#his specific tag that i have for him might be.........

[inkedcerulean]

an alliance in waiting | chapter two

jacaerys velaryon x fem!frey reader

summary: after the war is finally over, you meet the prince.

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war & death

general notes: semi-non-canon-compliant. rhaenyra permanently succeeds in taking her throne. jace and baela are not betrothed. ulf and hugh do not betray rhaenyra. helaena lives. following canon, daemon, aegon, and aemond are dead.

reader does have a backstory, but she has no name or descriptors. i have added some minor ocs (her siblings) and some of them do have silly names, but so are some of the names in asoiaf.

jace taglist: @hotdhoe @chimmysoftpaws chocotorta2027 @drvcosstuff @emilly-adopted-mcmann @charlottelaffin @suniika @princessofthereach @twilightzone24 @ghizlana @yohanseyebrowmole @fairyjuhak22 @francislovergirl @viserraslawyer @ackerman0-0

TWO YEARS LATER

Morning light seeped in from the high windows of your chambers. You shivered; there was a chill in the air, even though it was mid-spring. Muffled footsteps told you that the handmaidens scurrying about. You paced around the room, taking in the quiet of the early hour.

The door opened then.

Fara, your handmaiden, widened her eyes. “My lady…” she began.

“Good morrow, Fara,” you said, smiling, though however forced.

Fara was carrying a tray with a snood. “Might the lady want to have her hair out of the way when she goes sailing?”

“Yes.” You think of the dozen times that you had forgotten something for a journey or for the day in the towers, and Fara had always been there to remind you. “It always escapes me, doesn’t it?”

Your dress, which Fara helped you put on, was gray and muted, but you much preferred simplicity. The shawl over your dress was wolf fur from the North, protective for the bracing breezes. The Prince was soon to arrive, as Fara told you, and you could not help but feel an anticipatory fear of him.

You stepped out into the hall to break your fast in the Great Hall, your footsteps quick and loud. You kissed the five of your siblings on the cheek, who were already seated, albeit groggy. Your mother most likely forced them to get up, to save herself from any embarrassment of not having the host family up first before the guests.

Thimbus and Dannis, your youngest brothers, were looking at you expectantly.

“Sister,” Gunther started. “Are you nervous at all about the day’s schedule?”

“Yes, I am,” you said, not wanting denial to stir up any teasing.

“That is wise,” he responded, splitting his roast ham in half. “I will miss you when the day finally comes when you will be so very far away from us.” Despite his kind words, the familiar mischievous look graced his face, as if he found your lack of agency amusing.

Marsella and you exchanged a look of quiet camaraderie; you smiled to thank her.

It was hard to believe that the wedding would take place in about a month. Weeks ago, when the guest list had been presented to you, you had looked over it with a transformative pain in your gut. This was all too real. The arrangement was made two years ago, but that time had moved quickly in your own waiting.

As you looked out your window to the Green Fork, you remembered how you dreaded this day at first. It was a cautious thing, facing a dragon and its rider. The Dance of the Dragons, as the maesters were keen on calling it, was infamous for its violence in dragonfire. But the war was no longer, and your betrothed unharmed, or so the maesters said. You heard whisperings of a scar on his neck. The specifics were unknown to you, but you were curious as to find out if the Prince was willing. 

Though curious as you were, you could not help but wonder what violence you were marrying into. Calm as you tried to be, you were still anxious. Your mother would not have secured this if she thought it was a danger, so you had no choice but to trust her.

“The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of Dragonstone has arrived.”

You hesitated for a moment, looking down at the crumbs on your plate. The food in your stomach was turning. After taking a deep breath, you got up to treat with your parents and the Prince on the bridge outside. As the guards led the way, your heartbeat quickened. Although they were there to protect you, you felt as if they were leading you into a dark pit of which there was no escape.

The first thing you saw when you took your first steps outside was the dragon. It was not as monstrous as you imagined, his frills the color of the orange pastries you loved, and scales as green as the hills around you. You held your gaze eye-level.

Queen Rhaenyra had sent twenty of her men, two dragonkeepers, and two of her Queensguard to oversee his stay. Many at the Twins thought it aplenty, but you could not blame her; times of war bred caution. That was not something so easily shed.

You stood at the West Tower, your lady mother and lord father beside you, looking out as the Prince now stood before you, his men behind him. There were several things you noticed about him: his short stature, his striking red cape perched atop his shoulder, and the furrow of his brow that was because of the sunlight, mayhaps.

“Good morrow, my Prince,” you said, curtsying.

“And you, my lady,” the Prince said. “The Riverlands have not much changed since I last set foot here,” he continued, looking at both of your parents. His gaze drifted from you three to the Green Fork ahead. A flicker of amusement visibly phased over him. Perhaps, you thought, that he was thinking of how he won the Crossing for his mother. 

Your mother spoke. “This time, I hope, is a much less distressing reason.”

“I will see to it that it is.”

“We are glad that you are here, my Prince,” you said. “And that the rightful queen took her place on the throne, as she should have long ago.”

“My thanks to you.”

You nodded.

“How fares King’s Landing?”

“Well. My mother sends her greetings in good faith.”

“To her as well.”

You and your parents began with a tour of the Twins. You approached Jacaerys, giving him a curt nod. “We would like to begin with a tour of the castle, if it pleases Your Grace.”

“Yes, of course,” came his reply.

You followed both the guards and your parents to the Water Tower, walking next to the Prince with a few feet’s distance between. It was not difficult to keep pace with him. 

The Water Tower was the lone turret that stood at the center of the bridge, equidistant from both towers. It was where all your guests stayed. Your friends and their families would frequent this accommodation. Until two years ago, when you had a falling out and the war started soon after. You had written letters to them in this peace time, and had gotten only some responses. And from this, a great despondency grew within you.

Would this be the same with the Prince? You had held your friends near to your heart, but time and abandonment had turned your heart to stone. If, gods be cruel, there was another war, would it take your to-be husband from you too? And to be partners in marriage was no cure to your loneliness. You wanted romance but needed friendship, and you feared that your wishes for the latter would go unanswered. A betrothal would only distract you.

You ascended up the curved steps in silence. It had been so long since you’d been here that it felt intimate yet foreign. How could it be, that this was part of your own home, and yet you felt uneasy in this space? His experience in this new place for him was a microcosm of your own future; you were soon to be sent somewhere new for eternity.

