#post modern age

[thecomicsnexus]

TMNT: 40TH ANNIVERSARY COMICS CELEBRATION

July 2024

By Kevin Eastman, Edgar Alan Poe, Jim Lawson, Tristan Jones, Gary Carlson, Chris Allan, Erik Burnham, Lloyd Goldfine, Ciro Nieli, Andy Suriano, Tom Waltz, Ronda Pattison , Tom Napolitano, Steve Lavigne, Paul Harmon, Frank Fosco, Adam Guzowski, Sarah Myer, Luis Antonio Delgado, Shawn Lee, Khary Randolph, Emilio Lopez, Michael Dialynas, Pablo Tunica, Freddie E. Williams II, David Petersen, Ken Mitchroney, Aaron Hazouri, Dan Duncan, Sophie Campbell, Jodi Nishijima, Stan Sakai, and Emi Fujii.

Come and enjoy stories that will remind you of the 40 years of turtle history.

SCORE: 10 *

* Assuming you are familiar with these iterations.

This is a strange read, and curiously, there are three or four highlights for me, and they are not exactly the ones you would imagine.

Spoilers after the break...

The first story by Kevin Eastman is in the Mirage section of the book but... well... I'll leave at that... I wouldn't call it the Mirage we knew.

There is a story by Lawson and Lavigne with the Rat King that... it's fun. But, you know... I wouldn't even try to fit it in canon... the amount of continuity physics you need to bend to place this story is not worth the time. Just enjoy as a new story by these two iconic Mirage artists.

This other story by Tristan H. Jones and Paul Harmon requires more analysis. I'll revisit it on my gang wars video and try to give it more context... but unfortunately... it's just too vague. All I can say for sure is that it happens in the future of that incomplete saga, but the narrator just takes too many artistic choices to be taken at face value.

Also... I believe this is the first official (frontal) appearance of Agent Bishop (unless I got the character wrong, but Jones already tried to introduce him in this saga). I think he is still holding on to it, and I really hope he gets to tell his story. I wouldn't mind a mini-series... just saying!

The Volume 3 story was... not for me. The dialogue alone felt tired.

The Archie adventure was short, eventful, and funny... and it looks amazing too!

In just four pages a new character was introduced and... a new love story was implied! And it's not just a gratuitous cameo... this is a funny sequence.

The Saturday Morning Adventures (the de facto 87 story) looks amazing as usual, but I didn't find the story that interesting. However, it started a theme that would run across most of the stories in this special after this one: Master Splinter.

The 2003 story is a... loose canon?

Hun is Slash, and Shredder is back... so make of that what you want. All I'm going to say is that this felt a lot like watching the beginning of a 2003 episode, with the narration setting the tone.

The 2012 story was one of the least interesting in the previews, but I have to say... it was probably one of the best. It brought back a villain and it technically serves as an excuse to continue the series?

But to me the best thing about the story is the art. I am surprised Ciro Nieli didn't do more comic book work for the Turtles all these years. In fact, if they somehow decided to continue the 2012 universe in 2D in this style... I'm all in. Well, who am I kidding... I would be in anyway... but this looks amazing.

Andy Suriano did probably the most interesting story in the book. Now, I am not sure if his style doesn't translate well to static panels or what the problem is with the comic format... but it doesn't matter... this small story brought in a lot of things that ended on the editing floor after the show's second season was reduced to a few more episodes. There was a rumor about a female turtle, and not only it is here in all its glory, but there is also a brother?

And come on... it's so Lou Jitsu to die with a cliffhanger.

There are two IDW stories. One is another Splinter story, but the other one is perhaps one of the best in this book.

The Ronda Pattison story takes place just before the Armageddon game, and it shows the five turtles in full sibling dynamic (even Jennika). It was refreshing to see these turtles having fun for a change.

There are no stories by the new team, but... well... that's just starting.

[demigods-posts]

imagine percy swimming to the bottom of the ocean. not to save a group of sea creatures. not to show off his skillset. and not to prance around as the sea god's favorite son. but to join the ocean in all that it is. laying in the soft sand and watching the fish swim by. the lobsters making space for him as he rests his head against a patch of seaweed. him laughing at the irony. imagine percy making small talk with all the different sea creatures and assigning them names. him actually running into a whale he named phillip who's on his way to propose to his boyfriend. and percy wishing him good luck and offering his blessing on their union. imagine percy making small talk with the starfish about his favorite dinosaur. and explaining to the collective group what a dinosaur is and why they don't need to worry about them reaching the bottom of the ocean. just. percy immersiving himself in all that's aquatic because it's where he can be his most self.

[rassblerry]

HhhrHGRHR ROOMMATES!!! !!

[mekammin]

i know "the field where i died" says otherwise but the ideal reincarnation au is just regular mulder and scully shifted backwards in time. scholar son of a locally influential gentleman throwing rocks at the convent window going "Sister Daena... ready thy credulity... yea, for i hath witnessed once more the flight of the celestials" and she would slam a big ass leather bound bestiary down in front of him and say "t'was naught but an owl, ghastly in visage but in troth as natural and right as any God's creatures" and the episode would end with mulder contemplating the Spheres while an we see an owl perching in the convent garden until a creepy grey hand curls around the branch and the owl takes off. fade out. x-files theme on the lute

[heylittleriotact]

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

Link to ao3

If you had told Emmrich Volkarin a month earlier that he would find himself at a midtown 7/11 shortly after midnight on a random Thursday in November, sliding a box of condoms and the most passable bottle of red he could find in a place like this (a popular mainstream Antivan shiraz) across the counter, he would have politely dismissed you with a laugh and assured you that the day he could be found buying wine from a convenience store was the day that the world could safely assume that he had completely lost the plot. 

But here he was. 

A man in his early fifties, bearing the humble offerings of one who has found themselves about to get laid, and was woefully unprepared for it. 

Hence why 24 hour convenience stores are a boon to all such people. 

“Anything else?” The clerk, roughly in his mid-thirties asked, and he didn’t say anything else, but the spark of comprehension in his bloodshot caffeine-fueled eyes told Emmrich that the fellow, named Sikander, knew exactly what the rest of his night entailed. 

Emmrich purchased a fresh pack of cigarettes along with the condoms and the wine, bid Sikander a good evening, and emerged out of the aggressively bright fluorescent light of the 7/11, wondering if he had indeed lost the plot at last. 

She wasn’t drunk. All she’d had to drink today were the two drinks at the bar with Emmrich, so she couldn’t even use that as an excuse when he turned up on her doorstep in the middle of the night, expecting to have sex, because really - what other conclusion could be drawn when you sent a dude a scantily clad photo of yourself and then followed it up with an invitation to come over? It was pretty clear she wasn’t asking him by to help her reach something from a high up shelf.

God, she wished she was drunk. 

If she was drunk she could laugh brainlessly when he arrived and demure coyly as she led him up the stairs to her suite before pretending she had no recollection of inviting him over. She could chalk it up to an awkward drunken miscommunication and send him on his way, because if she was sure of anything, it was that Emmrich wasn’t in the business of making girls feel like shit for turning him down - even if they might deserve it. 

Glancing at the clock on the stove before sweeping from the kitchen and into the living room she tugged an oversized hoodie on over the gray chemise she had so proudly shown off to Emmrich a short time ago, wandering completely coincidentally over to the window and peering out into the darkened street below. No Audi. Not yet. Maybe Emmrich had enough sense for the both of them and decided not to come at all. 

She shifted a pile of books off the dinged up coffee table, stuffed them haphazardly onto the bookshelf next to the TV, and snagged a lighter to light the blackberry scented candle that sat on the table. 

The well-loved crochet throw balled up on the couch was folded and draped over the back of it, and she fished a few socks out from the cushions and walked them to her room along with whatever other random clothing was strewn around the living room - t-shirts, sweaters, scarves - and chucked them all into the heavy gold vintage art-deco laundry hamper by the door. 

If she was having him over - if he was coming into her home - she’d at least have him think that she sort of had her life together. 

Returning to the living room, she collected a few half-full coffee mugs and empty wine glasses and managed them over to the small galley kitchen, dumping the coffee and placing everything in the dishwasher that was older than she was. 

She was washing her hands when her eyes landed on an unopened bottle of cheap red wine on the counter.

Should I open it? It would be polite to offer him a drink, right? 

Drying her hands on a tea towel that had little black cats patterned all over it, she racked her brain, not knowing why: this was a hook-up - she wasn’t unfamiliar with those. Traditionally one didn’t sit around and sip wine with a booty-call - they came inside, took off their coat, Rook turned on some music, and they got to fucking. Simple. 

But this felt different. More complex. She and Emmrich worked together, which in and of itself presented opportunities for awkwardness, and if she was being honest, she absolutely wanted to climb Emmrich like the gentlemanly tree he was and fuck his brains out, but what if he didn’t want that? What if he wanted to sip wine and chat and… and have a date? 

“I’m a fucking idiot,” she murmured, deciding against the wine for now, and resuming her vigil at the window, checking her phone every thirty seconds in case he texted her to tell her that actually he had changed his mind, and wouldn’t be coming over. 

Looking down at her phone for what felt like the millionth time, she was actually considering messaging him herself and telling him not to bother - make up some shit about being too tired or having a headache or something - when she heard the crunch of hard icy snow under tires snapping through the cold early-winter air outside. 

