#(would have been to tell her that she has her own important task:)

[itsbeenliketenyearsitsprettywild]

mylo vanderskid arcane, when it was actually him and not a hallucination, didn't call powder a jinx from a place of personal insecurity, as at no point in show does he come off as threatened by the skills she does have. he had a valid point obscured by the fact that he was a stupid teenager untrained in the skill of logical debate, alongside a long-burning personal frustration leading him to get mean in the way he framed the subject. post-timeskip, everything about mylo's deeper point about jinx's behavior is proven true in acts 2 and 3 of season 1 as it comes up again and again as something silco himself struggles with in keeping his political grip on zaun. in this essay i

[galadrieljones]

It speaks volumes when Lavellan calls Solas a "terrible liar" in the Cobbled Swan. Rook is, of course, confused by this. "He's the god of lies," she says. But Lavellan clarifies, because that's not what she means. She means that he can't tell "lies of the heart." That is why he had to turn her away, because he actually could not deceive her.

Varric, very early in the game, also refers to Solas as "sentimental." He says to Rook, "He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals."

There's something very interesting about the elven god of lies and deceit, who unwillingly wears his heart on his sleeve, essentially creating a new version of the world in which all sources of raw, magical *emotion* that, according to him, used to imbue it with so much life and beauty have been compartmentalized from the more brutish, harsh aspects of the physical world. Because he, himself, has had to do this very thing to his own heart. He's "split." A very cool archetype. When he tells the Inquisitor to "harden her heart to a cutting edge" in Inquisition, he is projecting. Solas has built a "veil" within himself, to protect his more stern, militaristic identity as The Dread Wolf from the effusive, soft, and intelligent man that is Solas. It's the only way he can get anything done. Perhaps we should more aptly call him the god of stoicism and compartmentalization.

It's also interesting how well characters like Varric seem to know Solas, because it communicates that Solas did open up to the people of the Inquisition, during which time he "played the role" of quiet, unassuming Fade mage. Perhaps this wasn't a role at all, however, and perhaps this is why he is failing so spectacularly now. Who he really is is just this man who fell in love and made friends and found a home within a community where he did not have to cut off his emotions in order to lead. This was the "breach" in his plans, so to speak. It tore his world apart.

The whole story of Veilguard actually starts because Varric knows he can appeal to Solas's emotions and that this has a high chance of working to some degree. It's important to remember that while Varric didn't change Solas's mind at the ritual site, he was able to keep Solas talking long enough for Rook to sabotage his plans. Solas entertains Varric's pleas, because, sort of as Rook guesses with Lavellan at the Cobbled Swan, in some ways, Solas wants to be stopped. He wants someone to pull the reins on him because he is too prideful to stop himself.

Thinking back to Trespasser, I remember we all sort of knew this right away just in reading his body language. I remember someone making a whole post about it, and how he will not allow her to get too close to him. When she approaches, he takes a very measured step back. And later, as he takes the anchor, a task which requires him to take her hand, we see exactly why this is. He breaks down, calls her his "love," and kisses her. He is so stern and so measured and in "control," but then, all it takes is a single touch from the woman to whom he showed a glimpse of his true heart, his true self, to bring him to his knees.

The Veil as a narrative manifestation for how Solas tends to seal his own raw emotions away from others in order to function as the revolutionary general he had to be for centuries is a very beautiful construct to me.

[honey-doc]

Why I appreciate Kabru and Mithrun's relationship in the story (with pictures!)

I just want to express how much I loved reading through the chapter with the 6 days they spent together and how I think their relationship developed in a pretty sweet way.

I feel like a lot of people reduce their dynamic to "nurse and patient" and that makes me sad because I personally got a lot more from it than that.

I do wanna start off by saying I'm here appreciating their dynamic as it is in the text.

Read more (spoilers ofc):

The beginnings

When they first met, there was an air of intimidation surrounding Mithrun as the captain of the ominous Canaries. He demonstrates his proficiency as a fighter and leader which worried Kabru because he knew it would lead to the dungeon falling into elven hands once again. But this threatening aura begins to dim in Kabru's mind as they get to know each other.

Even before they fell down the hole, the both of them ended up relying on each other's abilities a number of times (when the underground governor turned out to be corrupted Mithrun defeated him and Mithrun needed Kabru's deduction skills during the battle on the first floor) which is already the beginning of a great dynamic

(Kabwu is scared but Mithrun just asks for his help)

After Cithis tasked him with "taking care of Mithrun's needs" for the time being, Kabru treated Mithrun with proper respect and doesn't take advantage of his disability, even using his title “Captain” when he knew Mithrun wouldn’t have cared either way after learning about how he lost his desires. This is in contrast to Cithis who immediately took advantage of her position to mess around with Mithrun when she was taking care of him.

(When Cithis was put in charge of taking care of Mithrun)

The whole time Kabru is with Mithrun, he treats him like a person and more than just someone to be taken care of, as also he relies on Mithrun's fighting skills, knowledge of the dungeon, and teleportation magic.

When you reduce their dynamic to just "caretaker and patient", you're ignoring Mithrun's own capabilities and making him seem totally helpless. It actually feels rather ableist. They have a more balanced relationship with what Mithrun brings to the table than you may think. Mithrun couldn't have survived down there on his own, but it's the same for Kabru (who famously dies every time he fights)!

Kabru doesn’t show signs of trying to manipulate Mithrun either, and he's no longer intimidated by him in the slightest once he learns he’s not a threat or after his life. Though he does instinctively revert to his "sparkly" persona to get Mithrun to eat the disgusting mushroom, it doesn’t work so Kabru just has him eat it normally and never tries it again. This is the beginning of Mithrun unintentionally encouraging Kabru to be more honest with others.

(Kabru realizing he can chill out)

(Kabru being unreserved and Mithrun being silly)

bonus funny moment:

Bonding

Throughout the journey they talked to each other, shared things with each other, and ate with each other. And Kabru expresses genuine concern about whether Mithrun is comfortable (which is something he could live without and wasn't something the Canaries told him to do).

(Kabru showing he wants to make him comfortable by making food for him which is a very important part of the narrative)

(Kabru sharing intimate memories with Mithrun)

(Kabru initiating conversation without hesitation or worry. This part also is referencing how Mithrun shared very important details of his life with Kabru. Kabru also ends up trusting Mithrun with information about Laios despite knowing he could possibly tell the other Canaries about him and impede his plans..which he does lol they do end up knowing about Laios before meeting him.)

For a bonus Lycion implies Kabru was taking better care of Mithrun than they had been which is interesting to me.

Mithrun also shows that he has come to trust Kabru's decisions over the Canaries' when he says he wants to stay in the dungeon after fulfilling the caretaker requirement. They did talk to each other a lot, during that time. I wonder what Mithrun's Shapeshifter double of Kabru would look like now?

Here, Kabru goes out of his way to make sure Mithrun doesn’t overexert himself by knocking him out after the demon leaves with Marcille (again, when his time taking care of him is already over), and I think that demonstrates an extra level of concern he holds for Mithrun.

(Kabru holding back a hellbent Mithrun)

(KNOCKOUT!)