The guest chambers of the water towers were generously furnished. When there weren’t any guests, Thimbus would sneak out here at night, for he often swore that these featherbeds were more comfortable than your own.

“Here are your chambers, my Prince,” your mother says.

“This looks very comfortable indeed,” he smiled.

The Prince stood there, several feet away from you and your family. He looked somewhat out of place there. It was then that you realized that it was silly and foolish to think of proceeding with the courtship in your home rather than at the Red Keep. Choosing to show your heart to a stranger and how lonesome it really was, compared to a bustling setting where people and distraction were common, was a shameful, impractical choice.

The boat departed when the air was still chilly. Your parents had left, which you were grateful for. However, the only presence that remained were Prince Jacaerys, and the guards, who remained mute.

You took advantage of the ample room on the small boat as you sat next to the Prince. It was turning into a beautiful day and the wind was calming, but the same could not be said for your nerves. You knew that it was impolite to stay quiet for so long, but you could not think of anything to say.

“I have not taken a boat in some time,” Prince Jacaerys said, looking around you. “I had forgotten what it’s like to travel by air.”

You turn to look at him. “You sailed in King's Landing?”

“A little, the first time I lived there. Ser Laenor taught me all he knew.”

You looked out at Vermax flying in the distance over the hills. Many times you had seen birds fly in the same area, but now there were none; it was a simple, banal sight then, but now you ached for the mundane. Would everything in your life be replaced by the Prince’s company?

He noticed that you were looking at his dragon, and he told you about how Vermax’s egg was put in his cradle, and how when he was a boy, he would train him in the Dragonpit with the supervision of the dragonriders.

“The day I taught him to breathe fire, he burnt a goat. I was happier before than after the fact. Proud of the fact that he burnt a goat alive, but saddened to see what remained of it.”

You nodded.

“Would you like to meet him?”

“Now, you mean?”

“After the boat ride. I can inform one of my guardsmen to go to the dragonkeeper to feed Vermax. He is more temperate if he has just had a meal.”

You chuckled, though it was a small distraction from such a prospect. It was inevitable for you to cross paths with his dragon one of these days, and you felt it was more convenient to make your introduction sooner rather than late. Imagination could sometimes be more monstrous than reality.

“I would like that,” you said.

Prince Jacaerys smiled, close-lipped but apparent.

It was dusk by the time that you both made your way to the western hills. There were stone steps leading through and a few trees littered through the landscape. You looked up at the clouds, then down at the steps. At quiet times like this, it was easy to see everything as gray and sullen. This, you thought, was the reason why it was one of your house colors, the blue towers on an expansive gray field. The dragonkeepers made their camp here to keep watch on the dragon.

At once, your ears perked up to the sound of the dragon’s call. You startled imperceptibly, and Jacaerys eyed you. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said.

You both carried on in silence, though it was uncomfortable for you because of your reaction. You then spotted a flash of orange amongst the green, and then you saw golden eyes peering at you.

One of the dragonkeepers, to the left of Vermax, bowed before the Prince and yourself. He greeted Jacaerys in High Valyrian and then turned to you. “My lady.”

You curtsied at him.

Jacaerys approached before you, walking slowly but with confidence. If it weren’t for his eyes, Vermax looked asleep, his head pointed low on the ground so that some blades of grass brushed his chin. The dragonkeeper was near, seated on a log now.

The Prince came to a stop. “Dohaeris, Vermax.” Without hesitation, he reached out, placing his hand on his snout. Vermax’s mouth curved upwards, closing his eyes as he breathed like a cat purred. You saw the gentleness of Jacaerys’s manner. He stood straight, proud, but not overbearing with it.

He turned towards you, the movement swaying his shoulder-clasped cape. Keeping his other hand placed on the dragon, he held his other hand out towards you and raised his eyebrows. You stepped forward and took it, letting him lead you all the way to his scales. They were coarse against your skin, but you kept them there.

“Iksis ziry jāre naejot kipagon?” asked the dragonkeeper, frowning.

You frowned too, though for the reason of understanding what he was saying.

“Lo jaelza naejot,” he responded. “Would you like to ride with me?” Jacaerys asked.

You imagined it, taking to the skies on a marvelous creature. You knew the power that you were being offered, even though you were only borrowing it.

“He is beautiful,” you said. “But if it does not offend you, I will forgo.”

“Offend me? Why?”

“Rejecting an offer from the Prince is generally ill-advised,” you said.

He smiled, pleasant and comely indeed. “You needn’t worry about that.”

[dadrielle]

I am going to treat this as being in good faith even though I know you have copy pasted this same response on multiple posts.

It's fair enough to see this post and roll your eyes about it. I am being a sarcastic lil bitch about implications that really aren't meant to be there! Liam absolutely didn't mean to do this as an "Orym doesn't trust them" or "Orym doesn't respect their boundaries" thing, and I know that. And I know no one in game is gonna read it that way, either. I didn't tag this Orym specifically because I was picking at a small thing irritably and I fully acknowledge that.

But! There are 3 things I want to say to this on a more serious note.

First, I think we must acknowledge that the implications of listening in on one's friends over listening in on one's enemies are quite different. People have different reactions to different applications of Observant because the social stakes and boundaries are situational. It means something much different to punch an enemy combatant in the face than it does to do the same to your best friend, you know? And Orym is not omnipotent; he does not just automatically know everything that happens, despite how we all joke that he can see god with his high perception. When he chooses to listen in should matter, as should the implications. That's actually my main issue with this whole thing, but I'll get to that in a moment.

Second, I would just like to say while I'm sure you believe it's true I and others critical of Orym don't talk about any of Orym's actual flaws, the fact of the matter is there are many fans who do most of our character discussion privately with our friends instead of tumblr or god, even worse, twitter. And my Orym feelings aren't identical to every other person who is critical of him. As I said in the initial tags for this, I don't think this was the worst thing in the world, it just bugged me! That was just an emotional response, and those often pass. There are lots of moments in stories where my initial reaction is a strong negative emotion, because I am feeling the feelings of the moment, but then I love the full picture it creates. Imogen and Laudna's "did we break up" phase is a great example of that, especially Laudna's ongoing insistence that she was a dead end. It hurt to watch! It made me sad! But it really enriched the narrative! My actual, continuing issues with this Orym moment have nothing to do with Imodna, or the meanings of this moment in particular. It's just another expression of something I've been grousing about among friends for ages. I actually WISH it was Orym being fucked up, that it was something that would come up again later, something he might get push back on. I wish the implication that he feels the need to monitor Imogen and Laudna, that he isn't thinking about how they might feel about it, was a flaw that would be explored with the other characters. Instead it was just kinda there and I imagine no one else will ever have a reaction to it one way or another.

