#more please!

This one's a little heavy since its laying out why so much early Class S/yuri works were tragedies, a various issues sapphic women were facing in the early 1900s, but its covered really well so definitely worth a watch.

Fuck me up Rhoxxie.

One serving of ‘fuck me up’ coming in hot!

Fuzzy halo of twilight widens then shrinks to shape, the softened fringe of lashes an adornment to twin unfocused lenses. She blinks rapidly, as one does in the sun, stumbling forward. She is unbalanced now. Somehow weighed down more but also much less by her love

Solas.

He sags forward. She can only help him to his knees as the veil tear behind closes and now, together- finally, finally, finally, finally together- she goes to her knees before him as well. He is quiet, soundless, as he rips the gloves from his hands; his immortal blood an adhesive he must pry at before they are gone. He uses one to wipe his mouth, to remove the blackened blood of a blighted monster that was once a dragon, and then tosses them both away.

“Sol-“ she began but the word was gone like simple mist over his lips as he takes her mouth for his own- hands cradling her face as the most delicate of things. A blissful sigh escapes her, for has her mouth not always been his? Have they not long belonged- owned- dwelled with one another since time first spun its hands?

This kiss is not like one they’ve had before. The dream kiss with its devouring desire, the balcony a loving yearn, Crestwood more resolution, and when he took her arm- oh, heart sick, she supposed.

This kiss felt of home.

She kissed him back. The bow of his lip shaped perfectly to hers, the fullness of his lower lip a drug. Noses pressed together, breathing each others air, she could have stayed here for eternity- ha! Until she felt the wet press of his tears, the taste of his sob, and pulled away.

“No!” Solas was quick to plea in Elven, hands fluttering gently across the edges of her face as his gaze would not relent from hers. The rivets of tears that flowed from his battered eyes seemed of no consequence. “No, please do not go.” Using tender touches beneath her jaw with his fingertips, he leads her forward to his mouth again. She allows him to, because she wants this more than anything as well.

His tears flow warm down her own cheeks as his tongue finds hers; his sob caught in her mouth. She finds there are more tears now- her own; mixing in trails of sweat down their faces. She is the one sobbing now between kisses- between the presses in and the presses out of his own crying mouth. It is so hard to kiss when both of them are breaking down, but it does nothing to deter them either.

“You are real.” Solas whispers as he finally breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers, eyes wide and wet and beautiful violet with lashes stuck together. He looks at her as though he cannot believe his eyes. “You are real.” He repeats, voice awe filled. “You are here.”

Reaching up to grasp his wrist, she smiles. It is sweet and sure- a certainty. Pressing her lips to his once more, she whispers a vow to him in his own tongue- in hers- in their now shared language.

Mulder: Scully, I'd like you to go and investigate something mildly dangerous by yourself.

Scully: Why, where are you going?

Oooh, anon! You certainly know what gets me. 🤤 This is all so, so GOOD!

The poor thing is really just caught in a vicious cycle, isn't she? The larger her brood grows, the hungrier she gets, the more she consumes, the larger her brood becomes... it's almost as if she isn't in control of herself anymore. This is more than mere pregnancy brain. This is pregnancy worship, leaving her an absolute slave to the state of her body.

She can't even bear to look at her closet anymore. Why would she bother? Nothing in it has even come close to fitting for months now. In a pile in the corner is mangled and torn clothing, the victims of her frantic attempts to cover herself with something. Anything.

But then again, pregnant cows don't need to wear anything, do they? All they need to do is eat, and grow.

She barely notices that her due date has come and gone. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there's panic--how the hell is she supposed to birth babies that surely weigh near fifteen pounds apiece now? But then the aching in her stomach starts, those hunger pains that make the entirety of her gravid girth groan and gurgle.

I'm Team Trechas Spicy pero . . .

Are we putting it on fruit with chamoy? Are we putting it on a rim with some lime?

My mouth just watered up thinking about it.

I was not feeling this the first 13 minutes, and like magic, this moment turned everything around!

Lauren Ridloff, 43, and Barry Keoghan, 29.

Kate Winslet, 46, and Evan Peters, 34.