Her stomach ricocheted around her abdominal cavity at the sight of the familiar white Audi pulling up outside her building - physically gripped the trim of the window frame to steady herself when Emmrich’s unmistakable form emerged from the driver’s side and headed for the walkway to her building. She squinted: he was holding something. Was that… a bottle of wine? 

Her cheeks went crimson. 

Oh fuck he’s bringing me things now. 

Not waiting for him to take the time to phone her to inform her of his arrival - because she knew that would occur to him before just texting her like a normal person - she grabbed her keys and headed for the stairs to let him into the building: the front doors automatically locked at sundown. 

Wiping her sweaty palms on the black hoodie as she descended the stairs, she found herself concentrating very hard on not tripping and falling down them because her legs were increasingly rubbery, and the last thing she needed was to fall on her ass in front of Emmrich wearing lingerie, a sweater, and her yellow ducky slippers (which she realized with a wave of mortification that she had forgotten to take off.) 

Managing to make it to the main floor without committing any grievously slapstick errors, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and pushed through the interior lobby door, out into the main vestibule where the apartment buzzer system and mailboxes were. She could see Emmrich through the rather streaky glass - he was smiling. 

Of course he was. He was always smiling that friendly, unthreatening smile of his. 

She made a little sound in the back of her throat at the sight of it, and then pushed the main door outwards, filling the vestibule with chilly air. 

“Hi,” she managed, her voice lacking any of the edge or strength she usually commanded. 

He looked fucking gorgeous standing there with his cheeks slightly pink from the cold, one hand in the pocket of the expensive looking black wool coat that he wore, the other holding a bottle of wine. 

It was the first time she’d seen him outside of his pristine suit, and his ‘civilian’ attire was no less perfect: she knew with a glance that the charcoal sweater wasn’t some scratchy poly-blend from H&M, and his dark brown chinos might have been custom made they fit so perfectly.

His glasses fogged up as he stepped into the heat of the vestibule. “Hello, Rook.”

Oh he was so confident and self-assured and put-together, and here she was: a nervous wreck in fucking duck slippers. 

I’m in over my head…

“Uhhh… come in.” She fiddled with her keys, trying to conceal the shake of her hands as she found the one that would get them back into the lobby, jamming it in the hole, and blessedly managing to turn it without it deciding to get stuck, which happened often. “I’m just… I’m just up on the fourth floor. Gotta climb I’m afraid - absolute bullshit when you have a ton of groceries - anyway, how was traffic?” 

Fucking-stupid-fucking-question-fucking-idiot: it’s the middle of the night. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“It er… wasn’t bad…” 

“Good!” She said brightly, speaking in a tone two octaves higher than she normally did - even with families. “Good!” 

It took everything she had in her not to sprint up the remaining stairs and lock herself in her apartment and never emerge again, but she didn’t, and she decided to keep her fucking mouth shut until they were out of the common stairwell. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,” she warned, turning the doorknob and slinking inside, knowing full well that it wasn’t really a mess, but figuring that this was the least embarrassing thing that could come out of her mouth at this moment. “Lemme take your coat.” She held out her hand when Emmrich crossed the threshold, apparently choosing this moment to attempt her very best imitation of an accommodating 1950s housewife having the new neighbour over for a friendly game of Canasta. 

But instead of taking off his coat, he put the bottle of wine in her hand and said, “Thank you for inviting me to your home.” 

Classy fucking bastard. 

“T-thanks for… for this. You didn’t have to. Um…” She cast around frantically and took the few paces required to get to the kitchen, setting the bottle of shiraz on the counter and thrusting her hand back out to Emmrich. “So are you gonna give me your coat or what?” 

He almost looked hesitant, like he didn’t want to - maybe he was having second thoughts - but shrugged out of the handsome coat anyway and handed it to Rook. It was warm and carried the same new car smell that she’d become so familiar with. 

She slid the front closet open and found a hanger, slipping Emmrich’s coat onto it and hanging it between her beat up leather jacket, and the very old fox-fur she’d inherited from her grandmother. 

“Rook–” Emmrich began.

“Want a tour?” She interrupted, not waiting for an answer before pointing into the kitchen. “Uh that’s the kitchen. When I first moved in, the sink kept backing up and flooding the floor whenever I ran the dishwasher - turns out whoever lived here before loved pouring bacon grease and coffee grounds down the drain. It’s all fixed now, but the stupid maintenance guy never dried out the cupboards properly so like… I’m pretty sure they’re filled with black mold –” 

Why the fuck am I telling him this? 

“I don’t have a kitchen table,” she gestured towards the drafting table against the wall where a dining table should go. “That’s where I work on art.”

Emmrich approached the table, his eyes sweeping over the stack of filled sketchbooks, the piece of scrap wood that was completely coated in hardened piles of paint that served as a palette; the stained cup that was half full of gray-blue water the colour of lichen. 

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” he said, staring at the out-of-place green ammo can on the table. 

“I keep my paints in there,” she explained, flipping the lid and revealing bottles and tubes of acrylic paint, gouache, and other art supplies. “And uh… yeah. I mean not really anymore, but I used to be. Not much to show for it but a well-decorated apartment.” She glanced into the living room and the gallery of paintings lining the walls - every single one hers. “Being a starving artist blows - I don’t recommend it.” 

She followed Emmrich into the living room, and he surveyed the closest painting to the kitchen: a particularly vibrant and psychedelic piece she’d done using a photo of an old friend playing bass as reference, his long swirling hair tossed into the air, frozen in time forever. 

“I like this,” Emmrich said, touching the painting; feeling the texture of the dried paint against his fingertips. “It’s evocative.”

“Apparently not evocative enough for anyone to want to buy it.” Rook crossed her arms and glared at the painting like it had done her a personal wrong. 

“You said you don’t paint anymore?” His eyes left the painting and he was looking at her. 

He was so close to her… practically elbow-to-elbow. Her stomach jolted. 

“Just haven’t been feeling it, I guess,” she said dismissively, not caring to admit that she no longer found joy or comfort in creating things anymore. Couldn’t bring herself to even try. “Anyway, much more interesting than this stupid painting is my wall of pets.” She turned to the massive shelving unit on the side of the TV that was closest to the window. “I have a houseplant problem.” 

Twenty-four. There were twenty-four plants lining the shelves: ferns, vines, succulents, grasses - some were thriving, others were languishing. 

“This is Perry - and no I didn’t name him after our esteemed HR Coordinator. He was in the picture long before that drip was.” She tapped the ceramic pot that Perry the Pothos lived in. “He was my first - I grew him from a cutting that a friend of mine gave me a couple years ago. I’m pretty sure he’s unkillable. I’ve propagated him into even more babies - one in my bathroom, one in the bedroom.” She pointed at a few more in turn, “Snake Plant Rick, Peter Parker - he’s a spider plant - Phyllis the Ficus, and…” she brought Emmrich’s attention to the Norfolk Pine in the corner, “Norrington.” 

“An esteemed name for a houseplant.” 

“He’s a dramatic, needy bitch, so yeah… it fits, trust me: look at him the wrong way and his needles will start turning brown.” 

Emmrich took one of Perry’s thick, happy leaves between his fingers and rubbed it, laughing slightly.

“What?”

“I find the fact that you name all of your houseplants rather endearing.” 

Rook felt colour rise in her cheeks again - was he having a laugh at her expense? “I dunno. They always say you’re not supposed to name things - like animals and shit - that you’re either going to have to kill or part ways with because if you name them you become attached and you’ll care too much when it comes time to butcher them or surrender them, so like… I figure if I name my plants, then I’ll actually feel bad if they suffer and die. If I give them names they’re not just plants: they’re friends, and I need to take care of them.” 

Emmrich nodded, tracing the shape of a leaf with an exceedingly gentle finger, surprising Rook when he didn’t immediately burst out laughing at the childishness of her reasoning. “Do you talk to them?” 

“Uhhh… yeah,” she admitted. “I’m not over here playing Beethoven and shit for them, but there’s tons of evidence that plants react to auditory stimulus, and even if they didn’t I would anyway, because it seems silly to give something a name and then never talk to it, don’t you think?”

He must think I’m fucking insane.

This assumption was compounded by the fact that Emmrich didn’t say anything at first. He just kept staring at Perry the Pothos, an odd expression on his face. 

“Why did you invite me over, Rook?” He asked at last, his tone serious but in no way harsh or judgemental. 

She found herself unable to inhale: the question froze the breath in her lungs. 

He was calling her out on her bullshit. 

Her heart pounded in her chest and her fingers curled in the sleeves of her hoodie. 

“I… I uh…” her voice shook, and words were not forming properly in her mind, let alone her mouth. “I… we… earlier when we were at the bar, I-I told you that I… that I liked you, and you didn’t… you didn’t get it. You just said you liked me too and smiled at me, but you didn’t get it. And I wanted to make you get it, so I sent you that picture and invited you over, because maybe…” she swallowed and forged on, words tumbling past her lips, knowing that when all was said and done, he’d get a good laugh at her immaturity. “Because maybe if I fucked you, maybe you’d get it, or at least I’d get it out of my system and I wouldn’t fucking think of you so much.” She brought a hand to her mouth - started gnawing on a fingernail like she always did when she was at her wit’s end. “And now here I am, standing around wearing ducky slippers and telling you that I name all of my houseplants because I consider them friends, and you were probably hoping for a quick, no-strings attached fuck with a coworker, but instead you got a grown-ass woman who’s a fucking disaster going off about her shitty pine tree.”