He even managed to make Mithrun mad. It's probably because he "let the demon get away" but I think it's cute and funny because would he huff like that at anyone else? Lol

When the demon breaks through the surface

Kabru begins panicking after Laios turns into the giant monster because he's wondering if he made the right decisions etc. If Mithrun didn’t care about Kabru at least a little bit, he would’ve just left him alone when he started losing it (right after Marcille did the same thing and she is technically more to blame for empowering the demon than Kabru was for not allowing Mithrun to go after it), but he went out of his way to snap him out of it.

It also means a lot to me that Mithrun even says Kabru's name, because in Japanese you can go your entire life without referring to someone by name and it wouldn't sound wrong (just rude) and it's the first time Mithrun says Kabru's name on screen (I checked).

Though it was with a slap, I think it says a lot, because if Mithrun didn’t care at all he wouldn’t have done anything and left him alone. It's not like Kabru could've done anything to stop the demon. He didn't even to tell him to do anything even though Kabru looked ready for an order.

(To be honest I don't know exactly why Mithrun starts beating him up here but you can say it's another rare demonstration of emotion Kabru was able to evoke in him lol. Maybe it's payment for Kabru stopping him the first time. That can be interpreted as paying it back and/or paying it forward I think.)

The last few chapters

And in the end when Kabru’s motivating Mithrun to continue living his life, he speaks to him like they’re friends/have no rank between them despite using the Captain title for him the whole time. Even Lycion initially gets upset that he’s acting “too familiar” with Mithrun.

It feels like Mithrun changed so much in the short time he spent together with Kabru and before the final battle, and it’s thanks to Kabru that Mithrun finally starts to be able to move past his lingering obsession with the demon and begin to really heal.

This is despite the fact that he spent so much time with Milsril and the other elves who never managed to break through to him like that.

(Before Kabru) (After Kabru)

And even after his role as Mithrun's caretaker was loong complete, he still shows concern for Mithrun and tells him to take a break when he's using up all his magic to slice the Falin meat (lmao).

He didn't need to do that! But it shows how he at least slightly considers Mithrun some kind of friend.

It all culminates with Kabru helping Mithrun regain his wil to live and Mithrun confiding in Kabru. Their relationship is important. Kabru continuing to do things for Mithrun to me is more of a sign that he just plain cares about him. Isn't it normal when a friend needs medication for you to remind them to take it? I think it's like that.

Kabru is there with Mithrun when he comes out about his feelings of uselessness AND when Senshi helps him put a spin on the 'vegetable scraps' metaphor and he find meaning in his life again. He's the first one to see him cry :')

Along with the fact that it feels like Mithrun is the first person we see Kabru doesn't feel the need to change his personality with or put on airs for since Mithrun doesn't need buttering up and he won't get offended if someone were to say something socially awkward, I think they made a pretty good team!

BUT ALSO the REAL reason I became endeared to them is cute shit like this:

GOD I love them!!!!! There are so many funny sides to Mithrun Kabru was able to bring out, and really show his charm as a character. Mithrun also brings out the best in Kabru while Kabru’s the most genuine he’s been since his debut with Mithrun. We are able to see that he’s just a kind and caring person, rather than the shady obsessed guy most fans have come to believe him to be.

The true depths of their dynamic also grew on me over time :)

TLDR

All in all it’s so nice seeing how even though Mithrun is a really deadpan person, and Kabru is a really secretive and withheld person, they clearly seem to have developed some kind of bond while they traveled together and even changed each other to an extent.

Doesn't Kabru feel more honest near the end? Maybe it's because of how much he talked to and shared with Mithrun during those 6 days so candidly...because they taaaalked a looooot like wow.

They mean so goddamn much to me. I don’t need them to be in a romantic relationship but I do want them to be together forever :'))) or like at least hang out when they have off time since they're still in the same country lol. Praying for Kui to make another side comic of them some time (crying).

Thanks for reading if you made it this far, I mostly arranged this because it makes me sad to see people reduce their dynamic to only one singular aspect.

Anyways ya...love 'em (heart hands)

[revehae]

OK DONT JUDGE ME THO 😒😒 so instead of naive stepsis asking about normal sex and bla bla she asks about what rape is and he well… shows her

like it’s so cornyyyy but………. say u see my vision

i had to let this linger for a bit but you know what… i can work with it. changing it up a itty bitty pinch because i don’t like overly-innocent reader and i feel like not knowing what rape is is less believable than not knowing what a creampie is lol // tw noncon, stepcest

stealing stepbro!member’s laptop because yours is currently being repaired and you really, really need it as you’re a college student with a slew of assignments to complete. you’re not necessarily nosy and you do close out all his tabs because he has an excessive amount of them open, too many for your own comfort, but you see just a bit of the last one’s title before it disappears before you can even finish. all you saw was “Hardcore Non Con,” and it piqued your curiosity, but you focused on your own task rather than whatever he has going on. it’s none of your business anyway and getting these assignments turned in is way, way more important.

all is good until stepbro!member walks into your room, about to ask if you’ve seen his laptop, and sort of panics when he sees you with the item in question. he asks you what you’re doing with it, why you didn’t ask if you could borrow it, and more importantly, what you saw. you tell him that you didn’t see anything, you closed out all his tabs, and teasingly ask what he’s hiding. then your mind darts back to the fraction of that last tab that you saw, and you ask him “what’s noncon?” your voice and face too innocent for him to even think that you’re just asking to taunt him. no, you genuinely have no idea.

he chuckles. he’s less panicky now and mostly just upset that you took his laptop without permission. “you really didn’t click the tab, did you?” he asks, considering if you had, the answer would have been right there on the page glaring at you. when you shake your head, he closes the door behind himself. “would you rather me tell you or show you?” he questions. you think about it for a second, not really sure. “show me…?” you reply reluctantly. assuming a demonstration would be harmless.

you’re confused when stepbro!member crawls into your bed, sliding his laptop away and climbing on top of you. doesn’t answer when you ask him what he’s doing, doesn’t quit when you tell him to stop, tugging at your clothes and biting at your neck and pinching at your chest when he frees your breasts from your shirt. you feel so exposed, so dirty and violated. when you try to conceal yourself with your hands, he tugs them above your head none too gently and smacks you across the face with his free hand.

tears sting your eyes now. you try to shake your head as he tugs at your shorts. “i don’t want it,” you whimper amongst more desperate pleas for him to stop. “yes you do. you told me to show you,” he reminds you, landing a smack on your clothed cunt. your thighs tense. “you’re gonna learn your fucking lesson.”

he sinks into you without much more lubricant than his saliva. a defeated sound falls from your lips as he does, more tears welling at your eyes as you sob brokenly. you squirm underneath him, trying to wrest yourself free but to no avail. stepbro!member chuckles, releasing your hands and tugging at your hair roughly as he says, “you took what you wanted without asking, so why shouldn’t i?”

[verdantwyrm]

In Defense of Curly (Again)

This post is not about absolving Curly of his “sins” or anything, Curly is not an innocent angel that has done no wrong, no, he is morally grey as they come. But I will not stand for slander on my wife NO MORE. Curly is not as guilty as you would think, but neither is he Innocent. Anya is so much more than a victim, Curly is so much more than a bystander, and Jimmy is so much more than a rapist, they are multifaceted characters in a very multidimensional game. They’re all characters that have been individually crafted to tell a story, and everyone is avoiding that by reducing them to a singular note of events rather than their entire personality and even going as far to twist their dialogue and character to fit their own bias, ignoring whats actual factual and canon for the sake of projection.

