesus.”

Finally, he lets out a low, shaky groan, his movements growing frantic as he reaches the edge. He doesn’t look away from you, not even for a second, his gaze holding yours with a kind of intensity that takes your breath away. And then he’s gone, shuddering with the release as his eyes flutter shut, a soft moan escaping his lips.

You follow right after, the sound of his voice and the sight of him enough to send you over the edge, your own quiet gasps mingling with his. The world narrows to just the two of you, the warmth of the shared moment wrapping around you like a cocoon.

When it’s over, you both sit there, breathing heavily and staring at each other with a kind of wonder. There’s a long, quiet beat before he lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“That was... something,” he says, his voice rough but gentle, like he’s still catching his breath. There’s a faint smile on his lips, and you can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah,” you say, a little dazed. “Something.”

He reaches for you then, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. It’s not about anything physical anymore—it’s just the warmth and comfort of being close. You curl into him, resting your head on his chest, and he lets out a contented sigh, his fingers playing with your hair.

Public quickies:

Especially when Ross was on tour and you’ve been accompanying him in the small tourbus the lack of intimacy is getting to you.

One time after a concert you immediately pull him aside and into some random storage room.

You don’t waste another second and attach your lips to his, your hand pulling his bun and swallowing the groan he lets out.

The both of you pull back when you can’t breathe anymore.

“Alright, m’ not complaining, love, but that’s not really comfortable in here, no?”

You stare at him and roll your eyes playfully, “where else, Ross. We literally don’t have any private time.”

“I know,” he breathes out, his hand rubbing over his forehead, “not long from here, remember? And we’re in a hotel next week.”

“That’s good but still, need you now.”

You press your forehead against his, feeling his warm breath mingling with yours. His eyes are half-lidded, filled with a kind of yearning that matches your own. You move your hands down, fingers finding the buckle of his belt. You’re not wasting time, your hands trembling slightly with urgency. Ross is breathing heavier now, his lips hovering inches from yours, teasing and tantalizing. He lets out a low chuckle.

"Impatient, are we?" he whispers, but there's a rasp to his voice that betrays his own need.

"Ross," you say, your voice a mix of frustration and longing. You tug at his belt until it gives way, loosening the leather strap and unbuttoning his jeans. He’s still grinning, but his breath hitches when your hand slips below his waistband, the teasing smirk dropping for a second.

You’re desperate now, fumbling to push your panties down, the soft fabric sliding past your thighs. He catches your wrist, his touch gentle but firm.

"Darling," he murmurs, "slow down a second, yeah? It’ll hurt if we don’t—"

"I'm fine, Ross," you interrupt, pressing your lips to his to stop him from saying anything else. "I’m okay, I promise."

But he doesn’t release your wrist. Instead, he pauses, staring at you as if weighing his options. The air is thick between you, your heart thudding against your ribcage. Then he cups your face with one hand, the other moving to slide beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

“Just... let me,” he says, softer now, but with a hint of command that sends shivers down your spine. His thumb brushes over your cheek, grounding you for just a second. “I want to take care of you.”

The gentleness in his eyes tugs at something inside you, but the heat bubbling between you both is relentless. You bite back a groan, arching closer, pressing yourself against him. He’s hard beneath the fabric of his jeans, and you can tell he’s holding himself back, wanting to draw this out just a bit longer. It’s maddening.

"Ross, please," you manage, voice catching.

That does it. With a groan of his own, Ross’s restraint snaps. He’s kissing you back harder now, urgent and hungry. His hands move quickly, pushing your panties all the way down.

Ross’s fingers trace the inside of your thigh, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, and you’re almost dizzy with want. He’s everywhere at once, lips on your neck, hands sliding up your sides, his hips pressing closer until there’s no space left between you.

You reach for him again, pulling his jeans down over his hips, your hands desperate and eager. The denim catches, and he laughs softly against your ear.

“Would you just let me take care of you. You’re absolutely needy today.”

But you don’t care. You need him, need this, and it shows in the way you slide your hand down, gripping him through his boxers. He hisses, biting down gently on your shoulder as his own hand slides between your legs, fingers brushing just where you need them most.

“God, you’re drenched,” he mutters, voice reverent, as if the realization floors him. His thumb circles your clit just enough to make your breath hitch, and he’s grinning again, the teasing bastard.

“Ross,” you gasp, your hips moving instinctively against his hand. He pulls back to look at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, and it’s almost too much to bear.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, and before you can respond, he’s pulling you closer, lips finding yours once more as his fingers slip inside, and you’re lost to the sensation.

You barely register your own moan as he moves, his touch skilled and knowing, each stroke sending you spiraling. He’s watching you, his gaze unwavering, as if memorizing every expression on your face. You can tell he’s getting off on it—the way you’re falling apart beneath his touch, and it only makes you want him more.