She wanted to cry. Felt her throat tightening. Felt tears threatening to gather in her eyes. 

She wished he’d just leave.

But instead of leaving, he pulled her hand from her mouth with the same deliberate grace he had touched the plant with, and brought the backs of her fingers to his lips.

They were warm. Soft. His hot breath curled over her knuckles gently. 

He lowered his hand but didn’t let go, stroking the pad of his thumb over the curve of her fingers, his eyes - so effortlessly kind - fixed on hers.

“I’m sorry, Rook, for misunderstanding you earlier. I admit I… didn’t think that someone like myself might be of interest to you.” He kissed the back of her hand again. Squeezed it. She let herself move closer to him, drawn in by his inescapable gravity. “For what it’s worth: I really like you too.” His voice was barely above a whisper, his face mere inches from her own. 

She loosened her hand from his, daring to rest it over his shoulder, feeling the soft, warm wool of his sweater, and the heat of him beneath it as she closed the remaining distance between them, rose on her toes slightly, and traced the side of her nose against his, leaving that lingering hair's breadth of space between his lips and hers until she felt his long fingers curl into the thick fabric of her hoodie.

Heart hammering in her chest, she banished that space entirely, brushing her lips against his, tentatively at first; giving him ample opportunity to recoil or pull away, and when he did not, she kissed him properly: nothing obscene or vulgar, just… a kiss. A kiss she had been yearning for longer than she dared to admit, and based on the way Emmrich’s hand wandered across the small of her back and pulled her tighter to him, he had hungered for it too. 

Emboldened and encouraged by the warmth of his body against hers, and the thrumming need between her thighs, Rook put his other hand on her waist, then guided it down under the hem of her scant clothing to cup her ass, moaning softly against his mouth when he gently squeezed, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh. 

He shuddered at the sound she made, and she swallowed, forcing herself to remember to breathe before breaching his lips with her tongue, his mouth opening wider to allow her access. His own tongue found hers, and the soft, wet warmth between them made her knees go weak. 

She walked him backwards towards the couch, making a very deliberate point of leaving the duck slippers behind. 

Emmrich’s large, ring-clad hands continued to wander until the backs of his legs hit the couch and he dropped. Rook followed, perching on his lap, bracketing his hips between her knees.

He tasted good - like spearmint breath mints. 

He smelled good too - not like a 20-something drenched in Sauvage, but like a sophisticated, well-off, middle-aged man: The kind that would take you on a holiday to Orlais and buy you expensive designer clothes without batting an eyelash, simply because you remarked that you thought a pair of jeans that just so happened to be $400 were cute. He’d wine you and dine you and pour you a glass of some absurdly priced Orlesian cognac at the hotel after dinner, and then he’d fuck you passionately until the sun came up on a massive, king-sized four poster bed with linens so luxurious they could support the population of a small country for years. Depending on who you asked, there were probably rose petals involved somewhere along the way too. 

Maker…

Coming up for air, she leaned back slightly so she could pull her hoodie up over her head and give him a proper, real life view of her deliberately slutty outfit she’d been so keen to show off earlier. He looked so… surprised still as he looked up at her, lipstick smudged all over the lower half of his face. In fact, she’d never seen him look quite so ruffled in the months that she’d known him as he did right then. It was enough to force a smile onto her face and a giggle from her lips. 

“You know this is probably a fucking terrible idea, right?” She inquired as she resumed pursuing her life’s crowning achievement of shoving her tongue down his throat. 

“Perhaps…” he agreed, breaking from her lips to trail sucking kisses down her jawline and neck that made a jolt of arousal shoot down her spine, right to her core. “But open to discussions on the matter.” His teeth grazed the skin over her carotid artery and she arched against him, squirming in his arms, aware of the growing bulge in his pants as her hips rolled against his, causing his breath to hitch.

“How uncharacteristically edgy of you,” she teased, crushing her mouth against his again and slipping her fingers under the bottom of his sweater and working it up, pulling it off over his shoulders and head, leaving his hair that was always painstakingly coiffed somewhat of a mess. 

Ohhhh that’s a good look… 

He left out a short bark of laughter and deftly tugged the left side of the chemise down under her breast. “Do you think so?” He quipped back, and then he filled his mouth with her exposed tit, sucking on her nipple and earning a soft cry from her, then immediately feathering his tongue gently over the peaked surface of it, sending jolts of exquisite sensation ripping through her body. 

“Ah! Fuck - Emmrich!”

Her breast slipped from his mouth, and he kissed the curve of it before saying, “I’m sorry, darling - if this is too much all at once, we can certainly slow down…”

And the craziest thing happened: she actually believed him when he said that. Trusted that he meant it. Knew that she needed only to say the word and he would get back in his car, drive home, jack off in the shower before going to bed, and he’d never say a bad word to her - or anyone else - about it. 

“The last thing I want to do is slow down,” she breathed. “Un-unless you want to slow down?”

She hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t thought about where Emmrich’s mind was at with all of this. Hadn’t considered that maybe he might be more comfortable with this if he at least took her out for dinner first - he certainly seemed like the type…

He cupped her breast, played with her hard wet nipple with his thumb while he made a thoughtful noise in his throat, “What I want, ideally, are directions to the bedroom, so I can make love to you properly on a bed.” 

Holy shit. 

This is… this is really going to happen. 

She had been terrified earlier, when Emmrich initially called her bluff and agreed to come over. She’d been terrified waiting for him. She had been terrified when he walked in the door and didn’t once treat her like she fucking owed him something. 

She wasn’t terrified any more: she was ready. 

She felt safe with him. She felt valued. 

That was a lot more than could be said for the majority of the other dregs of the music and dating scene that she’d settled for a tumble with. 

“Yeah… I can do that…” She slid from his lap onto wobbly legs and took his hand in hers, leading him down the hallway towards her room. “Guess I never finished the tour, hey?” She tossed him a coy smile over her shoulder, expecting to wake up at any moment from what surely had to be the most vivid dream she’d ever had about fooling around with a coworker. 

She flipped on the light switch and flooded the small room with warm dim light - she only ever kept one 40 watt bulb in the fixture above her bed in an effort to keep her environs as cozy and ambient as possible. 

Emmrich’s hand was still entwined with hers, but he was no longer kissing her or touching her. Instead he stood at the threshold, looking into the inviting space with a look of tension and uncertainty on his face that wasn’t there before: an abrupt change from the eager, charming air he was exuding only moments earlier. 

“Emmrich?” 

His eyes snapped from the large 70s-era mirrored vanity that was covered with intimate little snapshots of her life: bottles of foundation, palettes of eyeshadow, and other cosmetics; the mid-range perfume she wore most days; another sketchbook and a pencil; empty cigarette packs and a nearly overflowing ashtray that also had a few smoked-down roaches lining the edges. Personal things. Things that people you work with never see. Proof that you existed beyond the confines of an eight hour day and were a real person with interests and routines and flaws.

Emmrich was seeing all of that now. The veil around who Rook was at work, and who Rook actually was had been thrown asunder… and maybe he didn’t like what he saw. Maybe he’d crafted some other image in his mind of her: some manic pixie dream girl who vacuumed her apartment in roller blades while espousing virtues of naively placed hope in the inherent goodness of people like it would make her some kind of fucking martyr when the world inevitably bled her dry. 

That wasn’t her - not by a long shot - even though it seemed like the majority of the male population wanted that for her: quirky oddball, or pliant polite wife material with no ambitions beyond pumping out a few kids and joining a multi level marketing scheme. 

He gathered her against him, winding his long arms around her waist, and she could feel his heart thundering against his ribcage where her chest met his bare skin, and she realized that just as she’d floundered in the living room when faced with the reality of this situation, so had he. 

He was freaking out too, and he didn’t want her to know it.

And why shouldn’t he? This was unlike any random late night hookup Rook had ever had before: no one was drunk, they had established rapport and didn’t meet at a bar for the first time hours earlier, and try as she may, it was becoming abundantly clear to her that as murky and confusing as they were, there were feelings involved. 

Real, proper feelings, which was far more than what Rook bargained for. 

It only made sense that he had picked up on that too. Why else would he have asked why she invited him over?

He tilted his head down to look at her, and drew a deep breath, seeming hesitant to say what he said next, but clearly deeming it too important to keep to himself. “Rook, I… I must admit I didn’t expect to find myself here with you like… like this. I’m not generally this… impulsive, and I feel that I owe it to you speak plainly—“

Oh fuck me, he’s married, isn’t he?

“— Your interest in me is lovely, wholly unexpected, and not at all unwelcome, but… before we go any further, I need to know if your attentions go beyond charming flattery and a passing fancy.”

Oh. not married, then: he’s been hurt before. 

Bad.

Shit.

Wait - did he unironically say ‘passing fancy’?

Her heart - her damned, compassionate, empathetic heart - tugged at the vulnerability of his request despite the positively unhinged wording of it: ached for whatever he’d been through that made it so vital for him to pump the brakes on… whatever this was… specifically to assert that he was not in the business of casual dalliances, because he needed to know that this wasn’t one.

But when she put her mind to it, she could only conclude that it wasn’t at all. 