So with that out of the way, let us begin.

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A sense of timeline for better understanding.

Curly's Psych Eval (and by extension, Jimmys) was 7 Days before the crash. Curly does not know Anya is pregnant here. 

The birthday Party is 6 Days before the crash. Curly doesn't know here either. 

The Dead Pixel scene is 2 Days before the Crash. Curly doesn't know here either. 

Anya stealing the gun is 1 Day Before the Crash. Curly Finds out Anya is pregnant here and that Jimmy is responsible. Anya tells Jimmy about the pregnancy and tells Curly about it. 0 Days before the crash (The Same Day)

────────────────────────────────────────────

Pony Express’ Abuse

As for the first subject, I want to make it very clear about Pony Express’ Failure to comply and have any standard safety measures (most noticeably in the lack of locks) and the fact that they very often penalize their employees by taking from their pay and that they’re extremely lazy and known to cut corners for everything. The poster in-game tells us a lot about this if not backed up directly by the dialogue.

"Proper preparation prevents accidents, it is your responsibility to keep yourself and the crew safe. Medical expenses will be docked from person credits."

"Punctual delivery is our pride and promise- No matter where you are! Late deliveries will be docked from personal credits."

"Teamwork is the soul of success! When you have completed your tasks, always check on other tasks! HR complaints about poor team synergy may result in collective punishment"

"Sleep is the best rest after a long day of work, earn that rest! Don't overdo it or fall behind! Do not indulge in over 5 hours of forest, including leisure time. Sleeping over the allowed budget will result in disciplinary actions."

Neither Curly nor Jimmy are getting anything close to the required amount of rest for such a demanding job, with only 5 hours compared to the IRL guidelines for pilots to get an average of 10 hours of rest between shifts with 8 hours of sleep, it's also implied by Anya and Curly's own dialogue that he struggles to sleep. Which all together implies that they're both working 19-hour shifts every day. Every. Single. Day.

We see them both on shift at the same time multiple times during the game and Curly is the only one with clearance to make certain extremely important navigation decisions (like turning off the autopilot) and we can easily come to the conclusion that they are both extremely overworked, Curly Especially.

We can easily see that Pony Express are not shy to punish their employees and even goes as far as to routinely engage in collective punishment, and this is shown to be the drive behind a lot of Curly's decisions in particular, especially with how he reassures Anya that her stealing the gun case will not go on the performance log and reducing the chances of her being punished at all and to probably put the pressure onto himself in case Pony Express does find out. Given her precarious financial situation, she literally cannot afford to have her pay docked and Curly knows this.

Pony Express is known for its laziness, negligence and its ability to cut corners, they are also seen to not trust its employees by making everything have to go through him from axe usage to making a cake. To not supplying enough medical equipment, a fifth cryogenic pod to account for Daisuke or even to account for him at all. Curly himself even commented on how he should have made a bigger “stink” about the situation of Daisuke being thrown on the Tulpar last minute, which implies that he did raise this as an issue and a safety risk and was ignored.

I'm not going to take this as seriously but it is worth mentioning regardless because it is just absolutely Kafkaesque levels of absurd, They actively make it borderline impossible to report anything, so even if Curly or Anya were able to get ahold of Pony Express to send in a report, they never could due to the requirements and the prerequisites. It also implies that if you apply for a job there but refuse the medical evaluation, they can fine you despite the fact that you don't even actually work there yet.

Another classic example of Marx's theory is of the alienation in capitalism, wherein workers are estranged and separated from the products of their own labour. The crew had absolutely no idea what they were delivering, and judging by how much was put in place, they were never supposed to.

Marx's theory, the implementation of automation would negatively impact workers by depriving them of job opportunities that could have been filled by humans. This is strongly suggested to be the primary reason for the downfall of Pony Express and why the crew was fired.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Anya’s Assault

Anya being assaulted is never outright said, with an intentional layer of vagueness layered over the top with how she talks about it and how she mentions it to Curly. The words “Assault” “Rape” or even “Attacked” are not mentioned at any point, we only learn this through visual imagery and subtext of Anya mentioning the lack of locks on the doors, how unsafe she feels around Jimmy, and she would rather him not have the gun at all—fawning at his every response in a panic of upsetting him or escalating the situation. The words are never explicitly said as many other victims can sympathise with, saying the words out loud can be very difficult sometimes, and Anya’s vagueness was intentional on the happenchance that Curly did take Jimmy’s side. She was trying to put distance between herself and that possibility by being as cautious and as vague as she could, in hopes that Curly would pick up on the signs himself and come to that conclusion himself instead of Anya babying him and dumbing down the situation.

This is a believable reaction, especially when your abuser has any kind of power over you or other people, and he isn’t the only one either. Curly has just as much power, if not significantly more over her, which adds more to the fear of even mentioning such a thing, as mentioned earlier in my section of Pony Express' Abuse towards them, the possibility of being penalized with her– and everyone else –pay being docked because she made a simple complaint, was a very real threat, and even more dangerous after finding out about the whole crew being laid off. Jimmy tears her down every chance he gets, makes her feel little and even compares her to Polle in his hallucinations. And Anya knows that he and Curly have a very lengthy history, so her caution and anxiety about even mentioning the incident, let alone saying the word “rape” is borderline impossible for her. It’s a manifestation, it’s a verbal acceptance and confession that it’s even happened. Something she has been trying to avoid coming to terms with.

And when she does eventually tell Swansea what happened, as much as you want to think she told him- she most likely told him to not do anything, to try and keep the peace for as long as possible.

Again, her vagueness is not her fault, nor is it her responsibility. It was Jimmy’s responsibility to not abuse and rape her.

It’s also very present that Jimmy is verbally abusive to her, putting her down at every opportunity by ignoring her very talented medical skills by saying Pony Express only hired her to cut corners in an attempt to reduce costs because she failed Medical School and that she’s not a “real nurse” because of that, and how he constantly questions her skills despite keeping Curly alive for such a long time in such a state.

After being insulted by him multiple times, she fawns to get him to actually do something beneficial because she knows he responds well to praise, and he complies, all while still insulting and belittling her for being "weak" and "sentimental"

────────────────────────────────────────────

The Dead Pixel In The Room

Going to immediately preface this with a very big obvious “Curly did not know Anya was raped” warning sign to hopefully weed out the weak that don’t want to actually read this. You can leave now if you’d like, no hard feelings. This scene is supposed to be your first clue as a player, as well as Curly's. It's intentional to be like that, it makes the most sense chronologically as well because up until that point, we don't even know.

Okay, we can start now. First, off the bat, I want to talk about that dead pixel scene. And how both Anya and Curly have their own individual meanings behind It, and how both play into each character’s relationship with Jimmy. With Anya’s being a constant reminder of Jimmy’s presence, how it affected her and how it’ll always be there no matter what. And Curly’s is something that he knows exists, but cannot see for himself, because he’s too busy looking at the bigger picture. Even if he knows it's fake, even if he knows it’s an illusion.

He doesn’t doubt her here either, and even though he admits he cannot see it. He believes that it's there, despite this, and that it doesn’t ruin the image. Choosing to see the good, the beauty, of the bigger picture. The Dead pixel scene isn’t just about Anya, it’s about the both of them. And you’re probably asking how Curly hasn’t gotten the point Anya is trying to make, and thats again because she’s being intentionally vague here, and her comment about the lack of locks ties up pretty well with the previous two conversations she’s had with Curly directly. Complaining about Jimmy being weird during the psych evaluation and then her pithy comment about Pony Express’ cutting back expenses on their food and the comment she makes about the code scanner during the birthday party.