“Now,” you whisper, almost desperately, tugging at his waistband, needing more, needing him inside you, “please, Ross, now.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then he’s moving with you, his own breaths ragged. His belt drops to the floor, and then there’s nothing between you but heat and want and the closeness you’ve both been craving.

When he pushes inside, there’s a moment of perfect stillness—a pause, just to feel, just to breathe. He’s gentle, despite the urgency, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“Okay?” he asks, his voice barely more than a breath, lips brushing against yours, his hands cradling you like you’re the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

“More than okay,” you murmur, kissing him fiercely, rocking your hips in response.

And then it’s all heat and movement, the sounds of hurried breaths and gasps filling the cramped space, your bodies finding a rhythm that’s frantic and desperate. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and he responds in kind, his own groans mixing with yours, holding you closer as if you might disappear.

“Christ, I love you,” he breathes against your mouth, and you can’t think, can’t do anything but feel as the pressure builds, white-hot and overwhelming. You cling to him, fingers tangled in his hair, his body moving against yours until the world shatters and you’re both lost, falling, together.

“Love you- right there,” you moan.

His hands grip your hips firmly, anchoring you to him as he thrusts deeper, his rhythm becoming a little more urgent. You’re breathless, barely able to keep up with the way he’s looking at you, as if you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

He moves his hand down, his thumb finding your clit, and he presses down in slow, firm circles. The added sensation is almost too much, and you can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips, your hands clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“God, Ross,” you gasp, clinging to him like he’s your lifeline, your body arching into his touch. “Please, I— I’m so close.”

“I know, darling,” he says, his own voice strained, his breathing heavy as he presses his forehead against yours. His thumb moves in perfect rhythm with his hips, applying just the right amount of pressure, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. “Come on, love. Let go for me, yeah? I want to feel you fallin’ apart.”

You’re right there, teetering on the edge, every nerve ending aflame, and then his hips stutter slightly, his restraint faltering as he feels you clenching around him, tight and desperate.

“Bloody hell,” he groans, his grip on you tightening. “You’re squeezin’ me so good, love. Keep goin’—just like that.”

Your body responds to his words, your muscles tightening around him as you feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter. You’re trembling now, your hands gripping his shoulders so hard you’re sure it’ll leave marks. His thumb is relentless, his hips snapping into you with a delicious roughness, and his breathing is uneven, his control barely holding.

“Ross,” you cry out, unable to hold back, “I— I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, darling,” he encourages, his voice low and coaxing, his thumb pressing down just a bit harder, his hips faltering as he loses himself in the feeling of you. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

His words are all it takes. You break, your entire body going taut as the pleasure crashes over you, wave after wave, leaving you breathless and gasping. Your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, and he lets out a low, guttural groan, his own restraint finally snapping.

“God, love,” he mutters, his voice tight as he thrusts into you one last time, his own release hitting him hard as he shudders, his grip on you fierce. “Bloody perfect, you are.”

You’re both clinging to each other, your breaths mingling as you come down from the high, hearts pounding in sync. His fingers trace gentle circles along your back, grounding you as the haze of pleasure slowly begins to fade.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, a satisfied smile on his face.

“You alright, love?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek softly, his voice warm and tender.

You let out a shaky laugh, pressing a kiss to his lips. “More than all right,” you say, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him close again. “I’d say that was... well worth the wait.”

“Yeah, but next time, we’re findin’ somewhere a bit more comfortable, yeah?” He glances around at the storage room, smirking. “As romantic as this… ‘ambiance’ is.”

You roll your eyes, smacking his shoulder playfully. “Oh, hush. It’s not like we had many options, Ross.”

He pulls you close again, arms wrapping around you, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Well, I’d say this was the best ‘quickie’ I’ve ever had, love.”

You both laugh, still tangled together, and in that cramped little room, you feel like the world outside could disappear, and you’d still be perfectly content.

[finalhaunts]

I hate you skincare i hate you hair care i hate you conflicting and overwhelming information on how to take care of yourself i hate you advice influenced by the pursuit of beauty and not actual concern for health I hate you 7 step skincare routines I hate you “tame frizz!” I fucking HATE you i HATE YOU !!!!!!!!

[hirazuki]

Me, episode 1: Oh, a relatable protag! And a relatable female protag, at that. Sweet! That never happens.

Me, a few episodes in: Wait, the protag really is going to be my character? The one I identify with the most? Seriously? It's not going to be a strange, at least somewhat sinister, seemingly hostile male side character? It's gonna be a female character and the protagonist? That's insane, that literally never happens... what's the catch??

Me, more than halfway through the season: ... huh, I guess Maomao really is it. Okay, then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Me to myself, after episodes 22/23:

[mccleans]

i've gone to sleep angry and woken up angry every day since last saturday

[writing-for-life]

100% this, @embervoices

That’s why I joked about superhero power-scaling above, because that’s pretty much it:

You really can’t look at it from an angle of, “Who’s more powerful on an absolute scale?”