That revelation hit her like a ton of bricks: the possibility that maybe this was something more than a fleeting, fair weather infatuation.

It certainly seemed to be for Emmrich…

“You asked me why I invited you over earlier,” she said, lifting her hand between them, letting it settle over his racing heart and curling her fingers in the well-groomed thatch of hair on his chest. “If you’re not as impulsive as you claim to be, then why did you come?”

He brushed the back of his finger over her cheekbone, studying her with his soulful hazel eyes. “I find myself fascinated by you,” he admitted, his voice hushed. “Even against my better judgement, knowing that our relationship as colleagues, and my position with the university leaves more than a little room for scandal. But you are… disarming. Your spirit does indeed charm, but there is a kindness and justness about you that is impossible to ignore: there is something quite indomitable about you, Rook.” He stroked the curve of her chin with the pad of his thumb. “It inspires.”

Rook felt a bit teary then, though she wasn’t quite sure why. “Oh,” she managed weakly.

“I’ve tried to turn my mind from thoughts of you, but have found myself unable: I fear you have enchanted me, darling… though that may not have been your intent.”

“That’s um…” she swallowed and smiled up at him. “That’s a way prettier and more poetic way of saying ‘I really like you‘. Fuck. Blows my attempt at getting the point across out of the water...” She laughed uneasily and caught his hand with both of hers, lifting it slightly so she could kiss his fingers. “I can’t even compare with that, but uh… I do really like you, Emmrich. I know it didn’t really come off that way at first, but I… I can’t get you off of my mind either. You look at me differently than most people - like you see that I’m a real person and not just some… fuck up of wasted potential. You’re so kind and patient and thoughtful: everything that I feel like I’m not, so um… yeah. This definitely goes beyond calling you over for a quick fuck in the middle of the night because I have nothing better to do.” She placed his hand over her chest, above her own rapidly beating heart. “So… now that that’s settled: are you gonna kiss me?”

His stained lips quirked upwards and he leaned in, but was halted by her finger over his mouth.

“One more question first,” she said, eyes glittering with clever mirth. “What sort of thoughts were you having about me that were so hard to ignore? Hmm?”

Emmrich’s expression changed again to one of barely restrained lust as though her words alone brought to the surface sordid details kept tortuously private and secret for months.

“Oh far too many to summarize neatly for you in one night.” He spun her in his arms and aimed her towards the bed. “Why don’t I show you instead?” 

At this, she shivered, excited at the prospect, and willed her legs to carry her over the stained expanse of carpet between herself and the bed, managing to collapse onto the mattress, aware of Emmrich following closely behind her. The metallic ‘clink’ of his belt buckle as it was undone followed by the sound of his pants being unzipped sent another chill up her spine. 

She crawled over the bed and flipped onto her back, sinking into the pillow beneath her and watching as Emmrich set his glasses on the nightstand, stepped free of his pants, underwear (bougie Calvin Klein briefs, she noted with some amusement), and socks. 

When he straightened she glimpsed his cock: half-hard again, and oh… oh wow it was long, but not intimidatingly girthy: it appeared to share the same lean, willowy appearance of its owner, uncut, and surrounded by a thick but well maintained patch of mostly gray hair that trailed up over the slightly sagging skin of his lower belly to his navel. 

Shame seared through her as it occurred to her that she had never slept with someone Emmrich’s age. When she was 21, she’d gone home from the club with a guy who told her he was 33, but in reality was probably closer to 40 and clearly sustained himself on a diet of cocaine and espresso. It wasn’t a memorable night: he’d brought her back to his fancy executive apartment, complained about having to wear a condom, and proceeded to sloppily fuck her so hard her cervix was bruised for a week afterwards. 

Emmrich looked his age though, and he clearly cared for himself: the toned shape of his limbs made that clear, but there was no denying that he was a middle-aged man. 

Nothing within her balked at this realization. In fact it only served to endear him to her further: he didn’t shrink away or try to conceal the soft pooch of his belly or the flatness of his chest as he joined her on the bed. Didn’t ask her to turn the light off or look away. 

There was a confidence about him in his nakedness that made her mouth water and made the heat between her legs rise even higher, settling in her core where it began to smolder insistently. She parted her legs for him and he settled between them, lowering his mouth to hers and propping himself up with his elbows on either side of her head as he kissed her long and deep.

“It started right here, actually,” he told her, his gaze wandering over her pillow, banked in her long black hair. He twirled a strand of it around his fingers, taking care not to pull it. “I knew I was taken with you… found myself enjoying our interactions at work as brief and professional as they were. But I never dared to entertain the thought that you would be interested in someone like me… so imagine my surprise when I received a message from you in the middle of the night and it was a picture of you right here - just like this.”

Rook felt herself smile at the memory of the wasted selfie she’d plucked up the courage to send him, and Emmrich went on after pausing to leave a line of soft kisses up her jaw. 

“You’re very beautiful, Rook, and truthfully, that picture had me thinking things that were entirely inappropriate…” His hips rolled forward slightly as if to punctuate his point, and she felt his hard length against the inside of her thigh.

“Mmmm…”

“I pleasured myself that morning thinking about that perfect image of you, here in your bed…” he murmured against her ear, still lazily grinding his cock against her thigh. “… and I’ve pleasured myself to it many times since…”

“Ohhh fuck…” she whimpered, feeling her clit throb at this filthy disclosure as her mind filled with images of Emmrich staring at his phone, stroking that long cock of his while looking at her, head tilting back, mouth opening slightly as he brought himself to completion - as she brought him to completion.

“After that, there was no going back: my thoughts were consumed by you. I desired to know how your pretty lips tasted…” he kissed her again, and his hand wandered down between them, slipping under the chemise and moving her thong aside. His fingers found her heat, slick and engorged with anticipation. “And I yearned to touch you - to know what you felt like…”

Rook’s breath hitched when Emmrich traced the shape of her the same way he’d traced the leaf of her pothos: gently, but deliberately, dipping his fingers beyond her outermost lips to collect the moisture that clung to her, spreading it around and circling her clit, imparting just the right amount of pressure that had her squirming at his touch.

Oh fuck this is hot. He’s hot. He’s… ahhhh…

He had kissed her again and slipped a finger past her entrance, slowly - so slowly - easing it all the way inside of her, then back out with the same torturously slow pace that sent thrills of sensation through every inch of her soft walls that he came into contact with, and a second finger joined the first, adding to the stretch and the feeling of fullness in her pelvis. 

The vulgar sound of her wetness as he buried his fingers in her pussy made her cheeks go red, her body making no secret of how much she was enjoying this. A trembling moan slipped past her lips when Emmrich curled those dexterous fingers slightly, continuing to circle and stroke her clit with his thumb, working that spot inside of her that was making bright flashes of light dance in her vision.

“I thought about this too: what it would be like to see you come undone… how your pretty face would look when you’re deep in the throes of pleasure…”

Oh he was trouble, wasn’t he? ‘It’s always the polite ones you have to watch out for,’ her late friend, Varric, had told her once. ‘They’ll pull you in with their good manners and keep you coming back once you discover that they get off on getting you off.’

His fingers glanced off her g-spot again in a firm but naunced movement that made her yelp and thrust up into his hand reflexively. 

No one had ever done that before.

Maybe she just had a lamentable rap-sheet of less than stellar-in-the-sack partners, but whatever Emmrich was doing - between his words and his touch - was making every lover she’d ever had look like a fumbling goon in hindsight.

She panted his name and dragged him down for another deep, searing kiss, writhing against his hand, seeking the relief of those wicked fingers as he likewise dragged her towards an orgasm with an effortlessness that had her mind scrambling: it was like he knew exactly where to touch her, when, and how; picked up on physical and visual cues that she wasn’t even aware of. 

In short, Emmrich Volkarin knew what he was doing, she concluded confidently at the exact moment she moaned raggedly, clenched around his fingers, buried her face in his shoulder, and came hard. He continued to finger her through her orgasm, alternating between kissing her and whispering sweet encouraging nothings into her ear as the wet sound of his fingers plunging into her amplified and she felt the bedspread underneath her hips heat as she spilled onto it, gushing around him uncontrollably, her breath coming in short rapid bursts.

“Oh darling, yes…” he purred, curling around her, kissing her hair, her cheeks, her forehead. “Your voice is music to my ears: I love hearing you.” 

She had just managed to rub enough brain-cells together to exert the motor skills required to reach down and take his cock in her hand, easing his foreskin back and stroking him as she rode out the waning tide of pleasure that still rippled through her from head to toe. 

It didn’t last long though: Emmrich clearly had other plans for her, and his fingers slipped from her dripping pussy.

“That felt so… so good…” she huffed, still catching her breath, watching as he licked his fingers clean with a stately elegance she never thought anyone would be capable of when performing such an act. 

“I’m not finished yet, darling: I’ve only elaborated on my thoughts - my dreams, on the other hand, are an entirely different category...”

Rook’s cunt clenched around nothing at his words, and he kissed her again, the sweet, slightly salty taste of her own juices gracing his lips now along with her lipstick.

His cock slipped from her hand (to her dismay) when he parted from her and began drifting downwards, his fingers hooking over the waistband of her sodden thong and whisking it down her legs and over her feet, setting it at the foot of the bed rather than wadding it up and discarding it on the floor like most would.