All of her previous conversations with Curly have been about their work or something going on in the ship or even with Pony Express directly. So it’s not unusual for her comment about the lack of locks on the sleeping quarters, it’s not random, it’s pretty on theme with the direction of how their conversations go, Curly wouldn’t pick up on that alone because it’s not a strange thing to say.

It's also very much shown that Anya trusts Curly, trusts him enough to not only confide in him first about the pregnancy but also allow herself to be open and friendly with him, even going as far as to try and get him to open up to her during his psych evaluation. She is also hiding behind his seat when she steals the gun. She feels the safest when she is with the real captain and how uncomfortable she is listening to Jimmy's orders to strip Curly of that title.

Every single time that Curly and Anya speak directly, he is always reassuring her, attempting to calm her down and her safety is the first thing he's concerned about when he finds out she's taken the gun.

And once she mentions the pregnancy, his priorities flip, again to her safety, reassuring her that she won't get punished for this. Once again telling her that everything is going to work out, that WE will fix this, WE WILL figure this out TOGETHER. He and Anya.

A key important word here is "what would you have done"

Would. Not, what will you do, no she's asking in past tense. The assault has already happened, she is reassuring herself here before telling him about the pregnancy that he is on her side, that he believes her and that her trust in him isn't misplaced.

And when he does find out she's pregnant, he still doesn't know exactly how. And it's important because it reflects back onto how Curly does ultimately behave when he does approach Jimmy. He doesn't know he's confronting a rapist, and his dialogue here proves that he does just think it was ultimately her choice, her decision. And the most painful part Is the very blatant unwanted pregnancy, not anything else.

Anya is still being intentionally vague here as well, as mentioned earlier. Curly did not actually know that Anya was raped, as the only thing that's mentioned is the pregnancy and that Jimmy is involved. Which is absolutely something to be worried about, regardless of how it happened, because they're on a ship. In the middle of Space.

Someone who knew would not react like that. Curly never once doubts Anya's words or her truth. And after Anya tells Culy about how she told Jimmy about her pregnancy, Curly says that she should have waited for him because he wanted to be there just in case.

Curly even does it literally. The most important part that everybody overlooks is how determined he is to get to the cockpit as the ship is crashing. He knows it's crashing but all he can do is try, he could have run away, but he didn't.

Curly took responsibility multiple different times which is easily overlooked because so much happens in such a short time span that people literally think he had months between knowing about Anya being raped and then the crash when it was barely a day. Just like how people easily overlook the dead pixel scene and how it also represents something to Curly as well, and just like how people overlook Anya's "I told you so"

Curly's kind, forgiving and trusting nature is not inherently bad. It was how it was used against him in an extremely difficult situation, which is exactly what Abusers do time and time again. He failed Anya in such a delicate way and in such a difficult situation, but it's something to understand that Pony Express failed her first, failed her in all the most important ways by even allowing a situation like this to happen. It was Jimmy's responsibility to not be a rapist, but it was Pony Express's fault for even enabling that in the first place.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Curly's Trauma

A very common thing that people tend to overlook, and this is either because they subconsciously forget that men can be victims of abuse, or simply because they don’t care enough to consider Curly to be one– his relationship with Jimmy and what we can glean from is very abusive, emotionally and verbally and then soon later on physically. Curly is just as much a victim of Jimmy's mistreatment and abuse as Anya is, in their own unique and parallel ways, they both had everything taken from them. We can tell in Jimmy’s behaviour and the way he intentionally isolates Curly in the Birthday scene and the Psychological evaluation in the cockpit, Jimmy takes Curly’s weakness and anxieties and twists them around to isolate him from receiving any help or support from others.

Curly’s biggest weakness is his forgiving nature. We all talk about how Anya is a victim of Jimmy, and she absolutely is, but so is Curly. His first immediate response Jimmy's reaction to Anya announcing her pregnancy is met with immense fear and anxiety with the added soundtrack of what could be equivalent to the sound of Curly's heart racing. He freezes, he fawns, he panics.

Curly's good-natured heart, being lax, trusting and a constant mediator isn't inherently a problem. It was the circumstances that turned that so volatile. If Jimmy wasn't who he was and so readily abusive then Curly's character would not be that detrimental, and his actions would not have such a catastrophic impact. And everyone immediately boiling down those harmless traits and villainising them does much more harm than good, especially since the character they should be targeting is Jimmy, not Curly.

He is beyond terrified, and when he does finally get to Jimmy, he immediately fawns and freezes. He makes absolutely no mention of Anya or anyone else because all that mattered in that panicked situation was easing Jimmy down and resolving the situation. There was truly, absolutely nothing that Curly could have done that wouldn't have resulted in either direct consequences or collective punishment. All of Curly's thoughts, behaviour and actions were as carefully thought out as he possibly could in the short 24 hours or so that he was made aware of Anya's pregnancy and Jimmy's involvement.

He is trying to eliminate all potential problems in the situation so Curly can take the full front of Jimmy's rage. This again furthers the point of exactly why Curly wouldn't recognise the signs of Anya being abused as well because this is all so normal for him. He’s terrified of Jimmy, and an abuser's main tactic is to make sure that their victims never feel confident to speak up against them, or to ever seek out help from others. It’s why he never rushes to defend himself, he just lets Jimmy do and say all of these horrible things.

And Jimmy immediately stabs back putting him down. Twisting the blame and putting it into Curly. Like he somehow was a part of it all and that it was his fault.

Curly was and has been a victim of Jimmy's abuse for a very long time on an emotional and mental aspect that clouded his judgements and perceptions in the scenario which devolved into physical and medical abuse very quickly once Jimmy got his chance. And it is also true that Curly had a responsibility to protect Anya as a crew mate and Captain that he failed due to bias towards his abusers, and his kind and forgiving nature of simply wanting to see the good in Jimmy, which is also another aspect of what victims believe. Curly enables Jimmy's behaviour towards himself and even goes as far to completely blame himself for everything that happened in How Fish Is Made.

A lot of victims tend to surround themselves with excuses of why they’re abused, that it’s somehow their fault and that he’s done something awful to deserve it, that this a normal thing that happens, that Jimmy has his reasons to be like this and it isn’t his fault. People argue that Curly should have done more and that he "failed" in any regard is putting a huge expectation onto a victim like him of someone like Jimmy's relentless abuse and how it takes such an impactful toll on someone like Curly. Everyone who plays or watches the game looks over the very easy and subtle warning signs of this abuse and is too busy claiming Curly to be the antagonist here and holding him responsible instead of Jimmy.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Conclusion + Other Comments

Curly is not perfect, but he is not as guilty as everyone wants him to be. If you go into mouthwashing anticipating Curly as a cruel, selfish monster, of course, you're going to interpret him that way and twist everything he ever does or says to fit your narrative although he very obviously isn't that way at all and get upset when someone tells you you're wrong. You need to remember that he had a whole crew to think of, Curly is not judgement, nor is he the executioner. His hands were absolutely tied and for one reason only: Because Pony Express does, did, and will not care. Pony Express has it explicitly like this so you cannot do anything. So people like Jimmy who manipulate the vulnerable can prey upon his co-workers and get away with it.