Dream cannot die as long as there are dreamers (on a related note: that thought also helps for the Sandman main run if people struggle with the ending), because Dream is a cosmic concept.

But Morpheus can die, as one aspect/viewpoint/anthropomorphic personification of said concept. But even that’s hard to do (not impossible though, because it also happened to Despair).

Could Lucifer kill Morpheus? Probably (!) yes.

Could Lucifer kill Dream? No, absolutely not. Unless he kills all sentient life that dreams, absolutely everywhere. And that would need to include himself. Bit Rube Goldberg again, slight (literal) overkill if you ask me.

Could Dream kill Lucifer? Probably not outright, no.

Could he kill him through a loophole though? Probably yes? But it would be convoluted and tricky—pretty much that Overture/cat-situation again.

And here I am, sitting and thinking, “Murph, there must be more than 1,000 staunch atheists you could get on your side to snuff out both the Presence and Lucifer in one go.”

To which he would answer, “Sure sure, but why would I? It is not the order of things, and even asking is against the rules: There is nothing big enough at stake for me to consider this. Now shush, go back to sleep, mortal…”

Could Dream make Lucifer really miserable though? Yes. Especially if he puts a finger in that open wound called pride (funny that they are quite similar in so many ways). And he did. But there are probably even more ways he could make him really uncomfortable, because Lucifer does hope and dream.

Could Lucifer make Morpheus really miserable? Also yes. I mean, he did, but in a way he also didn’t because Morpheus managed to paint himself into that corner all by himself—Lucifer just offered him a paintbrush while at the same time saying, “You know, it doesn’t matter if you decide to walk out over the fresh paint and leave a few messy footprints—who even fucking cares?” To which Morpheus replied deadpan, “I do…”

Alright chaps, time to discuss, 'cause canon isn't quite clear on this one (or if it is, I was too dense to get it):

How is it explained that Lucifer is more powerful than Dream, when the Endless are above deities in the universal hierarchy, and Lucifer was created by a god?

Or is it less universal hierarchy related and more to do with the kind of power Lucifer wields (offensive? Destructive, arguably, although I like to see it more as productive power in the foucaulatian sense) vs that of Dream's (more passive? Defensive? Although we know he too is a warrior who fell gods).

What do y'all think?

[duckapus]

Thought up a few interesting things for the Squid Memes AU

1- Desti was an Elite Octoling back during Splatoon 1, and she and her squad (the three other Octolings that would go on to become the Octoposse) were among those who defected after the battle. Though interestingly, she didn't actually hear Calamari Inkantation like the other defectors, seeing as she was recovering from injuries she sustained fighting Agent 3 and thus wasn't present for the battle/concert. She just found out that her teammates were running away and was like "not without me you're not."

She's fully aware that Paige is Agent 3 (once she finally runs into them on the surface at least) and thinks it's honestly kind of funny that the so-called "Scourge of the Domes" was a freaking kid when they tore through the place, and that of all the people she could've gotten into a rivalry with it of course just had to be 3's big sister. She doesn't tell Meggy both because she's not about to out the kid like that and because it amuses her a little that Meggy doesn't know.

2- Axol and Pearl have been friends since they were kids, partly because I figure it would make sense if the tiny angry rich girl who sings too loud and the otaku who figured out fucking magitech and built a pen that could bring his drawings to life because he was lonely got lumped in together as the Weird kids nobody likes. Plus Marina canonically reads manga so even if Pearl doesn't like anime stuff herself we know someone else liking it isn't a turnoff for her.

3- So for this one I'm also pulling from Spongebob Squarepants canon because I needed an explanation for Heavy Squid and all the other Squidwards we see.

Okay, so we've seen in a few episodes of Spongebob that there are a bunch of squids/octopi/whatever Squidward's meant to be that look almost exactly like him. Obviously there's Squilliam but there was also that town of Squidward lookalikes he moved to once. Well, in this that's because they're not Squids or Octopi, they're instead a fourth (yes, fourth. we count Salmonids in this house) type of Inkfish that I'm tentatively calling "Schnozlings." In terms of abilities they're sort of a halfway point between the playable Inkfish and Salmonids, where they can live underwater thanks to having the right kind of respiratory system and thick enough skin to not get splatted by the ink-eating microbes, while also having Swim forms (which unfortunately aren't microbe-resistant like their humanoid forms).

Their swim forms are round, with six tentacles that all look similar to the long tentacles of an Inkling's swim form, while their humanoid forms are...well...Squidward lookalikes. Complete with four "legs," no fingers, a long droopy nose (hence the name Schnozling) and in a few cases the ability to grow hair on their heads like a human. As a side-effect of their microbe-resistant thick skin, most of them don't have any way to display their ink color in humanoid form, while their Swim forms are color coded just like Inklings and Octolings.