He pushed her chemise up over her hips, baring her to him fully. A pleased sound rumbled from deep in his throat as he rested on his elbows between her legs and spread her slightly with two fingers, taking in the sight of her wet blushing pussy, dragging the tip of his thumb feather-soft over her blood-engorged clit, and up the thin landing strip of brown hair above it.

“I’ve dreamt of this frequently, in fact…” he murmured, lowering his lips and keeping her spread open so he could press his tongue flat against her and lick all the way from her hole to her clit, the delicious heat and friction of it against her slightly overstimulated flesh causing her fingers to curl into the sheets on either side of her.

“Ohhhh….” she warbled, and he did it again. “Fuck!” She whined, catching the satisfied glint in his eyes as he watched her writhe against the wet blankets before his hand splayed over her belly and she could feel the cold metal of his expensive watch against her skin.

His tongue dipped inside of her, and licked into her deeply, the tip of his nose rubbing against her clit as he feasted on her, his other hand slipping under the back of her quivering thigh and easing it to the side, opening her deeper.

“Em-ah-Emmrich… fuck… keep going…”

He hummed at the sound of his name, his voice vibrating through her, and it was all she could do not to crush his head between her thighs.

In short order he wrung blissed out moans, needy whimpers, and a chorus of ecstatic whines from her as he lapped at her pussy, determined to clean up the mess he’d made earlier. 

He sucked her clit into his mouth and tongued the swollen, sensitive flesh gently, flicking it then sucking it a little, politely pinning her hips to the mattress, encouraged if anything by her squirming and thrusting, which had become frantic and desperate. He carefully drew her inner labia past his lips and captured them gently between his teeth, imparting the slightest amount of pressure that had Rook twisting in his hands, seeing sounds, tasting colours, and overall transcending the confines of banal planar existence.

He moaned approvingly at her bliss, hooked his arms under her thighs and dragged her a few inches over the bed towards him, lifting her hips clear of the mattress so he had unimpeded access to her.

“Ah… ah - I’m gonna cum, Emmrich…”

He groaned his encouragement against her pussy, clearly not willing to part from it for long enough to use words, choosing to continue ravishing her instead, his soaked moustache rubbing over her slickened skin as Rook felt the familiar feeling of rapidly peaking tension in her belly: heavy but light; intense but welcomed. 

“Yes-yes-yes-yes… fuck - ah - ah!” She was chanting words and uttering sounds, not knowing or caring what any of them meant - all that remained was him and the incredible variety of lurid sensations he was spoiling her with. 

Release found her again, and she went rigid in Emmrich’s arms, her eyes slamming shut, flooding his mouth as her legs tightened around him. 

He swallowed every last drop of her, moaning appreciatively as though he was sampling a particularly delectable and expensive vintage, rubbing small soothing circles on her belly as she spasmed and quivered and babbled fucked-out nonsense that she didn’t even possess the ability to be embarrassed about anymore. 

He pressed a disarmingly wholesome kiss to her drenched folds and lowered her hips back to the bed, and Rook managed to verbalize something along the lines of “IwannafuckyouEmmrich… need you in-inside me…”

Forcing a jelloid arm off the mattress, she groped blindly at the drawer of her nightstand and managed to find a condom with her shaking fingers, every ounce of her being roaring for more. She needed all of him - needed to wrap herself around him and never let go.

His fingers wrapped around the square wrapper and her hand as he sat back on his knees and massaged her quaking thigh, breathing rather heavily himself, his cock jutting into the air. He wiped his face with the palm of his hand.

“We can take a break if you’d like,” he soothed, and Rook laughed drunkenly even though she was completely sober, pushing the condom towards him.

“Oh no,” she panted. “No, no, no - what I’d like is for you to put that on, and then I want you balls deep inside me. I have an IUD, but… uh… you know...”

He tugged the condom from her fingers with an understanding smile on his slightly shiny face. His hair had become even more disheveled, strands of it hanging down around his forehead, framing his distinguished faces 

“As you wish,” he purred, not complaining about the condom, not asking if he really had to wear it, not rolling his eyes or looking annoyed at this perfectly reasonable exertion of autonomy over her own body.

He tore the package open, pulled the rubber out, and rolled it down the impressive length of his cock (she couldn’t stop staring: when one is confronted with a dick like that, it behooves a bit of staring,) setting the empty wrapper on the end of the bed next to her panties, apparently not willing to litter her floor with garbage even in the heat of passion.

He settled between her legs again and kissed her sweetly, the taste of herself even more obvious than it had been before. 

“Did you dream about this too?” Rook asked, pushing some of his hair out of his face and gazing up into his intelligent, lust-blown eyes. 

“Making love to you? Oh yes… in fact they’re the dreams that I cherish the most.” 

“You really like to lay it on thick, huh?”

“There’s no need to tease, Rook.”

“I think you need to be teased every now and then,” she grinned, cupping his cheek in her hand. “Keeps you honest.”

“You certainly have a knack for picking the most interesting moments to do it,” he grinned back, turning his head to kiss the palm of her hand and reaching down to guide himself to her entrance, penetrating her only slightly. 

She gasped at the feeling of his head breaching her, and the unmistakable sensation of a cock inside of her. His cock. Emmrich’s. The dude that held the door for her with a smile the day of her interview. 

Back then, she never would have foreseen this turn of events… though truthfully she couldn’t be happier with them.

“It’s… it’s been some time for me, darling…” he admitted, looking somewhat sheepish but thrusting forward anyway, his words broken by a ragged groan as he sunk into her, and her heat enveloped him. “Ahh… I - I fear I won’t last long: you already feel divine…”

He did too: she could feel the hard throb of him against her walls as he rolled his hips tentatively, urging taut sighs of pleasure from both of them. 

“I don’t care,” she promised, arching her hips upwards, coaxing him deeper still, and she couldn’t help but think that he looked somewhat relieved at this before their lips met again and he began to thrust in earnest, setting a steady but languid rhythm, inching deeper with each snap of his hips until he was fully seated inside of her. 

She drew her right leg up and slipped it over his shoulder, deepening his angle and allowing him a broader range of movement, moving her hips in time to meet his thrusts, moaning richly as he plunged into her, his heavy balls slapping against her wet skin.

“Rook…” he rasped as she wriggled out of the chemise, completely naked at last. “Ohhh Rook…” his voice was almost a whine as he looked down at her, watching her lips part and her eyes glaze as he fucked into her, urging soft cries and delicate mewls from her lungs. “Rook… you feel too good…” He tossed his head back and looked at the ceiling, taking a deep breath and clearly trying to maintain some semblance of control, finding her clit with his thumb again and rubbing it, adding yet another layer to the arousing intensity of his dick filling her. 

“Lemme ride you…” She didn’t wait for his blessing - she just sat up and felt his cock slip out of her before she pushed him onto his back and straddled his thin hips, reaching behind her to take him in hand and reposition him at her entrance again. 

He let out a strangled cry as she lowered herself, taking every inch of him. His hands gripped her hips, well-manicured fingernails digging into the soft flesh there as she pressed her tits to his chest and trailed sucking kisses up the column of his thin neck, leaving a pattern of delicate purple marks on the skin there: good thing he wears a high-collared shirt to work, she thought as she rolled her hips, flexing and clenching around him; dragging him over every ridge and curve of her cunt, feeling him come undone underneath her, stammering, cursing, and babbling like she had been minutes earlier when she was at the mercy of his tongue. 

“I could fuck you all night, Emmrich…” she sighed, kissing him savagely before sitting upright and giving him a good, clear view of her young, tight, naked body as she ground on him. She took his hands and put them on her tits, tilting her chin up to expose her neck, and making a point to really fucking show off for him: if he wasn’t just spinning tales and feeding her sugared words about dreaming of fucking her in some attempt to appeal to her vanity, then he deserved to enjoy this - deserved to revel in his reality, which was that a pretty thing half his age was currently bouncing on his dick like the world was going to end in the morning. 

She knew she was nice to look at. Knew that attention - particularly from men - was easy to come by because of it, and she wanted Emmrich’s attention. Wanted him to feel good about himself for the fact that he had not only gotten her into bed, but he’d made her cum twice, and if this kept up much longer, a third time wasn’t out of the picture either. 

Her ass slapped against the inside of his thighs as she slammed down on him again, and he groaned roughly, seeming to be teetering on the brink of losing himself completely. 

“I could fuck you every night,” she told him, taking his wrists in her hands and leaning down again, pinning them to the mattress above his head as she continued to ride him, his hips shuddering beneath hers, his mouth gaping, his gold watch warm under her hand. 

“Ahhhh - R-Rook…”

“No more dreams…” She kissed him: sloppy and wet and deep and honest, and he returned her enthusiasm. Practically whimpering underneath her, she could tell his ability to waylay himself was at an end. “I wanna fuck you every night that you’ll have me: will you have me?” 

“Ye-yes…” he panted, gazing up at her with his half-lidded, fucked-out face. “Please, yes… if you’ll… if - ah - if you’ll have me…” 

She was seconds away from cumming a third time, and she adjusted the tilt of her hips, angling them slightly to guarantee her release as his rock-hard cock raked against her g-spot. 