The situation on the Tulpar is not as straightforward as people would like, I understand it's extremely cathartic to think of a situation where Jimmy gets what he deserves but it isn't realistic, and thats what this game is trying to say. Abusive corporations, exhausting capitalism, this environment breeds Abusers like Jimmy and victims like Anya and Curly. There was nothing that could be done. Pony Express is what doomed them all, they're the catalyst.

At some point, you have to understand and accept the fact that certain scenarios are simply just cathartic fantasies that simply couldn't have happened. They were all doomed, right from the start. It wasn't just Jimmy's actions (Although they significantly influenced the outcome), and it sure as hell wasn't Curly's inaction. It was Pony Express. I think something that a lot of people get mixed up in their interpretations of Curly is that he's not us, and we're not supposed to be him. Constantly projecting your own fears and experiences onto him to sway your interpretation of his words takes away from the already written-in-stone character he is. You saying "He didn't mean it" when talking about Curly saying he cares about Anya is not only incorrect, but it's YOUR projection onto a character that is already extremely upfront and honest about his intentions and kind personality. He is not malicious, evil, cruel, selfish or misogynistic, so saying that because you interpreted his words to be half-truths or him lying through his teeth to Anya and that his kindness is fake is literally obstructing his character.

Everyone wants them both to be perfect examples of victims and refuses to understand or even believe Curly's situation. Curly DID fail Anya but not for the reason everyone thinks he did.

They're both victims to the same man, they both believe in the best of people (although to their own detriment in a way) they want to find peace, and fulfilment in their career and life. They're so alike in such delicate and intimate ways, that trying to constantly paint Curly as this great, horrible oppressor over her does way more harm than good.

Curly's character is painfully obvious, very very upfront and honest. He is kind, constantly weighed down by guilt and anxiety about his future and career and is being abused by his so-called friend and the company he's working himself to death for that he absolutely hates that just discarded him like he was nothing. Like a lame horse.

Thank you so much to the Mouthwashing Mania Discord server for helping me with this thread! Specifically Mogs for their amazing analysis on Capitalism which can be found here!

Thank you for reaching the end of the thread, please don't be scared to share your thoughts in the tags or in my inbox, I'd love to hear them! good job! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wet & Wild II

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: SMUT, porn with a plot, sexually explicit language, cursing, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, nipple play, locker room sex, swimmer lingo

word count: 5.5k

part 1

tags💜: @midnightwrriting @no1runawaymilkdad @ihave-aboringlife @blahhucantmakeme @laniirackssss @blood-bloss @lmaoyani @geminiflanagansblog @ruyaas-world @hrlzy @povobsessed @stephstephstephsteph @chakin @10ava01 @lem0ns77 @velvrei @hdhdhdndhdndk

masterlist

a/n: sorry if the tags aren’t working, I tried to include everyone that wanted it. lmk if you have questions on anything. hope you enjoy!!

A week has passed since the last time you’d seen Art and you try to rid any thoughts of him from your mind as you enter the women’s locker room, the day so early that the sun has only just risen. You’d only spent a few hours with him, but he feels more important to you than a mere acquaintance, especially considering you’d let him have more of you than most people would ever get to. You try to tell yourself it won’t matter if he shows or not, but deep down you know that it will. Regardless, overthinking won’t help you in the water so you shove it down as you steadily pull on your tech suit, careful not to rip the delicate fabric. Your headphones are currently blaring your hype playlist in your ear, but you slide them off once you notice movement to your left as Chloe opens her own locker.

“You ready?” she asks you, pulling out her own racing suit from the depths of her swim bag.

“Not really,” you admit, giving up on stretching your tight suit to your full body frame for the time being as you opt for a tie-back bikini top instead. Your shoulders are ever so grateful. “I’m so nervous.”

“Why? Because of your race or your little tennis boyfriend?” she teases, lips quirking into a classic Chloe smirk. As your best friend, she was the first and only person you told about your interaction with Art at the party and, of course, she had been teasing you about it since. While during practice it was amusing, you are not in the mood for jokes right before a race, especially one of such importance.

You furrow a brow, shaking your head to signal that it’s not the time for such jests concerning the blonde. As the good friend that she is, Chloe immediately understands as she moves to help tie your suit straps, a simple task that you are unexpectedly failing at due to the pressure of the meet ahead of you.

“You’re going to do great,” Chloe comforts, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder once she’s finished with your straps. “I’m sure of it.”

“What if I don’t break the record?”

“Who cares? You can try again next time. If that’s the worst that can happen, you don’t have anything to be nervous about,” she smiles in assurance. “Besides that record is as good as yours -” she makes a gesture to your tech suit that has the most magical of time bending abilities if wielded by the right swimmer. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Nothing can stop you now.”

“Thanks Clo.” you grin at her appreciatively, and though your nerves don’t settle in the slightest, you feel more comfortable living in cohabitation with them now. They’re so much easier to manage when you’re not alone.

It’s only minutes before the rest of your team has arrived and you have hours before your event is scheduled to take place, yet it only feels like seconds before you’re being seated in the waiting room amongst your competitors, tech suit finally fully on. Rousing music plays through your headphones though you are sure to skip any songs that seem even the slightest bit romantic. You try to slip into the right headspace, the line between confident and cocky that has always aided you in not panicking just before you step up to the blocks in the past. You try to find it, using any method at your fingertips, but it’s no use. You can’t seem to find it no matter how hard you try and suddenly it feels as if the weight of the world is crashing down on you when the door opens and your event is called. You stand with the other women and together you line up behind the blocks.

The sun shines much higher up in the sky than it had been when you dove in during warm ups, blaring down to reflect off the red of your cap that bears the Stanford logo in white along with your last name. You take your rightful place behind the starting block of the middle lane, and though you already wrote your heat and lane in black sharpie on your forearm just to be sure, you can’t help but worry that you’ve already missed your race.

It’s only when the head announcer calls your event on the loudspeaker that you stop dwelling on it, her voice echoing through the stands that seem so much taller now that you're in the center with so much pressure resting solely on you. You rake though the rafters to your left, hoping to be comforted by the sight of Chloe or one of your other teammates until you realize that they are more than likely preparing for their own events in the warm up pool.

It's then, just when the swirling hurricane of emotions is hurtling toward you, that you see him. He’s seated in the first row, blonde curls circling his head like a golden crown and a wide smile lighting up his face when he sees that you’ve finally spotted him, one that you can’t help returning as he mouths sweet wishes of luck to you.

Art came. He actually came!

The storm subsides and all of a sudden you’ve lost all your inhibitions. Instead of buzzing anxiety, you are filled with a new light and the confidence of a record breaker. It’s all so clear with Art in the stands and as his presence wafts away your storm of worries, you come to the realization that you can do it. You know you can.

The whistle of an official blares through the speaker and on cue you slide on your goggles and mount the block. You’re really starting to feel the compression of your suit as you bend into your diving position, waiting for the magic words. The signal that it’s time to race and leave everything you have in the pool as you go.

“Swimmers, take your marks…” 

You take one last breath before the sound blares and you dive off the block. It all comes naturally to you and with the help of your suit, you find yourself breaking out farther than ever before.