And that leads to the final thing: my biggest issue with Orym listening in is that it DOESN'T matter. It feels like at some point, Liam stopped having Orym engage with other characters and the narrative as actively. It's started to feel very repetitive, and I am deeply frustrated with it. I know he is a reserved, PTSD-laden soldier who uses his hard line morality and sense of duty to hold himself together, who refuses to tell his friends how he feels because he doesn't want to be a burden. I know this! And I think it makes for an interesting character and I want to love Orym as much as I used to. But this is an interactive game, an ongoing narrative, and after a certain point, choosing to have your scenes be solo and keeping your character from changing any of their stances starts to feel like refusing to give other people room to react and challenge your character, and refusing to engage with how others' narratives have changed. What Imogen expressed about not running in this episode isn't a revelation. She has, at this point, been saying some variation of it for about half the campaign. And he has told her he is proud, before. It was nice, then! But listening in to their conversation here and feeling proud in isolation didn't add anything new to the narrative. It could have, if it was a conversation, if he had talked to Imogen directly. But instead it feels so empty to me. Disconnected. It even sort of re-framed the moment as if it was about Imogen Finally Choosing To Not Run, instead of being about Laudna trying to reaffirm a future that keeps slipping from their grasp, one she only just started to believe in again on the precipice of Imogen possibly sacrificing herself for the world. It makes it seem like Orym has barely moved on from the solstice, like he hasn't registered how Imogen's narrative has developed since then.

There are so many things I would love to see from Orym that require acknowledging that things have changed. I wanted him to talk to Dorian instead of chasing after Dorian's dad to say he should be proud of Dorian, especially since Dorian had already had his big cathartic conversation. I wanted him to ask why Dorian has come to hate the gods so much, to ask him why it wasn't just the Spider Queen he was mad at. I wanted him to talk to Fearne about the fact that people outside the party have treated her with the same anti-Ruidusborn suspicion as Imogen, particularly in light of their conversation about taking Imogen out pre-solstice. I wanted him to actually internalize that he was wrong about there being nothing beautiful in Exandria before the gods, and to talk to Ashton about it in a way that starts with him actively listening to Ashton instead of just repeating the same arguments, even if he came out the other side still disagreeing. I wanted him to realize that there hasn't been any danger of Imogen running and that the core of her struggle now is with the fact that she's being asked to sacrifice herself. I wanted him to talk to someone about his guilt over killing Zathuda. I wanted him to acknowledge the hardness he put on when he tossed the locket on Bor'dor's corpse and declared this was war and what that hardness did to him. I wanted him to work on his flaws and talk to people! But instead, he listened and reacted in isolation. The fact that his reaction to Fearne asking him if he was ok as late as episode 95 was just "then why ask? You know the answer" instead of opening up is narratively a problem for me. The few times he has opened up a little have been wonderful but he's still holding most of it to the chest. So many emotional Orym scenes are people talking to him about his emotions and him not responding. We're in too deep, man! "If not now, when?" doesn't just apply to kissing Dorian, you know? He is running out of time to open up.

So. Do I still think listening in on that moment was sucky of him, even beyond the hyperbole? Sure. I think generally purposefully eavesdropping on something like that is sucky. It's a small kind of sucky, though. A blip. Because this is a story, the big sucky thing is that it didn't mean anything for any other character and felt just narratively disconnected. And I find that so frustrating because there are so many potentially meaty, interesting things possible in Orym's story, and I desperately want that richer narrative for him and for Dorian and for all of them.

You might not agree and that's fine. To paraphrase Orym's own words, every one of us forms our own interpretations with the lenses or prisms we see life through. Of course I'm gonna get more het up when this ongoing, general Orym frustration touches on something Imogen or Laudna related - they're my favorites! Of course that influences how I see things. I know they aren't everyone's favorites, so something like this moment won't be a domino-kick on tangentially related, piling frustrations for everyone. But it is for me. I'm not really trying to convince anyone I'm right, here, just to explain why I feel this way about it.

Sure would be fucked up if Imogen and Laudna, until only recently, had every single one of their private moments observed against their will, and then their friend decided to observe possibly their last private moment against their will, huh? :)

[heylittleriotact]

⚰ＷＩＰ ＷＨＥＮＥＶＥＲ⚰

I've been tagged by @xxnashiraxx and love seeing their work pop up on my dash - thank you <3

The Soup du Jour is... smut! Plotless, pointless, porntacular, horny Emmrook smut.

We've got praise kinks, we've got flashing, we've got grinding, we've got trying-to-distract-this-poor-man-from-his-work, we've got Rook biting off more than she can chew when Emmrich calls her bluff. It is in this piece that I am (ultimately) going to make good on my threat of Emmrich reciting erotic poetry intimately into Rook's ear while he makes deeply passionate love to her, because that idea has lived rent-free in my head for days now and I need to manifest it. But first I need Rook to be a brat, and for Emmrich to... deal with that.

I was having doubts about this one because I am forever afraid of writing OOC, but honestly I'm just trying to chuck it in the fuck it bucket and have fun.

Tagging: @preciouslittlebhaalbae (you have TIME now MWAHAHAHA), @allofthebarks (don't hold out on me), @emmg (I know you're cooking 👀)

Under the cut because it is ✨EXPLICIT✨

𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃:

A funeral event where the prepared body of the deceased is reposed in the casket (open or closed) so that mourners may pay their respects, say their goodbyes, and grieve communally prior to the formal funeral service.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she pulled on the flimsy little camisole. She had very specific plans in mind when she slipped into the thin leggings that she knew were just a little too tight. There was a distinct reason she had chosen to completely forgo underthings. 

She tied her thick hair into a low bun at the base of her skull so her neck was clearly visible… as was the somewhat faded love bite from their previous encounter - the one that made Lace turn beetroot when she laid eyes on it at breakfast. The one that prompted Taash to reach over the table with a congratulatory high five. Emmrich had coughed awkwardly and subtly adjusted his own collar, clearly hoping the marks Amina had left on his neck in return were concealed.

