a line in the hand

Okay fine I'm going to do it anyway, but fandom edition:

And then Emmrich carries them gallantly across the threshold of the pretty, isolated little cottage, shoves the door shut behind him with his back, sets Rook down, and gets on his knees. He pins them against the door, his mouth fiercely hot as he kisses up their body.

"There's no one here to hear you but me, darling," Emmrich says, his gaze unblinking, his eyes dark. "Scream for me."

Haha, the good news is that there's going to be literally twice as much smut as slowburn by writing volume

Spoilers about timing tho for your expectations: Emmrich is deliberately going to take physical intimacy slowly, so

lizard brain like smooth smooth good will fix sad

Yk how with ur last fic ( just got off work, names are hard) you collected people who didn’t like a/b/o but did like that fic, I usually fucking detest slow burns and they usually make me want to walk into the sea, especially ones that are still being written but like those people with last fic I am HOOKED on this fic you may have converted me to a slow burn fan

AWWWW!! 🥰🥰🥰 I never realized this was a possibility for As Mountains Yet Unseen and I'm so delighted to realize that it is one

Unlike healthy people, Isolde’s trauma has led her to actively isolate whenever she’s doing poorly rather than seeking support. (People who haven’t yet realized this is a maladaptive coping mechanism: sorry yeah. It is. I’ve literally never seen this used healthily unless it’s literally just taking a brief pause to gather yourself before seeking support.)

After Isolde has avoided Emmrich for just over a week, Emmrich concludes from his observations of her that she’s having a rough time and that the avoidance is no longer about Whatever Happened During The Cuddle™, so, time to get back into project Rehabilitate Isolde

That’s also enough time for him to calm down feeling flustered about having had Isolde in his bed, flushed and arching against him, and having given in to the temptation of seeing how she’d respond if he caressed her neck with his nose ’v’ while she was away he almost certainly gave into the impulse to burying his face into the pillow where she’d lain and inhaling the faint scent of her, carefully not touching his aching cock while he was flooded with memories of her uneven breathing and her delectable arse pressed against him… but now it’s been a week! So he’s sooooo normal about it again. Very committed to normalcy. Ready for the platonicest of platonic #normalcoworkermoments

“When was the last time she’d done more than nod?” note this implies she has not, in this week, ever expressed any disagreement she felt.

It’s sad as hell but “What with Cyrian and—and she—talks” cracks me up.

Emmrich is such an obvious guy but he CERTAINLY picked up that Isolde was saying “I don’t think people should bother trying to comfort me, in any circumstances.”

“Please ask it of me” has haunted me for over a year at this point. Honestly, this scene hasn’t changed much in its conception for quite some time. I’m very attached to it, despite thinking it’s weird as hell for a romance novel.

From Elven perspective, many Human emotions lack nuance since their ears don’t do anything. It’s like if you met a humanoid who didn’t use eyebrows at all.

“her pulse beating so hard it drowned everything out” is a funny parallel to the serial Bellara was getting Isolde to proofread last chapter

Isolde isn’t really equipped at this stage to understand romantic attraction to her. Noting that Emmrich is sexually interested in her does way more heavy lifting than literally anything he could say in this moment about feelings (ironic given that he’s head over heels.)

Isolde laying her head on Emmrich’s shoulder is pretty much the moment of “!!!! ABUSED SHELTER CAT JUST SAT IN MY LAP AND PURRED A LITTLE” and the purr sounds like a rusty motor and you KNOW they haven’t tried to purr in like 2 years from that alone

***

There was vague, plaintive desire in Isolde’s chest to seek Emmrich out and let his bright chatter soothe away the lingering, unsettled feelings. Each pang only made her more decisive to avoid him. She’d taken too much; abused his guileless trust with her lies of omission. Asked for indulgences she had no right to, with a greed that would sicken him if he knew her thoughts. Resolve crystallized in her: she would never ask anything of him again.

It was easy enough to remain unseen, when she could hear the firm sound of his booted steps from so far away. It wasn’t hard to slip out on silent feet, as if she’d never been in the kitchens, or in her room. They shared dinners more often than not, of course, as the Veilguard all settled in together; but Isolde never looked at him, focusing all her attention on being as inconspicuous as possible.

The longer she was successful, the more she found herself snared by every trace of his presence: the scent of his cologne lingering in the air, the distinct cadence of his steps, the muffled sound of his boisterous voice from afar. When he sat with Neve in the main hall one day, as Isolde whittled quietly in her room, she listened attentively to the rise and fall of his voice. The sound of his laugh made something wistful tighten in her chest.

Six days after her return from Arlathan, Isolde wandered the main hall, idly watching the decorative trinkets swirl through the air above. From beyond the thick, tall doors to the outside, Emmrich’s footsteps sounded. Isolde quietly retreated, heading to her room.

There was the sound of the great doors opening, and Emmrich’s steps paused in the main hall for a moment. Then he set out with purpose, heading for Isolde’s room.

Isolde’s heart skipped a beat. She dove onto the floor and began rummaging under her workdesk, as if looking for something. Perhaps it was Rook that he was after, down the hall—

Emmrich knocked on her doorframe, and Isolde nearly jumped.

“Hello, Isolde,” Emmrich said warmly.

Isolde gave up. She crawled out from under her desk, not quite looking at him. “Hi.”

“Are you alright?” Emmrich asked with concern.

“Fine?” Isolde said, confused.

“You’ve barely spoken all week,” Emmrich said, his voice gentle.

He was right, Isolde realized. When was the last time she’d done more than nod?

“I’ve been talking too much lately. Probably not a bad thing,” Isolde said.

“I rather like hearing you talk, my dear,” Emmrich said.

He looked more concerned than before.

With growing horror, it dawned on Isolde that Emmrich wasn’t going to stop his extravagant kindnesses just because Isolde had stopped being greedy. She was going to have to convince him.

“I’m sure Bellara needs someone to check in on her more than I ever would,” Isolde tried. “What with Cyrian and—and she—talks.”

“More than you ever would?” Emmrich repeated.

It was as if he hadn’t even heard Isolde’s fumbling attempt to redirect him at all.

“Right,” Isolde said. “Because I never need—I’m always fine.”

Aaaand then suddenly he's in the Veilguard, meeting lovely people all the time, absolutely aghast that he's considering how someone's hand would feel around his cock just from how they shake his hand. Wanting, very badly, to lick the trickle of sweat from their neck. Looking up to see them leaning against the wall and thinking a little too hard about how they'd react if he hemmed them in, hands flat against the wall beside their shoulders, their faces so close together. The absolute swarm of inappropriate thoughts that pop up from sharing a bathhouse with a bunch of young, strapping adventurers-- that one's probably the worst of all given just how, erm, dangerous those thoughts are when unclothed.