You only have a few strokes until you’re at the end of the pool when out of nowhere, the girl in the lane beside you starts to catch up to you until the two of you are neck and neck and it doesn’t escape your attention when she flips a split second before you’re able to.

You know it’s not about winning, you told Art that, but it’s as if a fire has been lit behind you and you’re suddenly determined to go for the gold. You push yourself harder than you ever have before and though you're not sure where the energy has come from, you know it’s exactly what you need. You’ve failed if you’re able to get out of the pool without stumbling.

Before long you catch up to the swimmer beside you, taking your first and only breath as you summon the last of your power, pushing through the water like a jet-ski. At once you’re behind the flags and unlike before, there’s no one beating you to the touch pad resting on the side of the ending wall as you slam your hand down and come up for air.

The crowd erupts with applause once you finish and at first you’re under the impression that it’s because of your win until your eyes glaze over at the scoreboard and nearly burst from your skull at the sight of the result.

You had accomplished your goal. There it was, a time faster than the Stanford record glowing right beside your name. But you didn’t just pass it by a few flimsy hundredths. Your new record was more than a second faster.

You can hardly believe it and you know if the proof weren’t right in front of you, there’d only be disbelief instead of this crashing wave of accomplishment and pride. Though you’re in severe oxygen debt from the race, you find yourself screaming in excitement at your gigantic accomplishment.

“We have a new record!” an official announces through the loudspeaker once the other girls have returned to the starting wall, followed by your name and new time. You search for Art again once you’re out of the water, all but failing to suppress your grin as you find him clapping in the stands and smiling down at you as if you were the most precious stone in the world.

Your teammates are filled with the same immense pride when you join them in the locker room once the meet is over. You’ve since changed from your tech suit, switching out the tight fabric for your cozy hoodie, tie-back bikini top, and a towel tied around your waist. The suit in question now hangs in your locker with the rest of your clothes that you had been in the middle of putting on before the congradulations began.

“I fucking told you!” Chloe shouts, clapping you on the back like you had just won the lottery. You imagine such a feat couldn’t match the pride you feel now.

You almost say that you can’t believe it, but the words stall on your lips. You actually can believe it, this is something you’ve been working tirelessly for. And now, after a long hard race, the record title is finally yours.

“Did I see a certain blonde in the audience?” Chloe smirks, nudging you as you wave goodbye to one of your other parting teammates.

“Maybe,” you drawl, trying your best to hide your growing grin, but the thought of the man makes you feel like flying through the air as year worth of buried emotions bubble up to the surface. You haven’t felt anything like this for a very long time.

“You know what that means…” Chloe whispers to you after you pull away from a hug with one of the other girls who like everyone else, is on her way out. The night’s party is being hosted at a house that’s a longer commute than usual in honor of the women’s tenth annual win and unlike your teammates, you aren’t in any hurry to get there knowing the a portion of the celebration will surround you.

“Drinks on you?” you guess, pretending you are clueless as to what she’s getting at. You hope it’s enough to deter her from whatever inevitably grotesque she’s about to say, but you know it’s to no avail as she laughs and shakes her head.

“Nice try,” she smiles, nudging you with her elbow. “I meant that he’s definetly going to fuck the shit out of you next time you see him.”

You cringe bashfully at her words, hitting her on the shoulder as she backs away from your shrunken form.

“Chloe!” you chide, though you both know no real anger lies within your tone. She’s been like this since the day you’d first met her: always the same old loving, indecorous Chloe.

“Just saying.” she shrugs before turning to say her goodbyes to the last lingering one of your other teammates.

You turn to open your locker, finally ready to change out of your damp towel until you’re startled by the clacking footsteps of unfamiliar tennis shoes heading in your direction. You assume it’s another random spectator who had bypassed the many signs clearly stating that the locker room is for athlete occupance only, but at once you find you’re very wrong when you turn to see who it is.

Art stands before you and though it was his decision to invade the women’s locker room, he looks as surprised as you.

“Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly. You’re thankful when you notice that Chloe is fully dressed to your left, just pulling on her knit cardigan.

She smirks smuggly at the sight of him, swinging her bag over her shoulders before sending you a wink and a swiftly muttered, “Told ya.” Without another word she exits, leaving you and Art utterly and completely alone.

“You realize this is the women’s restroom, right?” you jab as you hear Chloe shut the door behind her, though it’s all in good fun. As far as you know, no one is coming anywhere near the locker room for the next several hours.

“I was waiting outside for you,” he states, gradually lifting his hands from their tense place in the front of his jean pockets. “I thought everyone else had already come out, but I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s just Chloe,” you laugh, gesturing in the direction of the exit path your best friend had just taken. “Don’t worry, she won’t tattle.”

He chuckles, amused by your jest before he takes a slow step closer to you. Like a sparkler to your stomach, you become acutely aware of the tension between the two of you, growing like the blush colored blossoms of a cherry tree in spring. “I’ve thought about what you said.”

This makes you smile.

“And?”

“You were right.”

You’re heart flutters, so light that if it weren’t encaged within your chest you’re sure it would’ve floated away. He pauses to take another tense step in your direction, now only a foot away.

“Do you know how Tashi and I met?”

“I don’t, actually,” you say, words laced with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Right,” he laughs, realizing the folly behind his question. It was more rhetorical than anything, but he begins the story like a spider spindiling its web. “Well it was only about a year ago. We met at the US open. Patrick and I both went after her and you know what she told us?”

You wait for the answer.

“She said she’d give her number to whoever won our match. That was the first time I ever lost and it was to my best friend.”

“That’s who was at your match, wasn’t it?” you ask.

Art nods solumnly, though the pain that had been etched on his face from your last meeting has vanished, as if the thorn in his side has been replced by a budding rose.

“I didn’t know Art, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he urges. “It’s all okay now. I’ve realized that none of it matters anymore and it’s all because of you. If I’m being honest, I thought maybe if I won my match, then Tashi would leave him. But it’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to be the winner she’s running to. I don’t want to have to earn her love.”

“What do you want?”

There’s a pause, a distinct moment where the glint in his blue eyes from the bright lights above conveys a clever message to you than any words could. Then he speaks.

“I think you know what I want.”

It’s all the confirmation you need to know that he’s finally playing the same game as you. He’s unbearably close now as his head reaches up to gently rake through your stringy wet hair. You welcome his touch, breath catching in your throat at the feeling of his fingers as his lips hover just above yours. If you’re being completely honest, you haven’t stopped fantasizing about it since the night of the party. Since the moment he had kissed you.

“You were right,” he whispers as his hot breath tickles the tips of your top lips with every placid word. “I don’t care about winning anymore. The only point I want to score is you.”

“That’s a really bad joke.” you remark, pointing out the obvious from his corny declaration. But Art doesn’t share your smirk, his face settling in an expression that’s much more sensual.

“I’m not kidding.”

You feel the immediate shift in energy as your smirk fades to parted lips and Art’s longing gaze moves downward from your eyes. What little space left between you is squashed as you allow him to pull you even closer, noses prodigy one another as Art’s fingers drift from the tips of your hair to cup the back of your head. It’s almost salivating the way he looks at you and you’re suddenly eager to remember what he tastes like.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks through a whisper, so quietly that if you hadn’t been right in front of him, you surely wouldn’t have heard it. It’s milliseconds before you’re nodding exuberantly with more urgency than a speeding ambulance (something you might need if your heart decided to beat any faster).