She padded barefoot down the hallway to the laboratory, stomach fluttering and turning on itself in a not unpleasant way with the sheer anticipation of being in his proximity again. She couldn’t help but be drawn to him - his immense gravity could not be ignored; her need to be near him was insistent. She put little stock in the novelty of fate before Emmrich, but there was no doubt in her mind that there must have been some sort of cosmic ruling in which they were unwittingly sentenced by the stars to find one another. Her belly smouldered at the thought of such a thing… of such belonging.

She knocked gently on the door. “It’s me - may I come in?” 

She didn’t have to wait for an answer, nor did she have to turn the knob herself: she heard a chair scuff over the flagstone, the muffled jingle of gold - a sound that set her heart racing more often than not these days - and the door was flung open. Emmrich stood in the threshold, beaming affectionately down at her. 

“Of course, darling.” He took her hand and pulled her into the room, reaching over her shoulder to shut the door once she was inside. She might have been embarrassed that the sound of the lock clicking behind her made her breath catch solely due to its implication, but she was having a hard time feeling much of anything but barely restrained lust for the man in front of her. 

He drew her in close with an arm around her waist, still holding her hand between them, massaging her palm with his thumb as he bowed his head to kiss her sweetly. Her knees went weak when his lips met hers and his familiar scent filled her nose, rendering her brain incapable of anything other than inwardly chanting the same base sentiment over and over for as long as the kiss lasted: Home! Home! Home! Home! You’re home!

He straightened and looked at her, smiling as though he hadn’t heard the hungry little moan that had slipped from her, nor perceived the way she’d pressed as much of her body against him as she could during their embrace. “How are you today?” He asked, genuinely interested - as always. He knew. Surely he knew that she was positively bursting with need for him.

“Fine,” she breathed, returning the smile, watching as he started back towards the desk that was covered with books, inkpots, and parchment. “I’m well, thank you. Just thought I’d come say hello, see what you’re up to.”  

He pulled a chair over to the opposite side of the desk for her to sit on. She opted to remain standing instead, her eyes flitted over the pages of drying ink spread over the desk. 

“More letters home?” She waited until he was settled in his chair again, the quill back in his hand, and she bent at the waist to take a closer look at a recent anatomical drawing he’d completed. She could feel the cozy heat of the laboratory caress the exposed peaks of her breasts as the insubstantial shirt draped downward, offering a generous eyeful to anyone who might be sitting directly across from her. 

Her eyes flicked up from the drawing when Emmrich didn’t answer right away, a clever smile pulling at the corners of her mouth when she caught him red-handed; his eyes locked on the dainty swell of her breasts. 

He came to his senses when he felt her eyes on him and he comprehended the coquettish smirk on her face. “Yes.” He licked his lips. “Yes. Maintaining alliships and channels of communication is vital as we draw closer to our confrontation with the gods.” He swallowed and smiled again as Amina straightened and rounded the desk, settling against the wood on his side now.

“A fine plan,” she concurred, leaning back on her hands, her very visible nipples more or less eye level for the handsome academic to admire. “I hope I’m not distracting you: it’s so rare that I get a few hours to just relax these days.” She made a bit of a show of tilting her chin up and slowly rolling her head from side to side, stretching out the muscles of her neck and making sure Emmrich could see the soft plum-tinted bloom of colour he’d imparted on her skin as he sent her over the edge with his name on her lips, buried to the hilt between her legs as she clenched hard around him, her fingers curled tightly in his soft, thick hair. ‘You are incredible, darling,’ he had sighed against her tingling skin afterwards when they were little more than a tangled, panting heap of limbs. It had taken a good hour after that before she could walk again…

Amina squirmed against the desk a little at the thought, aware of the burgeoning wetness that was accumulating at the juncture of her thighs. 

Somehow Emmrich managed to maintain the discipline required to look back at the letter he was working on, his lips curling quaintly. “Not at all, my dear - quite the contrary in fact: I’m so glad that you’re finally taking some time to look after yourself.” He dipped the quill, tapped it once, twice, and then brought it to the paper.

She observed him in silence until he seemingly made peace with the fact that she was not going to sit on the chair he’d brought over for her, and instead pushed his own back slightly, pulling her down onto his lap where she perched gleefully, having gotten what she wanted. 

“I must concede that you are somewhat distracting, so I will need your assistance in proofreading these before they’re sent out - I do have an academic reputation to maintain, regardless of the beautiful woman on my knee.” 

“Is that so?” Amina purred, nuzzling into his neck, her lips barely ghosting over his skin that smelled organic and clean - crisp soap and freshly cut sage… a lingering hint of pipe tobacco and expensive brandy. 

Oh yes, she was going to be one hell of a distraction…

“She sounds like a real piece of work, this woman. It’s a marvel that you get anything done at all with her around.” She tilted her hips ever so slightly. Not enough for it to be claimed that she was trying to get a rise out of him, but enough so that the fingernails of his left hand dug into her side a little where he gripped her. A pleased smile took her lips at the feeling of him against her, already half hard: he could pretend to be aloof and composed all he liked, but she knew that there was only one possible outcome for this encounter. 

“I was just having a similar thought, as it turns out,” he murmured, breath catching slightly when Amina ground against him more deliberately this time. “She’s cornered me in my laboratory no fewer than three times this week, you see: my productivity has utterly plummeted.”

The way he whispered those words, his voice so sinful and cunning…

“Oh dear…” Amina tutted. “Well we can’t have that now, can we?” She moved to slide from his lap, fully prepared to at least pretend that she cared a whit about Emmrich’s ‘productivity’ of late. 

He held her fast though, keeping her on his lap with his hands and arms, and the sheer fact of his existence alone. She rewarded him with a satisfied hum and another agonizingly slow roll of her hips, suspecting that she was probably beginning to soak through her thin pants.

His hand dropped from her waist to her thigh and he palmed the expanse of hard muscle there, dragging his fingers towards her hip as he leaned forward and his hot breath washed over the sensitive shell of her ear, driving a small gasp from her as she flinched in his grasp: he had not been idly boasting during that dinner date about his anatomical prowess.

“I fear I wouldn’t have it any other way…” he confided, those artful, nimble fingers of his straying to her waistband and slipping beneath it. He sharply inhaled through his teeth and uttered a soft ‘oh’ when he found her waiting for him, slick and needy. There was a slight tremor in his voice when he said, “She is intoxicating, you see…”

She moaned encouragingly as he swirled a finger through her, clearly enjoying the experience of her arousal alone: she could distinctly feel his hardness against her rear now.