(And yes this means I'll have to redesign Heavy Squid to look less like Heavy and more like Squidward. But still big and muscular because that's his Whole Thing.)

[askfordoodles]

Finally some good fucking food character analysis, OP.

We really aren't talking enough about how much of a performative chaser Emmrich actually is, because it's so sub-surface and tends to get drowned out by other parts of his more overt behaviour i.e. the gentleman-aspect, his fish-out-of-Nevarra status, his overall general positive attitude and passion for learning etc., so I absolutely agree.

Also, you can practically see the switch he makes from realizing he's being chased to deciding 'oh alright, I see you noticing me, - I'll take it from here' 😏 During the skull-scene is where you get to see him go into his well-practiced (but also very performative) Rizz Mode™ persona, as I like to call it. There's a reason people find it difficult to see how he can be both an awkward nerd AND a Rizzler. It's because he can't. He's very good at flirting, but it's also not his true self. It's dance, the steps of which he's come to learn flawlessly though experience, but it's also a shield. (*side-eyes Dorian* what is it with you fruity necromancers and your deep-seated fear of intimacy?)

I also realize now, that look of shock IF you tell him he's your first "anything, romantically"... also has that tell, like he's GENUINELY astounded that someone could choose him for something so important, something more monumental. 'Really? No one before me? You could have had anyone, what's so special about me?' He's realizing he isn't just another one of Rook's flings, they waited all this time for someone like HIM, and they consider what the two of them have as ROMANTIC. And we see that tell OP mentioned, he looks down/pikachu combo all 'Oh... oh damn, I'm important to them...' And then his face softens, he looks back up and says he's glad to be chosen.

But again he's underselling it, he's not simply "glad", he's so thoroughly honoured and touched.

And he assures them, without prompting btw, that they'll take it slow. Now... Rook didn't ask for that, technically. Honestly, I'm realizing now this could just as well be Emmrich trying to regain a sense of control, but pulling on the reins to slow things down, because 'woah woah, you're actually WAY more serious about this than I was ready for, let's take it easy...' but since he's a gentleman, he slyly reframes it, implying it's for Rook's benefit. In respecting Rook's boundaries, he's really covertly trying to protect his own emotional barriers.

(also, as I've said before in my own meta: my personal read on Harding's line about them moving too fast is that she's referring to them, moving too fast FOR EMMRICH, which is to say EMOTIONALLY - and she was right on money, too, but obviously she words it clumsily enough that it's not obvious to the player, or even Emmrich at first)

Unfortunately, he's already got it bad and there's no turning back without some good ol' fashioned self-sabotage. Tell yourself you did the right and noble thing to try and mask how terrified you are.

Emmrich is so in over his head even before that argument. He's used to being afraid of dying,

but along comes Rook,

and he has to face that he's been afraid of living this entire time too, and it's too much.

It's knowledge he wasn't ready for. But it's smacked him in the face, and they might die tomorrow and welp, time to let fear write my break-up speech.

What I think is beautiful is, the argument itself ends in a way where, if he WANTED, he could have chosen to see it as a break-up, but in the midst of battle, after having only cooled off for maybe half a day, like OP mentions, HE'S the one to initiate an attempt at reconciliation. He even, tentatively, refers to Rook as 'darling', he's making no attempts to distance himself. As far as he's concerned, they're still together, they still care about each other, whatever they have is salvageable and, more importantly, he wants it to be.

Sadly, they don't get the chance to apologize to one another, because Solas Shenanigans happen... Rook is gone... For WEEKS. And Emmrich is left to stew in every single emotion he's ever felt for them. (we were robbed, this should have been included somewhere, in all romances)

It's the age-old saying: you don't know WHAT you have 'till you lose it.

The vacuum in his life without Rook hits him full force. 'Actually, wait, them not being here is way worse than them being too close. They could never be too close, I need them here with me right now, what was I thinking, I'm such a fool, as always...'

When they finally return, he's NOT leaving anything ambiguous, he is GOING to let them take the lead, he is GOING to lay with them until morning and unapologetically act like a besotted couple of newly-weds and fetch them breakfast, ...

he is GOING to admit to them, and to himself, how he feels.

That he loves them. And they're a team, facing the world not merely side-by-side, but together. For the long run. They're going to plan for a future that no longer scares him like it used to.

((Personally, my Rook never banged him until that coffin scene, and I think it's extra impactful that their first time is Rook leading him, but I do appreciate that the writing makes their previous level of intimacy vague enough that several Rook-interpretations make an equal amount of sense))

More thoughts and theories about our favorite Necromancer

My darlings, I have too many thoughts and my obsession is running wild. (How I missed you, hyperfocus). If you have read my last meta post about our Emmrich, here it is: First Meta Post

That is not a required read however. I am still wondering why anyone is reading my word vomit U_U

Anyway, I love reading other peoples theories, so please, send me yours. <3 And a lot of thanks and love for all you darlings who make this fandom such a beautiful and nice place. Especially to @jaal-ama-daravv - who makes the most beautiful videos, and writes such wonderful character studies.