“Pleas-” you start, but Art’s on you before you can even get the word out, covering your lips with his until all you can taste, smell, and feel is him. Everything is him.

He’s gentle with you at first, testing the waters as his lips pass smoothly over yours. You lift up your hands to invite him in, squeezing the toned flesh of his arms before you drag them slowly up to the nape of his neck. You toy with some of the curls that rest there, twirling them between your fingers while sinking into the sounds he makes in return. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, and at once his tongue melds with yours. You match the new intensity, swallowing each low groan.

Unlike your last encounter, it’s Art who pulls away this time, forcing you to scowl at him in confusion, eyes squinting and lips puffy. He twists his head to the left, glazing at the wide space behind him as he slowly moves the both of you backwards to the nearest flat-board bench until one of its edges grazes the top of his shin.

“What are you doing?” you ask through a whisper, leaning forward so that your lips titillate the tip of his ear which sends inadvertent shivers through his whole body. Art turns back to you, smirking as he leans in for another sloppy kiss, earning a salacious sound from you before his lips shift from yours and trailing from the corner of your mouth to the line of your open jaw where his teeth scrape against your skin. You can feel him grinning as he makes you emit the softest of moans.

“I want to make up for the other night. I said some things - I’m not proud of.”

You give a giddy chuckle as you cup his cheek, amused by the fact that he thinks his past behavior was inexcusable until Art’s head dips to suck on the tender skin of your neck and you can’t help but whine. You’re glad you have the lung capacity of a swimmer otherwise you might’ve fainted from the near constant lack of oxygen.

“Art, honestly-” a sudden gasp is ripped from you as you feel him nipping at your sweet spot, crumbling like a tin can under pressure. “-it’s fine.” you barely manage to finish your sentence.

He places a few more steady kisses to the column of your neck, working his way down to your clavicle. You tip your head back, an unintentional effect from the sensation of his lips as he lays the last just near the edge of your collarbone before raising his head to look at you and it’s almost as if he can see right through you.

“Does that mean you don’t want what I’m offering?” he questions, glancing down at the steady movement of your chest as it rises and falls beneath your hoodie. You don’t recall when in the last few minutes he managed to move his hands down to your waist, but you can feel them now as clear as ever. He grips the sides of your hoodie, nimble fingers sliding under the thick gray fabric until they find the skin beneath and his touch feels like fire, sparking flames along your hips with every small caress. It’s so hot that you aren’t sure how Tashi could pick anyone over him. You aren’t sure how anyone could deny him for that matter.

“No…” you admit and at once his hands start to travel higher and higher until they reach the bottom band of your bikini, inflaming the whole of your torso as he meets the straps still tied neatly together in the middle of your spine forming a perfect bow. His fingers follow the provided path, meeting at the center of your back as he starts to twirl one of the tails of the knot around his pointer finger.

“May I?” he asks, his tone so deceivingly politely as he gently tugs on the string. He waits patiently for your consent as his eyes pan up from your chest to your expression. You can’t get the words out, already too overwhelmed from the sizzling sensation of his touch, but you make sure to nod with the utmost enthusiasm. Who were you to tell Art Donaldson no when he was so eager to touch you? And you, in turn, were so eager to feel him.

He smiled at your agreeance and instantly unfastened the tie of your suit, pulling on the strand until the entire bow came undone. He lips pressed against yours once more before he settled down on the bench and raised the hem of your hoodie just enough to expose your stomach, peppering kisses to every inch of you.

You released your hold on him to assist in pulling the hoodie over your head, tossing it behind you where it lands in a crumple pile near the metal door of your locker. Without any tension left to hold it up, the triangle cutlets of your bikini slump to reveal two perfect pebbled nipples, leaving the towel looped around your waist as your only source of coverage.

Usually you’d feel insecure being so bare for a man that’s practically a stranger, but from the dazed look Art gives you as he takes in the sight of your figure, you find that you don’t mind it in the slightest.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Art mutters almost involuntarily, sending shock waves down straight to your core. The words came bursting out before he could find the strength to hold them back, his brain too busy processing your beauty to have any control over any sort of filter. You return your hands to his head of blonde curls just as he presses one last kiss to the center of your abdomen, exactly below your rib cage.

The movement is so sudden that you can't count the seconds that pass before he grabs at your breasts, each hand perfectly cupping the mounted flesh. His mouth is slower, trailing kisses up the valley of your chest.

His thumb works the sensitive skin encircling your nipple, running over the hardened peak in an unperceivable pattern that forces another well earned moan from your lips. It’s encouragement for his other hand that immediately drifts upwards to mirror the actions of the other. Every pinch and slight movement is like gasoline to your fire, all pouring in a downward stream to the part of you that grows more needy with every passing second. You could cry from the sensation of it all, the intensity only growing when you feel him pass his tongue over your left nipple. You try to suppress any sounds this time, teeth biting down on your lip as you curve your head back, but it forces its way out despite your efforts. You grip the hair fixed to his crown and pressure him forwards so that he remains in place.

“Shit, that feels - really good.” you praise, your phrase strung together like an old beaded bracelet as changes in pace break apart each word. When Art does part from your breasts, it’s to press wet kisses down the line of your abdomen as flickering thumbs replace his mouth. He pauses as he reaches the softest portion of your stomach, stopping just above the knot that is covering your very bare lower half, and though you don’t recall informing him about your lack of undergarments, you are sure that he already knows.

“I need to taste you,” he whispers against your skin.

He doesn’t ask you for permission anymore, but instead glances up at you from his spot on the bench and it’s everything you need to understand what he wants from you. And of course you want it. You’re sure if he wastes a second longer to tend to your throbbing center, you might just pass out in his sturdy arms.

“Please, Art, I need you,” you’re able to get out, though it’s breathy and delicate from the way that he’s rendered you.

He’s quick to oblige as he takes the top of your towel cover in between his perfect white teeth and yanks the fabric hard enough for it to fall to your feet. He’s on you in an instant, one of his hands moving to support your shaky frame as he slides a knee between yours to spread you open.

He coaxes every cry out of you with his tongue, wet and skilled as he traces it along each fold, his nose bobbing against your swollen clit not dissimilar from his left hand that still lies atop your breast. You press him closer to you as he swirls his tongue around you, over and over and never in the same way more than twice in a row. It’s overstimulation at its best, overwhelming you until you're trembling in his grasp and before you know it, you’re riding the edge of the wave to pure pleasure.

“Fuck, Art! I’m- I’m-“ you can’t even finish your sentence, he feels so good. He hums against you in amusement, the vibrations of his voice meeting your core in a melting sensation that you find yourself grinding into uncontrollably.

“On my tongue,” he promotes against you before licking a steady stripe along your center. It’s then that you know you’re done for. Your cry is almost inhuman as you leap off the edge, diving into the heart of the wave as Art finally relinquishes his hold on your breast and uses the newly unoccupied hand to pierce into your arousal, calloused fingers curling into you as he helps you down from your high. Even after you cum you know you still have more in you. And you can tell from the growing bulge in his pants that Art isn’t done with you either.

He stands to kiss you with dampened lips as the taste of your own arousal invades your senses, but you withdraw from the embrace after only a few seconds to ask him your burning question, desire already regrowing like a flooding river of need.