Oh how she longed to ravish him - ride him to completion on this very chair, or on the floor perhaps. Maybe against one of the many bookshelves that lined the room - they had dallied against one the week before, her leg hitched up around his thin waist, pulling him deeper as he set a pace that stole her breath from her lungs and hit angles that caused her to see stars. 

Or she could bend over the railing of the balcony upstairs and feign interest in the curious nature of their environs while he slammed into her over and over again, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips… 

Of course there had been the rather awkward instance a few days earlier where Manfred had wandered in on them both in a state of partial undress: Emmrich’s waistcoat hanging open, Amina dragging her hands through his hair, her own shirt piled in a careless heap on the floor nearby and Emmrich’s hand down her pants as she tried to kick off her high-heeled lilac slippers without removing her lips from his skin. Manfred had launched himself between the two of them with a consternated hiss, clearly interpreting their entanglement to mean they were fighting instead of well… the other thing. The following day, Emmrich gave his first in a series of many lectures to Manfred about the birds and the bees - and reiterated the invaluable virtue of always knocking before entering a room that might have someone else in it.

She was snapped from her musing at the sublime sensation of Emmrich’s finger dragging along the ridges of her walls as he slid the digit inside of her. She let out a small gasp at the intrusion and reflexively clenched around it, hips rocking against his once more. 

“... but I really must finish these letters.” There was a playful, coy edge to his voice as he slowly withdrew his finger and slowly pushed it back in. “This striking woman of mine will need to exercise patience today, it seems…”

Something about being his striking woman in particular sent a jolt of arousal straight through her very soul. She could feel the cool metal of his rings against her feverish skin as he cupped her sex, his thumb brushing almost tauntingly over her aching clit. 

“Please, Emmrich…” she whined, arching up into his touch, making her need plain. 

The demonstration of manners earned her a second finger, but her lover did not deviate from his task as he leaned forward, dipped the quill, and began to write once more. “In good time, my precious love,” he soothed. “Try to relax for the time being - I shan’t take long.” 

“It feels so good though…” 

“That’s wonderful, darling - I want you to feel good.” 

She fell silent, the wind in the sails of her desire to argue stilling as she let her head fall against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, allowing herself to exist in the moment - holding on tight to every emphatic response of her nervous system as Emmrich touched her with a capable familiarity that suggested he’d touched her a thousand times before; the erotic symphony of the quill scratching over the parchment mingled with the sound of his fingers moving within her… her breathy moans… his many bangles shifting gently with each purposeful gesture…

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured eventually - she had lost track of time - kissing her shoulder before returning to the letter. He had to be nearly done, hadn’t he? “So good for me… my sweet Amina…”

She whimpered at his words - the reverent praise tolling something deep within her that was starved and lonely. She writhed on his thigh as he placed tender kisses all over her cheek and crooked his fingers, stroking that euphoric place inside of her that made cognizant thought impossible and made her thighs tremble like she’d been in the training hall all day. He took her apart slowly, casually… effortlessly, and before long she was fluttering around him, cheeks and lips flushed a delicate pink, staring down an orgasm that was about to be everyone in the building’s business - she could feel it: the deep fire in her belly roiling and twisting on itself, going taut, so tense and eager that one more touch could snap it, yielding the most decadent release…

And then he was gone, the absence of his touch keenly felt as her walls flexed and tensed around the sudden nothingness. 

She glowered at him, though her stomach flip-flopped enthusiastically as she watched him taste her on his slender fingers with a dignified poise she should have expected. “That was cruel.”

“Is it cruel to strive to linger in a garden of untold majesty forever, even knowing forever is unobtainable?” He stroked those same fingers gently over her lips and she caught the tip of one between her teeth, flicking the very tip of her tongue over the fleshy pad of it. “I want to savour you, my dear.” He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent. “Let me take my time.”

[catdadacd]

sentence sunday

i have been tagged by so many of you over the last few weeks (today, @firstprincehornyramblings specifically<3) but i've been so focussed on reading, writing fell by the wayside. but apparently im back because I was struck with a most adorable idea so we're gonna try and see this through

meet childrens book author henry and single dad alex

So, along came Jack. Jack had been 5 years old then; a surprisingly gangly tangle of limbs, skin tan from the Texas sun, a mop of curly, mousy brown hair on his head, cow-like eyes, an upturned nose and a smile full of not-all-straight baby teeth. Alex brought him a book on their first visit. Jack had clung to his leg when he tried to leave. That had been it. A year later and Jack calls Alex papa - "because daddy still hurts but Alex is my daddy now, and that's okay" - he see's a child trauma therapist every 2 weeks and he tells Alex he loves him every night before bed, and Alex? Alex has never been more content. He's never been happier. He's never been as stressed as he is right now. --- Deer Henry, my heart is on my sleeve to. it hurts all the time my papa says it will nevr stop but il be better. thank you for youre book prince archie is just like me but my knight is my papa. I think we wud be friends. from jack Slow, fat tears crawl down Henry's face, following the tracks left by the ones before. He's read the message over and over again in the last half an hour and each time a new wave of tears somehow force their way out of him. It's the innocence of it, tugging at him in a way that only a child could make possible. It breaks his heart. My Heart On My Sleeve is a book Henry wishes no child would ever have to relate to.

tags??? ig : @onthewaytosomewhere @thighzp @taste-thewaste @eusuntgratie and anyone else who might wanna

[kurtmustdie]

i have a lot of unorganized miguel headcanons that float around my brain at times but since i usually think of them at night and forget about them the next morning im just going to continuously update this post probably? anyway here are the ones that i do remember

i will either leave this in my drafts and update it when i want to or ill just edit/reblog with new stuff idk

edit after i stopped typing:

ok its time

fuck you

posts

identity headcanons first, because idk getting those out of the way feel free to get pissed off about these ill just block you 💖

trans man. he/him pronouns. probbably doesnt care if you use gender neutral terms for him because like... why would he, he has a multiverse to stare at

asexual, can't really figure out of i see him as being aromantic as well, i personally just think he's too busy to think about it atm but i dont think hes incapable of it. maybe arospec, like demiro or greyro or smth idk, i just know this mf is asexual.