“Yes please,” she husked, releasing his wrists and burying her fingers in his hair - it was soft, slightly sweaty, and filled with product that smelled faintly of ripe cherries. “F-fuck Emmrich… I’m gonna cum again…” 

The third orgasm hurtled into her with basically no warning: there was a fleeting wave of full-body tingles that telegraphed its arrival, and then she was seeing stars, rocking against Emmrich, toes curling into the sheets under her as her legs unfurled and contracted again, knees locked tight around him as her overstimulated pussy gripped his cock. A shattered moan tore from him as he wrapped his arm around her waist, trapping her against him as he thrust gracelessly up into her, and then she felt the heady throb of his cock as it twitched inside of her, flooding the condom that separated skin from skin. 

They writhed against each other, chasing the intimacy of the moment - the utter entanglement of their limbs, their coupled baptism in sweat, saliva, and other fluids; and the breathless, needy way they kissed - the shared air between them belonging to no one else. 

Emmrich whispered her name and smoothed her sweaty bangs from her forehead, holding her to him like she may flee if he let go. 

Silly of him, really… 

She had no idea what they were doing, but she knew one thing for sure: she wasn’t going anywhere. 

“I regret that I can’t stay longer, darling,” Emmrich said a few minutes later when he returned from the bathroom, rejoining Rook in the sweaty love nest of bedding that was now in desperate need of laundering. He stroked her hair softly, his voice hoarse from their exertions, but still tender. “I have to work today, and I need to return home to feed Manfred and get cleaned up.”

Rook emerged from under his arm and wriggled free, stretching and snatching a pack of cigarettes off the nightstand, giggling when Emmrich groped her bare ass from his place on the bed. “I see how it is,” she said, collapsing back to the soft blankets with an ashtray in hand as well. “Hit and run - wham-bam, thank you, ma’am.” She abandoned the bed altogether to open the bedroom window a crack, but hurried back to Emmrich’s warmth when the cold air began to chase her. She fished out a pair of smokes and lit them, handing one off to Emmrich, who had rolled onto his side to face her. “Ugh. Typical.” She rolled her eyes, and took a drag hoping that her stupid joke hit its mark. 

“I didn’t say I had to go right this minute,” he clarified, “I’d stay all night if I could.” 

“It was a joke, Emmrich.”

“Oh.” He looked genuinely surprised by this revelation and puffed on his own smoke, thumb tracing the round edge of the filter after he tapped the ash off the coffin nail on the edge of the ash tray. “But… you don’t mind if I stay for a while, then?” 

Rook looked at him, unable to keep the smile from her lips. “I wasn’t planning on kicking you out... Why? Should I? Are you gonna piss in my houseplants and rob me blind after I pass out or something?” 

Emmrich laughed - hard. She liked his laugh. He had this really discreet, turbo-polite laugh that he used around families, but when you really got him going and there was no expectation to be collected and dignified, he giggled - he chuckled - he full-on guffawed. She assumed that some people might consider such an unbridled laugh to be obnoxious or annoying. 

She thought it was lovely. 

She rather thought she’d like to keep hearing it. 

“No, I wasn’t planning on defacing your home and stealing from you,” he said when he collected himself. “But a few hours of sleep wouldn’t be unwelcome.” 

She considered him again - it was sweet how he actually wanted to stick around, though in her experience this could mean one of two things: either he really did want to cuddle up with her in bed and bask in post-coital bliss, or he would stay the night. Then the next one… and the one after that… and before long, she’d have a live-in boyfriend that she never asked for and who proved to be incredibly challenging to evict. 

Fool me once, shame on you… 

But she knew the latter wasn’t the case - Emmrich wasn’t a sponge. He was a bit quirky, obviously suffered from anxiety, and spoke kind of like a character from a Jane Austen novel or something, but he certainly didn’t need to mooch off of her to support himself. 

“I talk in my sleep,” she deadpanned. “I say really fucked up shit too. Sometimes I laugh.” She ashed her cigarette and took another drag. “Just a heads up in case you wake up in the middle of the night wondering if you’ve accidentally been seduced by a demon or something.” Her lips curved into another smile. 

“Luckily for us both, I’ve been told that I sleep like the dead.”

“Oof - death joke. Like those aren’t played out as fuck in our line of work,” she winced, draping her legs over his. “You’ve been at this for a while: how soon did you get tired of people asking you if people were ‘dying to get in here’?”

“Within a month,” he stated confidently, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out. 

Rook finished hers too and put the ashtray and lighter back on the nightstand. She walked over to the door and closed it before flicking off the lightswitch, plunging the room into darkness. 

“Maybe that’s my million-dollar idea,” she mused, crawling back into bed and sliding under the covers. Emmrich joined her, his long, lean form enfolding her with an ease that imparted instant comfort. “Maybe I’ll write an entire book of jokes about death. Maybe if people can learn to laugh at it, it won’t seem so terrifying.” 

Emmrich didn’t say anything right away. In fact, Rook almost wondered if he’d fallen asleep already, but then his lips found hers in the dark and he said, “That would be nice, wouldn’t it, darling?” 

They stayed like that, twined around each other, stealing long, slow, lazy kisses in the dead of night until their eyes became too heavy, and eventually sleep found them both. 

[farore05]

Amaretto Sour.

Emmrich/Rook Modern AU (no magic)

Rating: E (f/m)

Summary: Distinguished neuroscience professor Emmrich Volkarin finds his carefully structured life upended when he meets a sharp young bartender during a rare night out, only to later discover she’s one of his students.

Tags: Professor/Student relationship, Toxic plot/Wholesome characters, Mutual pining, Fluff and smut, Loss of virginity, Breathplay, Older man/Younger woman, Sign language, Taboo, Angst with a happy ending.

Chapter One: Overdressed

The bar was loud, far louder than Emmrich had anticipated. He adjusted the gold chain around his wrist before clasping his hands neatly on the table. His eyes wandered over the crowd of bodies pressed together at the bar. The music, all bass and beat, seemed designed to override thought, to strip away the layers of one’s identity and reduce them to primal instinct. He sighed quietly.

“Relax, Em,” Strife said, slinging an arm over the back of their booth. His tone was amused, but his eyes gleamed with a touch of fondness. “You look like you’re about to lecture someone on cellular synapses.”

“I assure you, Strife, I have no intention of lecturing anyone tonight,” Emmrich replied softly, his clipped, melodic voice almost swallowed by the din. He adjusted the brooch pinned to his perfectly tailored velvet blazer, a soft lilac tonight, a choice he had debated for far too long before leaving his room. “Though I must admit, I fail to see the appeal of such an environment. It’s… overstimulating.”

Strife laughed, throwing his head back in a way that earned him a few glances from nearby tables. “That’s the point, my dear Emmrich. You’re supposed to let go. Try it sometime.” He gestured toward the crowded bar. “Why don’t you get us another round? It might help.’”

Emmrich’s eyes flicked toward the bar, a hesitant furrow creasing his brow. He hadn’t stepped foot in such a place in decades. His evenings were usually spent in quiet libraries, wine glasses glinting under soft lamplight, or in lecture halls where every word he spoke was carefully chosen, amplified by a microphone so that even the students in the back row could hear him. He wasn’t made for this cacophony of noise and motion.

But Strife’s expectant look made him sigh again . He stood, smoothing the front of his high-waisted trousers. His golden rings glinted under the flickering lights as he adjusted his tie.

Strife smirked. “You’re overdressed, by the way.”

“I dress as I always do,” Emmrich replied, his tone almost apologetic. “Besides, I find the notion of dressing down rather unappealing.”

With that, he stepped out of the booth, weaving carefully through the crowd.

When he reached the counter, he cleared his throat politely, waiting for the bartender to notice him.

“Can I help you?” Asked a young woman, towel slung over her shoulder, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. Her black hair framed her face, accentuating sharp eyes that seemed to take him in all at once.

For a moment, Emmrich faltered. “Ah, yes. I was hoping for two glasses of, hmmm, something not too… overwhelming.”

Her smirk deepened. “Not overwhelming, huh? That’s a new one. Most people just ask for whatever’s the strongest and cheapest.”

Emmrich blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her bluntness.

She tilted her head, studying him as she leaned a little closer. “Amaretto sour?” she guessed with a playful voice. “You look like an amaretto sour kinda guy.”

“I beg your pardon?” His voice was carefully measured, soft and formal.

“It’s just the first fancy drink that came to mind,” she said, shrugging, though the grin never left her face. “No offense, but you don’t exactly blend in here. You seem more… I don’t know, refined. ”

Emmrich hesitated, then nodded slightly. “You’re not wrong. I don’t frequent places like this.”

“Didn’t think so,” she replied, crossing her arms as she leaned back. “So what’s the story, then? Slumming it for fun?”

“Not exactly,” he said, the faintest trace of a smile touching his lips. “I’m here with a friend.”

“Let me guess.” Her eyes narrowed, glinting with mock suspicion. “He dragged you out to loosen up, didn’t he?”

“Quite.”

She laughed, and the sound was warm and disarming. “Well, you’ve got that ‘distinguished professor’ vibe down pat. I’m guessing you’re more comfortable in a lecture hall than, well, here.”

“An astute observation.” Emmrich’s lips curved into a faint smile despite himself. “Though I assure you, I am perfectly capable of carrying a conversation, even in such an environment.”

“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow as she stared at him, clearly intrigued. “What do you teach?”