Warning, from here on there will be spoilers as well as mentions of sex. If you don't want to read about any of that, do not read the rest.

Also pictures and way too many words. This is a ten page word document, save yourself while you can. I tend to go off on a tangent once I start writing. I am also well aware that not everyone will agree. This is just my personal read on Emmrich.

Now, after my first essay I have some more thoughts on Emmrich and Rook and specifically their intimate relationship.

Emmrich is such an interesting and baffling contradiction. On the one hand he is confident, self-assured, all manners and poise. He is smart, and he knows it. He has special gifts, and he knows it.  He is confident without being proud. He likes to teach others without being arrogant. He still likes to learn about new things and is, as far as I’ve seen, never judgmental about different beliefs and ways of life. (Unless someone treats him with disdain or bully him)

He is a man who is confident speaking of his thoughts and feelings and fears. How he just casually drops his thanatophobia is just astonishing. He is honest and open-minded in the best ways.

And then there is the other side of him. The wet kitten side of him. As open and honest as he is about his emotions, when we get to the meat of it, to the scary bit, the real feely bit, he locks up completely. As long as it is surface level (or he can pretend its surface level), everything is up for discussion. But once we reach deeper and touch *love* he gets so scared and refuses to admit and commit to his feelings. And as much *death* scares him, love scares him more.

So how does that influence his intimate relationship with Rook?

According to the banter with Lace “everyone knows about it”. He was rather surprised by that.

That tells us two things:

They were trying to be sneaky or at least keep their private business private.

They failed, massively.

Add to that Laces comment about them moving rather fast (when, where? I would have loved to have seen that. Comments like that just give me the feeling that we should have had some more cutscenes after the dinner date, to show us those two besotted fools).

But back to them moving rather fast. I would guess that they both did a lot of gazing lovingly at each other, blushing, spacing out while watching their darling, stollen kisses in the hallway when they thought no one was watching, stuff like that. Just being to besotted fools.

But moving fast usually includes sex. Lots of needy, sweaty sex. The inability to keep their hands of each other.

That moves us to the question of the day – did they have sex before their coffin time?

Let’s look at what we know about Emmrich. Emmrich is no virgin. That man has experience. He had past lovers. But what he tells us at that sweet diner date – “nothing serious for years.” We know not much else besides his crush on a boy in his youth and his fling with the Orlesian Art Lady. He is not someone to kiss and tell and that is appreciated. That man has class, and we love him for it.

So - nothing SERIOUS for years. If he hadn’t had ANY relationships in the past years, he would have said so. But what he says is that he did, in fact, have UNSERIOUS relationships in the last few years.

I would read that to be somewhere along the “fwb, lovers, affairs, paramours, companions, a fling, a little romance” line. Something not purely, but mainly physically driven. Someone you like and respect, you can go out and have a good time with, have lots of amazing sex with (b/c he is a living being and has his needs). Spending time with people he liked, was sexually attracted too, but nothing as serious as love. A physical relationship. A little thrill, some fluttering, but never that deep.

Not to say that those situationships would not have been romantic. He is (buried under all that resignation) a deeply romantic man. I am pretty sure he went on nice romantic dates with his previous paramours too. That this is something he just enjoys too much. Treating a companion with some quality time, not just in, but also out of the bedroom.

But after he’d given up on his dreams, he did not have any notion of those flings being more than a “enjoy the moment”. There was never the expectation of deeper feelings, beyond friendship, attraction and/or respect. All those romantic gestures were nothing more than a little bit of “play pretend”. To give himself the illusion of true romance, just for a little time.

Take the fact that you can go a “everything you do is creepy but I still flirt with you and I want you to throw me over that tombstone” and his comment on “the attraction of the forbidden”? This is not a relationship born of mutual respect and deeper feelings but out of purely physical attraction. And he is OK with that.

I want to repeat – Emmrich is very much okay with a casual, sexual affair. He does not require love to have a relationship with someone.

And then think about that Johanna calls Rook specifically his “paramour”. Which is a lover, especially an illicit one. This word was very specifically chosen by Johanna. For various reasons, I would think.

For one, I do believe that it is a dig at his dreams of the eternal flame. It’s a dig at him, that Rook is not his love, but his paramour. A lover for a time. To be parted from soon enough. B/c that silly dream of his, as if it ever would become reality.

Second, I think it is a comment on the way his relationships often went, especially in the past years. Those unserious flings of his. Never to amount to anything substantial.

Did he try to have something serious in the past? Oh yes, for sure. But it never worked out. Then he gave up his dream and just let himself have a good time with people he found to be nice and attractive.