he is autistic (and probably undiagnosed?) i will die on this hill as if i was a warrior cat defending the sunningrocks i will commit an oakheart fight me on this and i will throw rocks at you and then promptly get crushed by rocks as well (is that warrior cats spoilers um oops sorry)

now to the rest- that i remember- i have not read the comics yet so if some of these are like.. actually canon lmk because that would be really funny

this one might be a hot take but he does not hate miles. he wants to look out for him and definitely either currently regrets or is going to regret what happened in that chase scene. i genuinely doubt he hates any of the spider-gang hes just very, very worried about the multiverse. in his head thats the only way. (i am hoping and pleading that miguel and miles make up somehow, maybe miles doesnt forgive miguel and that totally understandable and would make sense but pLEASE writers i would die if you kept them as being rivals i genuinely would)

he hates Audrey Hepburn, fangoria, harry houdini, AND croquet. he CAN swim, he CAN dance, and he DOES know Karate. he still wont make it though. sorry man.

since hes from the future i dont think he'd be terribly confused by current slang/terms, hed more look at it like we see terms from like... the 80-90s or anything before that as "oh wow people used to say that? huh. interesting."

im going back on a headcanon ive had since i saw the movie im SoRRYYY but he cant curse. from what ive seen from the comics he uses replacements like "shock" and "bithead", thats it. maybe he says fuck on accident or in spanish (he technically kind of does depending on how you see "Ay Coño" being said but thats beside the point).

probably a blue eyes hater idk he just gives me the vibe of saying "jesus christ your eyes are way too blue, get contacts please im begging you stop looking at me" which is probably why him and gwen have so much beef.

i dont give a shit about what the movie says his fangs are not retractable fuck you. (he still has crooked teeth though i will never forget about those <3 )

autism be damned my guy can work a grill 🔥🔥🔥🔥

a lot of people cant really tell if hes pissed or not by his tone sometimes. is this projection? yeah, next question.

he hardly ever sleeps but when he does its like hes dead (at least when its dead quiet, which again, isnt often so he hardly ever gets a good nights sleep). you'd have to use a fucking blowtorch to the face to wake him up.

i also see him as not only having hypersensitive vision but also having elevated senses period. hearing, smell, touch, etc. probably the main reason he sits in the dark with no other noise.

branching off of that he frequently gets migraines of things get to stressful or too loud or if anything is very off about his schedule.

arachnophobe. ha.

cat person.

cat person as in he likes cats not like hes a catboy.. i shouldnt specify that actually that just makes it worse but i will anyway because tumblr hellsite will be tumblr hellsite

he partially likes lego peter because his daughter really liked lego.

ok but like think about it he'd probably be really good at taking legos apart with those claws. like imagine. it'd be nothing for him.

hasnt spoken to gabriel in years. he cant bring himself to reach out and when gabriel does he just doesnt have the energy to try and respond. he has no idea how to, especially now.

this is very specific but he stims a lot with his claws. like extend and retract over and over absentmindedly (mainly because thats what i'd do if i had claws imagine how fun that would be)

he usually bottles up all the emotions that he has, including anger. kind of explains why he lost it in the chase scene in my head because he reached a boiling point. he hates talking to people about his problems.

empanadas are his safe food, also theyre just easy to eat when your mouth is a little funky (i would know i have some fucked up braces theyre great for that 10/10), its mostly just easier on his fangs.

definitely horrible at the whole self are thing. he just forgets, all the time. would forget to breathe if it wasnt involuntary

if you say anything he doesnt particularly like (eg "hey bro are you okay do you wanna talk") he'll just stare at you with his rat eyes like 👁️👁️ until you stopped idk what im saying.

he is a bit touch starved, depending on his mood he'll let people touch him in a friendly (emphasis on friendly. friendly friendly friendly dont take it any other way :/) way.

OH I almost forgot about this one: he hisses. some spiders hiss. so does he. vampire furry energy

he also gets pissed when people call him a vampire so uh... im counting my days oops.

will go out and sit in the rain. (wait would it still rain in the future? is the climate still fucked in his timeline or nah)

like "ah, its water time" and goes out to sit like this:

Man if only there was a rain filter

that is all i have for now maybe if something else comes up ill reblog with new stuff >:)

[medicalunprofessional]

never change, man !

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I've been doing a lot of reflection as of late, especially after this past class.

This past class was about the Torah and Tanakh in general, and the way the rabbi talked about the commandments (specifically the ten commandments) has made me really reflect on how I interpret them, specifically the fifth commandment, or honoring your mother and father.

This is a commandment I have wrestled with for a long time - in fact, it brought me away from g-d at multiple times. I was severely abused when I was incredibly young by my mother, and I used to feel insulted at the implication that I were to honor her while she got to live a better life. It was hypocritical, in my eyes.

But this rabbi surmised that this particular commandment was because parenthood is an act of creation, something that is like the g-d from which we come from. My realization is this: I don't think we're necessarily meant to take even these commandments literally.

I this particular commandment is more of a call to honor creation - creation is a gift, and like any gift, many people simply will not like it and will discard it. The person who abused me created me, but she did not honor creation. She didn't honor me, but I can still honor it.

I have started to honor creation much more. I'm too young, too unstable, not mature enough to be a father (though I fantasize about it), but I create all the time. I create relationships, I create with my hands through crochet. I create memories, I create my world. And I can honor who I am and where I came from that made me who I am. I've been learning one of the mother tongues of my family (Italian, since part of my family originates there) and it was judaism that inspired me to do this.

I don't think g-d wants me to honor my abuser. I think He wants me to remember the Holy action of creation. When I am a father, that act of creation will be Holy, and indeed, I am already joyful about the thought.

I have seen many people struggle with this particular commandment, but I think this perspective helps me personally. I don't think I ever have to forgive my abusers (plural), and I don't think I am commanded to simply because they happened to be family. I am commanded to recognize the holy, to elevate the mundane. In doing so, I will remember g-d. Through creation, I honor g-d and everything he has done for us, for me, and for our collective people.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[ave-immaculata]

fellas we're once again wrestling with imperfect vs. perfect contrition and why imperfect contrition with a firm resolution to not sin again and promptly receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation doesn't save

[krysmcscience]

I will be the first to admit I'm not the best at drawing animal or furry characters, but I wanted to get something scribbled down in my Non-Goof style, anyway. Plus, I've been enjoying the many reference pages folks were posting of their own designs for the Lamb and Narinder, so, uh. Here's mine, I guess! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

do not comment on how long narinder's tail is or i swear to the lamb i will make it even longer next time >:]

[the-meme-monarch]

just finished birth by sleep and feeling very normal about sora and all the guys having to do with him. feeling incredibly normal about how ventus and roxas have the same hair style and voice actor. and vanitas and sora

(based on this song, but inspired by this video !! here’s an english cover that I like also) base image under tha cut

[liauditore]

new suicide squad anime got me thinking about the genderbend batman au i made when i was 16 again.

extra (nsfw??? body horror + shirtless doodle lol) art under the cut + drabble.