“Neuroscience,” he said, his tone brightening with enthusiasm. “It’s a fascinating field, really. The complexity of the human brain, the intricate network of neurons, there’s a kind of poetry in it.”

Her eyebrows lifted, a flicker of something, surprise maybe, crossing her face. “Neuroscience eh? I hear that’s an intense subject. Like… brain scans and stuff, right? MRI machines and, what is it, synapses firing?”

Emmrich’s lips twitched with amusement. “That’s a simplistic way of putting it, but not entirely incorrect. Neuroscience is the study of the nervous system, including the brain, yes, but also the spinal cord and peripheral nerves. It’s a field of vast complexity and depth.”

“Oh, sure,” she said breezily, “like how the left brain is for logic and the right brain is for creativity?”

His academic instincts kicked in. “Actually, that’s a common misconception,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “While certain functions may localize to specific hemispheres, the brain is far more integrated than that. Both hemispheres communicate constantly through the corpus callosum. The idea of a strict left-brain, right-brain dichotomy is largely a myth.”

She paused mid motion, her fingers grazing the stem of a bottle as her head tilted just slightly. A flicker of something playful crossed her face, but it softened quickly. She reached for two glasses and set them down with a soft clink.

“Well,” she said, pouring the drinks, “there goes my trivia knowledge. Guess I’ll have to study harder for the test.”

The corners of Emmrich’s mouth twitched, his usual composure giving way to something lighter. His laughter was soft, almost private, like a sound not meant for the chaos around them. “If this were a test, I’d say you’ve shown an admirable effort thus far. I’m impressed by your curiosity.”

Her gaze flicked up, catching his. “Curiosity’s easy when the subject’s interesting.” Her tone was light, teasing, but something in her eyes lingered. “But I’ll take the compliment. Coming from you, that feels official.”

He tilted his head, studying her with interest. “You seem to know more about neuroscience than the average bartender,” he said. “Though I suspect you’re deliberately keeping me on my toes.”

She arched an eyebrow, setting the bottle down. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m fishing for a bigger tip?”

Her words caught him off guard, and he stiffened, his expression tightening as though he’d stepped on a social landmine. “No—I mean, absolutely not—I wouldn’t suggest—”

She cut him off with a laugh, warm and low, her hand waving dismissively. “Relax,” she said, her smirk reappearing. “I’m just messing with you.” She slid the glasses toward him, her fingers brushing the rim of one before retreating. “Maybe I am fishing for tips. Or…” She let the word hang, her eyes narrowing slightly with mock consideration. “Maybe I just like how you talk about it. You were right, by the way, you are a good conversationalist.”

Emmrich blinked, startled by the ease with which she flipped the moment back into playfulness. He hesitated, his grip tightening briefly on the glass before relaxing. “I’m beginning to doubt that,” he said quietly, a faint warmth rising in his chest despite himself.

“You are,” she insisted. “You’ve got this… passion about it. It’s like, when you talk about neuroscience, your whole face lights up. Makes me want to learn more, even if I probably won’t understand half of it.”

The sincerity of her words tugged at something in his chest. He wasn’t used to such candid praise. In his classroom, his students were often too nervous or too indifferent to offer such remarks.

“Well,” he said, his voice softening as he reached into his wallet. He withdrew a twenty dollar bill, sliding it across the counter. “I appreciate that.”

The bartender picked up the bill and quickly tucked it under the register. She counted out his change, a neat stack of singles, and slid them back across the counter toward him.

His hand met hers as he reached for the bills, their fingers brushing briefly. The touch was fleeting, but enough to pull his gaze to hers. Her eyes flicked up, the teasing edge in them shifted by something more thoughtful.

“Though I’m sure you’d understand far more than you give yourself credit for,” he said, his voice calm as he studied her.

Without a second thought, he returned the bills to the counter. His fingers pressed gently against the stack, sliding it back toward her in the same smooth motion he’d used before. He didn’t speak, but the intention was clear.

Her smirk faltered for just a moment, her posture shifting as she paused. Her fingers hovered over the money, then stilled as her expression softened. She held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, her eyes losing some of their sharpness.

“Maybe I’ll test that theory sometime,” she said finally, her voice lighter now, a playful lilt returning as she gave him a quick wink.

Before he could gather a response, a familiar arm slung around his shoulders. Strife, his face flushed and his movements clumsy, leaned heavily on him.

“Emm… buddy, I thought you got lost,” he slurred.

Emmrich straightened, his instinct to help overriding his embarrassment. “Excuse me,” he said to the bartender, his tone apologetic.

She waved him off, her grin lingering. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

As Emmrich guided Strife back toward the booth, he found himself glancing back. She was still there, leaning casually against the bar, her eyes meeting his for a brief, teasing moment before she turned away.

Read the rest here: ⬇️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60715576/chapters/155048638

[tea-time221]

inquisitor problems

this is a lie he actually could do polyamory and IS in a poly with them

hes just being dramatic

[thecomicsnexus]

TMNT: SATURDAY MORNING ADVENTURES #20

JANUARY 2025 By Erik Burnham , Sarah Myer, Luis Antonio Delgado, and Ed Dukeshire.

Mikey wonders how his family would be without him, and gets his wish.

RATING: GOOD

Perhaps GOOD is not the best describer for a book like this... I enjoyed it very much.

This is another done-in-one episode, still continuing the plots from previous issues. It's some sort of Christmas Carol mixed with Home Alone that shows us yet another timeline where things turned out a different way (like "Shredderville.")

I thought Sarah Myer's Old Hob was going to work better for me... but I guess there is something with the character design that I am not enjoying... I don't know anymore.

But I like the idea that we could be very well be experiencing a tangent timeline for the 1987 cartoon anyway, with all the talking about timelines and dimensions. I don't think it will ever be made explicit that this is a different universe, but it does feel like it is leaving the option open, just in case anything happens in the future (and someone decides to revive the show in a different way).

Now, I'd say that the main appeal of this issue is the dark turtles (which I think were probably created so that NECA could do toys of them, but I might be wrong). The genie itself was an unnecessary addition in a universe that already has Mr. Ogg, but in the background of all this is a Michelangelo story, about finding his role in his family.

Having said that, perhaps the story goes too fast, and the resolution feels a little rushed, but I have to say that all things considered, it was a good balance.

One thing that I noticed about the 2025 books, is that IDW is now specifying the artist of the covers in the cover, a decision I really appreciate.

[anghraine]

I was talking to my students and then some family members about how the death of Elizabeth I and succession of James was necessarily an occasion of upheaval, even when it wasn't necessarily violent or flirting with treason or whatever. For one, the death of a monarch that will lead to a new dynasty (even a related one!) is not quite the same as a familiar figure inheriting the country's rule from their parent or grandparent. It's usually a bigger change, with dynamics of loyalties and affiliations shifting around—that's part of the reason Elizabeth delayed acknowledging James as her heir.

Typically, you'd see courtiers etc deserting a dying monarch in order to signal their loyalty to the new monarch, even if the old one wasn't actually dead yet. Elizabeth's reluctance to share royal power was fundamental to her reign and her public image, so it's not at all surprising that she would be loath to encourage that kind of desertion in any particular direction.

Of course, another thing that complicates the Elizabeth -> James succession is that she had reigned for a long time (44 years iirc). By the time she was dying, a good number of English people had few personal memories of life under any other monarch, and those who did would remember the abrupt and unstable reigns of her predecessors, Edward and Mary. So James's accession came with uncertainty about what exactly it would entail, and a lot of late Elizabethan/early Jacobean drama in English is very concerned with questions of what obligations the governed owe to their monarchs (obedience? loyalty? are those always the same thing?), but also what obligations monarchs themselves have to their people.

This seemed especially pertinent to Lear, in which multiple characters defy capricious orders from a monarch or other authority out of loyalty: Kent challenges Lear and is banished, so skulks around in disguise to continue serving him, Edgar also skulks around in disguise after Gloucester renounces him and ends up offering what comfort he can to his father, and Cordelia returns to Britain with the French army in her ultimately futile attempt to help Lear. Meanwhile, Lear loses everything, is driven to take shelter in a peasant hovel, and starts to contemplate how his own failures as a king resulted in, well, peasant hovels.

Anyway, now I'm thinking about what a wild figure Elros must have been as, specifically, a monarch to the Númenóreans. He lived for five hundred years. Even his own children (also half-Elves! sort of!) and other descendants who benefited from his lifespan didn't live as long, and most Númenóreans during his earlier reign wouldn't have come near to it. Undoubtedly there were Elves who had known Elros in the First Age who were baffled at him choosing mortality and DEATH, and meanwhile on Númenor, there are all these people living out their extended lifespans under the reign of a half-Elf king who was ruling their people at their birth and would still be ruling after they died of old age. We know Elros retained his half-Elvish characteristics as well, so they've got this visibly Elvish, barely-aging, eternal king who looks like Lúthien as part of the fabric of life for centuries.

Yes, he's literally the first king—but for a lot of earlier Númenóreans, he's also the only king they will ever know. It takes him an incredibly long time to weary of the world as other mortals do. By the time Elros finally gets weary of Arda, and willingly lays down his life and passes to the unknown fate of mortals, Tar-Amandil is stepping into some very big shoes.