To pick up my point of self-sabotage from my last meta post – I’ve come to a point where I believe Emmrich is a kind of chaser. I know someone like that and it’s so fucking tragic.

Emmrich feels deeply and strongly. When he falls in love with someone it’s a lot of emotion. But at that point it’s all dream, want, wish. As soon as someone returns these feelings - those dreams, wants and wishes become reality. And reality is scary. In this wishful dream about the eternal flame, there is no fear. No fights. No loss. But that is not reality. As soon as it becomes reality, he gets scared. Before, his feelings were no threat, because you can’t lose what you don’t have. Once those feelings are returned, there is a clear possibility of losing, of being lost, of being left behind.

Emmrich is not a chaser because he enjoys the hunt. He is a chaser because being loved by someone is scary. So damn scary. So, he starts to pick fights and is looking for excuses. From being the chaser, he becomes the chased. He is hunted by his fears, and his fight or flight instincts go all flight.

After years of this cycle he gives up. Resigns himself to flings and little romances without even thinking of more. Or so he thinks. Dreams like that don’t die, they just get buried.

And I’d think that there was not many, even of those short term flings, lately. His life revolves around work and Manfred.

Now remember he comments on Rook “showing unexpected interest in a new companion”.

First of all – unexpected.

They are a daring adventurer. He thinks of himself clearly as the more boring one, compared to Rook. He never expected any of those flirts. But he is clearly flattered.

Second – companion.

That was such a weird way of saying “hey do you like me?”. This whole “companion” thing does not scream “I have FEELZ for you/you have FEELZ for me” but rather, “I think you might want to spend some quality time with me”.

The possible answers - dashing good looks, kindness, his way of words.

He feels he is fortunate if Rook thinks him good looking. Hallo, Mr. Professor, sir… Have you looked in the mirror lately? Consider that he is meticulously grooming himself, takes his exercises daily in the morning. That man does not like himself aging. I think it is a reminder of how his pending death is a step closer every day. But it shows, to him, that his efforts of taking care of himself are not in vain. Or maybe it shows him that his age does not matter. Rook finds him attractive despite (or because) of his physical age.

Rooks comment on his very charming way of putting things makes him hope his years behind the lectern have proved useful. Hey *years* behind the lectern. Again, this is a way of saying his age is NOT a problem but a benefit.

If Rook remarks his kindness, he answers “you humble me”. It’s the one answer that does not touch his age/experience/looks. It’s a remark on an innate character trait he possesses. Kindness. His whole demeanor in this option shows he is actually touched. And maybe a bit baffled. He did not expect this, at all. Its like he sees his kindness not as an attractive trait. Which he should. He is nice without TM and its sexy as hell.

The next part is his statement “If your attentions go beyond charming flattery… that would interest me, indeed”. This reads to me not necessarily as “do you have feelings for me” but as “do you just enjoy the flirting, or do you want to do more than flirting?”

And oh boy, does he want to do more than flirting. I want to repeat my earlier statement – this man has given up on love. But some little fling with an exiting young adventure who was constantly, awkwardly flirting with him? Hell, yeah.

(I want to remind you that we were able to have mutually enjoyed flirts with Dorian as fem!Inky. You can flirt with someone and still never want to fuck them. And you are also perfectly able to want more than flirting without having deeper feelings. Like sweet, dump Shepaloo said it so eloquently “Lets bang, okay?”)

Again, I want to pick up a point of my last post, that this is all surface level thoughts. I do believe that their emotional attraction and depth of feelings go deeper, from the start. But how often does it take quite a bit of time to realize one’s own feelings. Especially this wonderful, silly man whose modus operandi is running away.

Now, an interested Rook can answer in an open “lets see where this goes” way. Mirroring his rather open idea of a little romance, a fling, some quality time. Something that does not have to end in an eternal flame, but a simple enjoyment and exploration of the moment.

Rook can also reply with a “I think they do.” – What Rook actually says is “I think they already…”

And conveniently Rooks answer here is cut short by our sweet boy Manfred. They get cut short, no matter what answer you choose, but in this specific case, I am convinced this was very much on purpose. What would the whole sentence have been?

“I think they already go way beyond flattery.” (?!?) Something along those lines. But that goes into danger zone. WAY into danger zone.

If Rook had finished that sentence, at that point in their budding romance? It would have been over before is all started. Too much, too soon. Too much for him, period.

Now we have the hard lock – their sweet romantic moment in the Memorial Gardens. And he is smitten. He fell hook, line, and sinker for his own play pretend. Just a little romance, but that man is falling, fast. (Not that he would admit that to himself).

A beautiful date, all arranged by Emmrich, to spend time with Rook. Because a couple should have a quite moment to get to know each other. I mean there were menu cards with gilded edges, ffs. And, oh yes, they were “lets dig into the feelings”, he said couple. He is falling, falling, falling fast. But it still hasn’t hit him, how deep he has fallen for his darling Rook. Poor Emmrich.