A mysterious actress appears in Gotham!

Production for the long-anticipated remake of the 1930s classic horror film, "The Clay", is saved in part thanks to the audition of one woman with no credits to her name, just a face and demeanor identical of the late leading actress of the original film.

However, the cast and crew have bigger worries than their limited budget and endless demands from their producers -- everyone involved seems to be disappearing one by one!

While the average gothammite worries that the cult classic's "cursed" reputation might be a little more than an urban legend, The Batman refuses to entertain such unfounded silliness and aims to get to the bottom of this crime against cinema!

presenting BATMAN '63 - THE RISE OF CLAYFACE coming not actually ever lmao

(her hair is brown now because I like the idea of her appearance never being fully consistent lol. shapeshifters gotta do their thing)

[imminent-danger-came]

So, this parallel, right.

That parallel and the 4x11 shadowpeach fight as a whole:

Macaque: "No that's YOU! You're the one always running off! Looking for more power, more sources of immortality—you're the one who wouldn't quit while were were ahead! Not the great sage, he's got to drag EVERYONE else into his mess!" Sun Wukong: "You're not in this mess, you're still free! Everything I did was for us!" Macaque: "You did it for yourself! You've become like this, obsessive demon! I told you going against the Jade Emperor was a bad idea, but no, Wukong doesn't listen to anyone! He just does whatever he wants! You put yourself here, not me."

(4x11 A Lifetime of Mistakes)

-

A large part of Wukong's motivation to keep getting more power was the freedom of it—the more power you have the easier it is to do whatever you want. It's easier to ignore everyone else and focus solely on yourself. It's also easier to ensure yourself and your loved one's are protected and have the ability to do what they want.

So, a punishment where the great Monkey King is imprisoned and trapped for hundreds of years? It's effective and tragic and fitting. Wukong wanted to have the freedom to protect the people he cared about, and in trying to reach for the power to do that, he completely had his freedom removed. He went from the mountain, to then the circlet, and then all of a sudden he had morals and was bound to those.

And then I think about his end of s3 choice to go face the Lady Bone Demon alone. Once again Wukong was trying to protect his loved ones (not to mention the whole reason he went after the Samadhi fire to begin with was to have the power, the freedom to stop LBD (which in itself is another case of SWK believing he needed to be stronger for such freedom)), but he also wanted to make sure MK and himself both had agency. He didn't want MK to have to fight LBD, and he didn't want LBD to end the world.

This is exactly the sentiment he tells Macaque in the 4x11 flashback:

Sun Wukong: "It's so we don't have to worry about anything or anyone ever again! Just living a lazy life, sitting in the sun, eatin' fruit, and doing whatever we want!"

But where does it all lead him?

To possession, imprisonment. Once again Wukong no longer had the freedom to do what he wanted (which is to protect the people he cares about). Once again in his attempts to help his loved one's, he only hurt them.

This can be applied to his relationship with Macaque, to MK in s2, hell, even Wukong trying to get the map in the first place left him powerless, which then led to him and the gang being imprisoned in 3x02. It's a familiar pattern, one we see with antagonist and protagonist alike.

MK in s2 trained to become more powerful, which in the end only strengthened LBD and forced him and his friends on the run. Mei in 3x12 protects MK by letting herself get captured and placed into LBD's crystal. Mei in 4x05 goes to protect MK, breaking her sword and leaving her vulnerable to being captured by Kui Mulang ("How am I supposed to protect everyone without my sword?"). DBK reached for more power and then became possessed by LBD, hurting his wife and son. Azure reached for the Jade Emperor's power and bound himself to that role, jeopardizing Peng and Yellowtusk in the process.

It's a cycle of reaching for power, endangering others, and then being imprisoned.

So anyways, here's why MK is going to lose control (his agency) next season and hurt his friends with his own- *get's shot*

[razmerry]

can the mediator of vengeanceclan really fall in love with a kittypet?...

[deiaiko]

#19.3 Unravel

It had been some time since Agni felt this nervous. Not even talking with Jinsung Ha recently had made him feel like this. He fiddled with the mask on his hand as he waited for Grace to come back. He had thought hard on how to deliver the news, but he knew that no matter how he phrased it, Grace would be upset. Velt nuzzled under his palm and Agni gave her a few pats, before deciding that she would be better inside her bowl in his lighthouse, just in case the shinsu acted up around Grace after he received the news.

Grace came back wearing the comfiest shirt and shorts Agni knew Grace liked to wear on lazy days. He joined him on the floor, and they ate dinner together. Agni always finished last, so while waiting for him to finish his meal, Grace told him about his day with Bam. Grace was intrigued by how much his way of thinking had changed, and how glad he was to be able to be by Bam's side when he was having a bad day. It reminded Agni of the hidden floor, when Grace faced his sworn enemy.

They left the used bowls on the coffee table and went to brush their teeth. Afterwards, they turned off the light and went upstairs to sit on their bed. Grace's curious gaze never left him, and Agni curled his feet nervously.

Grace was the one who broke the silence. "So…what is it?"

Agni's breath hitched. This was the part he dreaded most. "I talked with the crocodile earlier. Did you know that he could manipulate stone already?"

"Huh." Grace needed a few seconds to let the information sink in. "Didn't Rak learn it on the Hell train? How does he know it?"

"Turns out our crocodile also traveled back to the past like us. He found the young crocodile and taught him."

"What?!" Grace gasped, wide eyed. "That means our Rak is–!!"

"He's dead." Agni quickly snuffed out that hope. They had been in delusion for long enough; it was time that they faced the bitter truth. "He suffered a fatal injury from the explosion. He couldn't have lasted long without proper help." Agni omitted the actual cause for Rak's death, but still kept his words true. "I'm sorry."

"…Oh." Grace looked lost, just like Agni was. His lips parted a little, but they closed before any sound escaped.

Agni gently squeezed Grace's hand, encouraging and comforting as he let the silence stretch on, giving Grace some time to process the information.

"Agni…" Grace whispered, "do you think Hatz and Isu…?"

Agni bit his lip and avoided his gaze, as the nightmare of that day replayed in his mind. He witnessed Hatz get his arm ripped off when trying to protect him. He could still recall the clang of a sword hitting the floor, and Hatz's suppressed scream that gnawed deep at his guilt. He witnessed Isu get beheaded after being taken hostage, the memory of warm blood painting them both still vivid like it happened yesterday. 