[ladyinthebluebox]

i see one more complaint about "modern words" and i will start beating people with hammers for real. i'm so fucking tired of it at this point it's been two months already. yes they said non-binary couple times. yes we got transgender in writing. yes the characters are UNDENIABLY QUEER AND WE SHOULD BE HAPPY ABOUT IT ACTUALLY!!!

[dallasgallant]

Time period post : Buses and public transport

This one extends a bit off of my post on car culture, as I’ll cover motorlodges but also public transportation! As usual this is sort of an introduction or crash course to the topic, I do encourage you to go looking if you want to learn more!

Public transport-

In the 60’s flying was still fairly expensive and formal, it was a really nice trip or more for business men or other upper middle or outright rich people. There was a matter of price but popularity and access also played a part, most people would likely prefer to drive or take a bus or maybe even a train!

Trains were still a huge part of transportation up until following WW2, after all there were huge efforts like the transcontinental railway in the 1860s to connect the country. They were still fairly popular long form travel up through the 40s and 50s (old movies can be evidenced to that) but as car culture began to rise and interstate highway were built - people shifted their focus to individual passenger vehicles and the freedom of control. The rail system was much more in tact than the remains today but was on the decline.

Busses on the other hand? Huge, especially in small towns (some may even still have trolly systems!) they’d be kept neat and relatively on time — it was also a way to travel! Some who either couldn’t afford or didn’t want to drive a long distance themselves could take a longer bus ride/charter busses and travel the country! Greyhound absolutely ruled the roost in this regard and is still sort of synonymous!

Similar to trains there were bus terminals alongside regular street side stops, it’d be returned to on its regular run or a place to hop onto the next one going a city or so over. Some big and nice stations had little tv chairs that I am obsessed with:

Ash trays and shoe shine stands, news stands and vending machines (hot drinks, candy, cigarettes.) and brochure stands are some other notable features. Yes people used to actually man shoe shine stations… I feel in modern day they’re the stand equivalent to a mall that’s somehow still standing.

Most buses you’d pay a few cents or dollars (depending, likely cents) wherever you’re picked up. But if you’re going a considerable distance. Like Tulsa to Detroit you’d buy a ticket and then show that, you wouldn’t just hop on.

This isn’t to say there aren’t still busses in America, but our towns are larger, cars are the main focus and busses have become a bit dirty and less reliable. Isn’t to say they aren’t still a thing, similar to trains.

“Milk run” - this is an interesting bit of slang I’ve heard from my grandmother to refer to a bus going on its complete route stopping at every small town along the way.

She took a bus by herself from one town to another that were a few hours apart from eachother… about 15 in the 60s and got stranded at a bus station. (Needless her dad chewed out the attendant.)

That story highlights the detail of kids traveling on their own! It was safe* enough if they were aware and knew things well, this would be more contained to a town. Not small children either more 8+ and teens.

Motor lodges-

For a good portion of their existence, Hotels were dedicated to long term stays and located in cities, usually bachelors or businessmen etc. or sometimes renting a room at an older woman’s home.

Motor lodges became the place for the average vacationer. “Motels.” It was more common to see independently owned ones but chains did arise, like Howard Johnsons. An absolute staple of the 60s and roadside Americana… it cannot be understated just how huge these places were- sometimes their restaurants would stand alone! They were nice, fun and amenity filled place, honestly almost a toned down resort of sorts.

Most motels you’ll see beds, shower, perhaps a tv etc. they’d be clean and comfortable.

A nicer motel you’d be set! A color tv, refrigerated air (ac), a heated pool , a cafe next door.

Motor lodges rose alongside automobiles, existing all the way back in the 30s in a slightly different form. They began to kick off in gimmick and style in the real height of the Route 66 tourism era.

The view of Flying and hotels also began to change by the end of the decade, flying became cheaper and incentivized. Hotels began to spring up and offer more amenities and push out some motels, these happening simultaneously.

[dwightschrute11]

She’s down bad for EVERY single girl in school…making kissy faces a mile a minute with all the pretty girls walking past her

[teyrnacousland]

To the people complaining about how the word nonbinary, a word dating back to early 1940s, is "too modern" to be used in Dragon Age, here is a quick list of some other modern words in invented in the 1900s that I found in Dragon Age games! I expect you to be equally angry at these:

Surreal

Escalate

Empathy

Lifestyle

Snarky

Cool

Breakthrough

Dysfunction

There's also the fact that they use our english words for the days of the week, despite most of those being named after gods that don't exist in Thedas.

But we're all more than happy to either ignore all this or headcanon in different origins for all these words. So why don't people have the same attitude towards the word "nonbinary"?

[heylittleriotact]

WIP WHENEVER

Thank you for tagging me, @roguishcat and @xxnashiraxx! I haven’t written much over the past few days because art, but here’s a bit of what I’ve got going on for Chapter 12 of i heard people are dying to get in here

Tagging: @allofthebarks @aldisobey @thepalehorsevictoria @emmg and @preciouslittlebhaalbae

It was always a bit disconcerting to wake up in someone else’s bed for the first time, but as Rook lazily wandered the path between sleep and waking, becoming aware of the thick, heavy duvet she was huddled in, while her fingers dragged over the luxurious texture of linen sheets she couldn’t even begin to put a price tag on, that fleeting confusion gave way to a warm feeling that touched every corner of her.

Granted, she had no idea where Emmrich had gone, but she was surrounded by him even in his physical absence: his sheets, his bed, his scent - even the subtle ache between her thighs was his doing - and it felt amazing.

Unsure of what time it was due to the black-out curtains over the windows, Rook reached over the bed for her phone on the nightstand, squinting into the bright screen until her eyes adjusted.

7:15… on a Saturday. Who gets up this early on a Saturday?

Emmrich, evidently. How long had he been awake? And why wasn’t he cuddling her?

Unacceptable.

She flung back the down-filled duvet and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, taking her phone with her to use the flashlight so she could find a light switch on the wall and illuminate the room properly.

When she had, she looked at her duffel bag on the gold damask chair in the corner of the large room - it contained enough clothes to last the weekend, and enough underwear that even if she shit herself numerous times before Sunday afternoon, she’d have fresh clean ones.

She had brought along a pair of sweats and a couple of comfy tees, but…

Instead she went to the chest of drawers against the wall, tall and handsome like Emmrich, and she could tell by a glance that it sure as shit wasn’t comprised of pressboard and dowels.

Solving murders for the cops as a side-gig is clearly not without its side-benefits…

Looping her fingers into the solid brass handles of the uppermost drawer, she was greeted by a plethora of designer underwear and socks in nearly every colour and pattern imaginable. Giggling, she slide the drawer shut and opened the next one: ah, more cashmere sweaters - he likes his knitwear, doesn’t he?

The next one yielded a variety of casual chinos and one single pair of dark grey jeans at the very bottom that looked like they’d been in that exact spot for years.

The bottom drawer contained what she was looking for (amongst sweat wicking athletic shirts, and to her delight, a few pairs of breezy pants that wouldn’t have been out of place in a yoga studio): a stack of t-shirts, carefully folded like everything else, but bearing the same air of untouched neglect the jeans had.

Settling onto her knees, Rook pulled the stack out and balanced them on her lap, feeling utterly at home with the act of brazenly snooping through Emmrich’s dresser.

“Mhmmm…” she murmured, lifting the topmost shirt and unfolding it, holding it up before her. “I knew there was more to you than Beethoven…”

Pink Turns Blue - she wasn’t familiar with the band, but there was no mistaking that this was indeed a band shirt. It was old: the black cotton faded nearly to grey, the screen printed graphic cracked and lightened by countless washes.

Draping it over the edge of the drawer, she unfolded another.

Depeche Mode, nice.

Then another.

Bauhaus… ooooh…

Siouxie and the Banshees, The Birthday Party, The Legendary Pink Dots, The Velvet Underground

The Cramps…

“Ewww gross: The Smiths,” she wrinkled her nose and put it down. “Judging you, for that one, Emmrich.”

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Einstürzende Neubauten…

“Can’t have one without the other, right?” She smiled at the purple and gold stylization of a stick-man and the crimson splash bursting out from behind it, the band’s name picked out in the same ochre shade that outlined the stick-man.

This one looked to be the most threadbare and heavily worn: the neckline was riddled with small notches where the elastic had deteriorated, and the material was so thin in places it might tear if handled too harshly. Sure enough, the seams under the armpits were lined with holes where friction had stressed the cheap garment the most.

She cast a glance over her shoulder towards the door to ensure Emmrich and his soft footfalls hadn’t snuck up on her, and when she deemed the coast clear, she brought an armpit to her nose and gave it a tentative sniff.

Oh yeah. This smells like a favourite.

The fibres were steeped in the permanent, detergent-resistant musk of a garment that had been worn and sweated in and washed hundreds of times: the lingering ghost of Emmrich’s booze (and potentially other substance) fuelled escapades of youth.

An image of Emmrich, lankier even than he was now, clad in tight leather pants and tattered combat boots, grooving sullenly in an 80s goth club wandered through her mind. He was sweaty, bare-faced, and the amount of hairspray in his dark hair undeniably contributed to the hole in the ozone layer. A flat gin and tonic dangled at his side and he puffed on a dirty ass clove cigarette as he watched the band with half-lidded disinterest, swaying in place to the music.

[shiuefha]

Nothing special. Just a bunch of best friends in black suits.

[allysdelta]

something something guardian angel something Eastern Gate