Then a fight, where we really see the wet kitten side of him for the first time. A little wet, feral kitten, hissing at the hand that’s trying to feed it.

Emmrich is lashing out for no good reason (or no good reason for anyone but himself). There is no real confidence there but a desperate act of pretending. An iron (slipping) grip, trying to control himself and the narrative. Shoulders squared, back straight, an arrogant stance, raised chin, turned half-away from Rook, and a condescending way of talking to Rook.

Like I said in my last post – he is working his way up to breaking up with them. And he tells himself it’s like ripping off a bandaid. Be strong and confident and say what you have to say, and they will see the wisdom of that.

It’s only that, they don’t. Because there IS NO wisdom in what he is doing right now. They don’t take his bullshit but throw it back at him. They don’t accept his mock excuses.

Look at him here, how he looks down ON them. I can’t recall any other time he looks down on Rook, despite him being a tall king.

Especially the route where Rook throws it in his face that he DOES in fact love them. Speak what he can’t even think.

“I can’t… At my…”

“I can’t love you. At my age…” Why not? Does he not deserve love, just because he is a bit older? It’s just heartbreaking how he views himself.

And again, he lashes out.

“I am perfectly serious.” So is Rook.

“One of us has to pay attention to these things.” As if Rook is not paying attention. They got to the meat and bones of his problem in just a few seconds.

No matter what route you go here, the gist is the same. He is scared shitless, treats Rook like a child, and goes on how the is the only one thinking the important thoughts.

When Rook in reality way ahead of him. They thought about it and came to the conclusion that being with Emmrich is a really good idea.

Rook knew they were falling for someone older than them. (Even if that age difference is just a decade, with a mid-40s Rook.) They knew it, and still went with it. They are not a child who is too inexperienced and stupid to make decisions about their (love) life.

But now, here, at this moment? Emmrich treats them with disdain. Like a silly little person, who does not think things through. He holds himself above them. Physically and mentally. They are too young, he knows better.

And not once has he done that before. He always treated them as an equal. He follows them into the most dangerous situations ffs. He trusts them with his life in a fight against would-be gods.

All that fear and anger at himself that reaches a new high get redirected at Rook.

The next day they are off to Tearstone Island. That night must have been hell. For both of them. But its going to get much much worse.

In any case, Emmrich seems to have come to some conclusion or realization, because on that island? He apologizes.

They both did react very emotionally, but he came at Rook with superiority and, to a certain degree, dishonesty. All fueled by his fear. So that he is the one to take the first step and apologize to Rook instead of doubling down? An important step. As I said in my last post – he NEEDED to be called out. A sweet and nice counterargument would not have had the impact Rooks raw an honest emotion hat on him.

Emmrich “Rook? Darling? I wanted to say-“

Rook “Yeah, about that argument…”

Emmrich “(Sighs) It’s no time to apologize, is it?”

And here we have the most heartbreaking line, in hindsight. “We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.”

(Narrator: but they would, in fact, not talk about it back home. Because someone would not go home.)

One fight and weeks of horror later, they find themselves in a private crypt and finally they do more than share a kiss.

Now - to the point I originally wanted to explore with this post – is this in fact their first time? (I am sorry, but my brain is a circle and nothing makes sense)

Let’s look at what evidence we have from the cut-scene.

Rook did not know he is an early riser.

That leaves two possibilities:

They never had sex up until that point.

They did have sex, but never spent the night together.

Now what does that mean?

This depends a lot on your personal Rook and how they feel about sex in general. If Rook wants to wait, or is not ready, he will absolutely accept and respect that.

But for the sake of this analysis lets go with the idea that Rook is not opposed to sex at an earlier date.

They never slept with each other

Why? He clearly was not opposed to casual relationships in the past. What would hold him back now? Especially if you recall Laces comment about them moving fast. Why not jump into the bedroom?

Now my first crack theory is that they get interrupted, like every time. (Rook interrupted The Dread Wolf, and now he cursed them to always be interrupted when they want to have some private time)

But now, in all seriousness, maybe it’s just that part of him DOES realize that this goes beyond a very unserious relationship. That they both have deeper feelings, that spark of something greater, something beautiful.

So, he holds back. He does not give his all. He is charming, he is flirty, he takes Rook on dates. But it’s all very technical. Very performative. Yes, he is a very romantic man, yes he enjoys those moments. But there is always a feeling of control.

Those moments when you see him let go a bit (that kiss beneath the eternal lovers, “I think, sometimes you indulge me”), are so beautiful and you glimpse a bit of the man behind those walls.

He has a tell, you see. (I am telling you about it further down)

But generally, he feels very much in control of himself. And to lie with Rook? To go all the way? Too dangerous. Who knows what happens in that sweet moment after la petit mort? What secrets would his lips spill?