Agni refused to acknowledge their possible deaths, because it felt like a nightmare that one day he could hopefully wake up from. He avoided the topic when Grace brought it up, so he wouldn't have to say it aloud and make it real. He had been so hard on himself, because he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he had failed Grace and everyone else involved.

Agni knew this had to change if he wanted to live better, now that they had gotten a second chance. So he swallowed down the lump in his throat that had built up over the years and asked mostly to himself; "What are the odds of their survival?"

"There's always a chance–"

"Grace." Agni looked him straight in the eye. "They were already severely injured before the explosion hit."

Grace fell silent and went still.

Agni felt a pang of guilt upon witnessing Grace's reaction. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap." Agni fiddled with his hands. He realized that he didn't know how much Grace knew of what happened. "My scar…do you know how I got it?"

"I…was told it was from the family heads' battle." Grace looked thoughtful. Agni knew he was trying to be careful with his words. "A stray attack?"

"It could have been worse." The memory of the scorching heat on his skin felt like it had only happened yesterday. He passed out right when he was about to heal Isu, and only found out later that he also lost sweetfish at that time. The days he spent recovering from the burn, to withstand the excruciating pain every second he was conscious, and finally coming to terms that it'd be a permanent scar, was one of the turning points that had changed him forever. Were Grace not there to care for him, he might have ended up destroying himself even more.

Agni hadn't realized he had his left hand clawing on his cheek until Grace pried his hand off and frowned, "You're doing it again."

"Maybe I should wear the mask…" Agni muttered to himself. After all, Grace gave it to him less so he could hide the scar but more to prevent him from unconsciously hurting himself. The only time he could safely take it off was when Grace was around.

Agni bit his lip nervously when Grace didn't reply. He no longer had the courage to look Grace in the eye that spoke so much concern, so he leaned close and rested his head on Grace's chest. "Rak, Isu, Hatz and Hwaryun were trying to get me out of that damned place. But we were caught while escaping, and…it was a bloodbath. I was…too occupied to react to the incoming heat. Rak shielded us from the explosion. And when I woke up…"

"They weren’t with you," Grace finished it for him after Agni trailed off a moment too long.

Agni nodded dazedly, "I've been telling myself that they're still alive, after a blow that could kill rankers. But…who am I kidding? I was lucky enough to survive with just this little–" Agni vaguely pointed to himself– "inconvenience."

Agni felt a hand gripping his arm, and he pulled away to see Grace looking at him with a pained expression. His eyes were glossy and his lips were pulled into a thin line. Trusting his instinct, Agni reached out to gently trace and cup Grace's cheek with his free hand.

"I'm sorry," Agni muttered. "I'm sorry, for not telling you sooner."

Agni silently witnessed tears that streamed down on his love's face. It was a bitter sight that Agni wished he'd never have to see again, that he had tried to avoid for so long by not telling him. He pulled Grace in and held him close to his chest, as if Agni was trying to gather his own crumbled heart back together.

Grace mumbled their late best friends' names as he held onto him tighter, shaking from each breath he took between sniffles.

Agni felt his own eyes sting with unshed tears. He remembered the years he spent climbing the tower together with his old team. Despite their banter being his source of headaches, Agni knew he too had come to acknowledge them as his cherished friends. Only when they were gone did Agni realize how much he'd miss having them around. Seeing the younger them didn't exactly close the gaping hole in his heart, but at least the emptiness was more filled.

Agni squeezed Grace tighter. "We have their younger selves with us now. We will protect them better this time."

Grace only nodded and sank further into his embrace. And Agni planted kisses on his hair, relishing the thought that after everything he had gone through, Grace was still a constant in his life. As long as he had him, everything would be okay.

When Grace started shaking again, Agni caressed his hair and hummed a comfort song they had known by heart. Still, it didn't make falling asleep any easier for Agni, especially not after admitting that his nightmare was very much real. However, as he had been through grief…this, too, would pass.

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[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

Bathrooms/Restrooms in THH (specifically THH)

The fact that no one ever needed to use the restroom ONCE during the trials is insane when you think about it. Those trials are for several hours, no sitting area, no break, just standing there to figure out who done it. So, the fact that none of these idiots accidently drank too much water at any point before the trial is a damn miracle. Hell, I think these punks weren't drinking as much water as they should honestly!! I bet they're all dehydrated and honestly haven't been taking good care of their bodies. For one, it's a killing game. Lotta stress, lotta murder, prime setting to have physical health to not be the biggest priority aside from ensuring one's heart was still beating. So, at the very least, the bare minimum was at least somewhat met to some extent for the cast. At the same time though, even the bare minimum can have it's holes. Which leads me to this whole ramble to begin with! Moreover, still on topic but a bit different, the more I think about it, I wonder if, after Chapter 1, Makoto would be using the restrooms outside of his dorm. Or, at the very least, for the majority of the killing game. Of course he's still attempting to use the shower's and all in the dorm room (gotta get clean somehow) but also, there IS a bath house that gets opened up. So, the more I think about it, kinda a missed opportunity in a way? Though that might just be me. Though, that restroom, that dorm restroom, that must have haunted his mind at least for a good while anyway! Not that Makoto isn't allowed to concur that. Of course he can! I do think it'd be an interesting angle though of Makoto's mini journey of going from the full on dismay of going back into that restroom to slowly taking it all head on. Who knows. Maybe him taking a shower before he and the rest confront the mastermind has it's own power to it. However, for both of these ideas of mine, I feel the realistic topic of these people in this killing game and their bodily needs isn't really something that's ever really brought up (which makes sense. not like there needed to be a pissing mechanic in the dang murder game). But, damn it! I just like thinking of the logistics of this stuff. At the end of the day, the cast still have those teen mentalities. They're all still people and vulnerable and prone to getting diarrhea like the rest of us! I refuse to believe that all of them were 100% treating their bodies right and eating enough fiber and in the right headspace to even be taking care of themselves right in the first place! Hell! Not all of them can even cook (talking to YOU specifically, Byakuya!!) Whether some were coping by using all their energy to work on finding the mastermind (cough cough Kyoko) or just getting by with the basics or even stress eating to gain some sort of comfort during the grueling times of the killing game, it had to have been effecting them all in some sort of a deeper level. Perhaps more than just a feeling of dread but one of the many side effects of despair.