2. They slept together, but did not spent the night together.

They do have sex, but sleep alone in their own beds. Casual sex is fine, but to fall asleep in each other’s arms? Too much. Too real. Sex okay, but sleepy post coitus cuddly? Woah, slow down your horses.

So, they have sex, preferably in Rooks bed. First, does he even have a bed? Second, it’s way easier to leave Rooks bed after the act, than throwing them out afterwards.

Oh, and how many reasons he has. Rook needs their uninterrupted sleep; they are stressed and must have proper rest. He wants to get some reading done before he retires. He needs to look after Manfred.

Oh, he is a bad liar, for sure. He is lying more to himself than to Rook. I would think that (if this is the build up to their fight) Rook realizes that he is giving poor excuses.

And the sex itself? A technical 10/10. He knows his anatomy, after all. But his heart is not really in it. He can’t allow himself to. He holds back, keeps a tight lid on his emotions. They both are well spent afterwards, but like so much else, it’s performative. Technically very well executed, but rarely do you see HIM, the real him, behind all that performance. Whenever something slips through, he reels back and closes up.

And then we are in that crypt. Rook was gone for weeks. The last thing they said that night before were words of anger. Rook called him out on his feelings and from that point on there was no possible way of lying to himself anymore. Those feelings were there. They were real. Rooks feelings were real. And those weeks spent in desperation, trying to  get them back? Those walls came crashing down.

His true face, when all the walls are gone? You see that face when Rook leads him to the coffin. There is no pretense anymore. No performance. Just him, and all his love for Rook. The amount of emotion the animation team packed into those short moments in the cutscene? Mindblowing. Who ever crafted that expression on his face? They are the GOAT. I watch this part of that scene on repeat, and it never gets old.

So, I told you about how he has a tell, yes? Okay, two actually, but we all know surprised pikachu Emmrich. In that last scene it is resolved in the most beautiful way.

He looks down, when something touches him deeply, when he goes into his feels.

A few (way to many) examples:

And the worst wet kitten look? After the fight, when Rook leaves.

Its a look of shame. Of hurt. This man is hurting so badly.

Now here at the end we have that moment when Rook leads him to the coffin. His face turns down, like before. But here he looks up at Rook. He does not turn his eyes away but looks directly at them. Ahhh my heart.

Now, think about the fact that ROOK is leading in that moment?

In those moments where Rook leads or startles him (or is simply annoying enough so that the truth slips out), you see the most emotion from him.

Rooks flirting startles him, and he has a pikachu face reaction every time.

Their first kiss? Rook leans against the monument, and leans up, telling him without words that NOW is the time for a kiss. How can he not go for a second kiss?

That moment when Rook calls Manfred “our son”? He very conveniently ignores the word “OUR” and goes in defense mode over the word “son”. But called out on his feelings for Manfred? How can he deny them? He has tears in his voice when he says how he would not exchange this moment for anything? A real, deep emotion.

In their fight Emmrich is again all technical, all performance, so logical (or what he sells himself as logic). But Rook wrestles that moment from him and takes lead, calls him out on his bullshit.

In the crypt Rook pulls him up into a kiss and then leads him to the coffin, guiding him, taking him with them.

Most of the other times he takes the lead, very much in control. But the most emotions you get from him, are those times Rooks leads, when he lets go of this tight control over himself, or he is startled in to a reaction. For all the age difference that is played up in their relationship, in the important moments Rook is the one who guides. And he follows where they lead.

Those little moans he makes? If they did have sex before, I bet he did not make those sounds then. Where they did have some incredible sex, now they are making love. Open, vulnerable. He gives in.

And then they fall asleep together. Skin to skin, arms and legs intertwined. Their hands caressing, no sound but that of their heartbeats and soft breaths. Pure and utter contentment. In that moment nothing exists but them. Can you imagine that moment he woke up? The amount of emotions he must have felt then? This need to speak those little words? Those huge little words. He does not say them, not yet. But he is almost ready.  

Finally, they stand there, on the battlefield of Elgar’nans madness. And he tells Rook. The last wall falls. Gives the most precious thing he can give to anyone.

“I love you.”

[adustoflove]

This will always be a better option than arguing with people and attempting to control them. It's not great, but at least I can control myself by just leaving

[zonotrichia-albicollis]

Giant personal vent time

This guy stole somewhere between 3 to 6 MILLION dollars from my grandmother by conning my great aunt into signing over her estate and medical & financial power of attorney to him literally on her death bed

I and my aunt have been working basically a whole second job the last 3 months trying to get together a legal case to go after this guy. And now my grandma wants to drop it. And no one else has standing so what the fuck can we do.

This man has absolutely done this to other ppl before, there is no doubt in my mind. I’ve seen his property records for just what’s publicly available in my county and it’s sketchy as hell. I am never going to get over this but there’s nothing I can do.

Gonna put like a million more thoughts in the tags because I’m losing my fucking mind.