“Art, I need you,” you start, pulling at the canvas material of his button up. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles before pressing his mouth towards yours and back you up to the wall of lockers that are neatly arranged behind you.

Granted by his permission, you unfasten each button of his shirt until it’s enough to pull it off him which he happily helps you accomplish. You can’t tell who’s more desperate for you to feel the dense muscle of his chest as he places your palms face down on his pecs, granting you the assurance you needed to explore his body.

You take your time, squeezing and prodding just as he had done to you until one of your hands is low enough on his stomach to palm him through his light wash jeans. The soft whimper he returns is nearly enough to send you over again. He pulls back as he lets you undo his belt, eyelids fluttering after you’ve unbuttoned and unzipped the only thing keeping you from him. You’re quick to pull him out, not at all shocked by how hard he is and it’s a major ego boost knowing it’s all because of you.

“See what you do to me?” he whispers against your lips as if you needed more proof of his longing for you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Please,” you beg. “I need to feel you.”

Art is quick to oblige as his calloused fingers grip the soft skin of your hips, so rough that you can feel every callus from his racket as he pushes you against the lockers, thrusting up into you. While he’s dying to continue, he hesitates so that you can acclimate to his size. It takes no longer than a second as you release a guttural groan and wrap a leg around his waist, aiding him in hitting even deeper within you.

“Fuck!” you cry, throwing your head back against the cold metal as Art nips at your neckline again. You’re drowning beneath the blissful rocky wave and from the sounds that he’s making, almost re-enacting one of his matches just for you, you can tell that Art is too.

It happens so quickly that your mind struggles to understand it, spinning wildly as the wave pulls you under once more along with Art who finishes in a similar amount of time. You lean into his chest, breathing heavily as you take in the heavenly scent of his undoubtedly expensive cologne and slightly wincing as he pulls out of you slowly. He ducks to pick up your fallen towel as he starts to clean you up.

The realization that it’s over doesn't quite hit you until Art helps you get dressed, buckling his belt back up only once you’re decent and in return you hand him a spare shirt so he doesn’t have to redo every button on the one you’d nearly torn off him.

“Thanks,” he smiles gratefully, pulling on your shirt which fits tighter around him than it would around you, though it’s nothing to complain about as every miniscule ripple of muscle is on display.

You’re both thinking the exact same thing as you exit the locker room, hand in hand with the same guilty expression on your face as you pass an incoming janitor who is too busy scowling to ask Art what he was doing in the women’s locker room. It’s obvious from the encounter that it won’t be your last and as Art drives you to the planned frat party, you’re even sure that it’s not the last of the night.

Time proves you right as you’re seated next to Art a few weeks later, curled into his side as you share a large plate of the appetizer combo at a local Applebees. It was the only thing open after a long day of matches and meets and steamy rendezvous in between. The two of you were going on steadier than the trunks of ancient trees as you continue to support each other, you attending all of Art’s matches ( even if it meant skipping a practice or two) and Art cheering for you at all of your meets. You’re not sure if it’s the consistent attendance, but the both of you were only getting better at your respective hobbies by the day, particularly Art who hadn’t lost a match since meeting you.

You’re both jokingly arguing over who gets the last quesadilla when a familiar woman stops near your table, joined by a man you’d never seen before, though you recognize him from several of Art's detailed stories. He straightens beside you, gathering himself to greet the new company.

“Hey guys, long time no see!”

“Art,” Patrick nods to his friend before smiling to you and offering his hand, one that you take without a second thought. “I’m Patrick.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You must be Tashi.” you turn to the girl and you can’t help, but analyze the peculiarities of her expression. It’s clear she is content with her own man of choice, but something about the way she looks at you tells you that she’s still involved in the tennis philosophy you managed to screw out of Art. She looks at you like you’re a player she’s lost to. And from what Art’s told you, you're certain it’s the first time Tashi has lost.

“It’s nice to meet you.” she fakes a smile before pulling Patrick to the door, careful not to stay long enough for the conversation to lead anywhere important. It’s awkward and strange, but you know it’s for the best. You’re not particularly interested in anything she has to say anyways.

“Did you see that?” you ask, pointing in the direction of the doorway that the couple had used for an easy escape.

“What?” Art wonders, looking towards you in anticipation.

“I think she’s looking for a new winner.”

Art leans in to peck the apple of your cheek, assurance that no matter the circumstance, he’ll never be available to the likes of Tashi Duncan again.

“Must be because I’ve won,” he reasons, “-because I have you and there’s nothing she can do to separate us.”

You smile at his sweet words, praying that he never ceases to use his talent for affectionate poetry as you lean in to kiss him. Whether he wins or loses or even never plays again, you couldn’t care less about the outcome of his career. As long as Art’s happy, you’re prepared to take on any challenge you’re put up to, whether on the court or in the pool.

[m0nsterqzzz]

Capture the Flag

pairing: clarisse la rue x child of apollo!reader

summary: you hate capture the flag, and clarisse hates people hurting you. that's that.

warnings: kidnapping? *done by a bunch of demigod teenagers for the simple outcome of winning a game* mentions of murder because what is a clarisse fic without it? swearing? kinda oc clarisse just because I can't write anything else without turning it into enemies to lovers

a/n: she is my love. clarisse defender for life.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Clarisse La Rue.

The name sparks fear in many people at Camp Half Blood. Kids cower when she’s near, or run away when she walks towards them. It makes her happy, having people fear her. She thrives off of it, being a daughter of Ares; the god of war.

But too you? The name brings warmth, comfort, and love. It’s very rare her wrath has ever been directed towards you, and the few times it has been was when she didn’t know you. When you were just another camper to her.

It only took a few days at camp for you to be claimed by your father, Apollo. 

It made sense really, your bubbly and energetic personality was so similar to your fathers and his demi god childrens. You moved into cabin seven with your small backpack of beloved items from your past, picking the bed in the corner farthest away from the few other children of Apollo and spending most of your time in that spot if you weren't at arts and crafts or archery. Not many people cared about you at first, not that you mind while you were trying to process all that happened for you to finally get to this wilderness home. Then you tried to make some friends, which ended with you mostly spending your days with your siblings or the children of Hermes and the campers who lived in that cabin without being claimed.

Then, you met your girlfriend. The love of your life. You're everything. Clarisse.

She had protected you during a game of capture the flag, not realizing that your “attacker” was one of your best friends who simply held his sword up to you in a playful way. You teased her for weeks after that, giving her the title, “my protector”. Although the teasing eventually stopped, the nickname never did.

You’re her sunshine. That’s clear to everyone in camp, but nobody really talks about it for fear of being hurt by her spear.

Capture the flag is one of her favorite days out of the week. Other than every Tuesday when Chiron lets you eat dinner at her table- an agreement that came after a very long week of begging of course. That was his compromise to your ask of being able to spend every night at that table, and Clarisse wasn’t going to push it despite liking the first idea more. 

It became a lot harder to win said game when she started dating you, team red losing one of their best fighters when she would leave her post by the flag to roam the forest and make sure you are okay. It just makes you laugh when she stops kissing you up against a tree to suddenly run back to her post when she remembers the main task at hand, but her siblings and team would definitely disagree that it's funny.

Today's no different, and after threatening her teammate with her spear, she leaves her post to find you with the peace of mind that they’ll protect the flag and won’t tell on her to the other players on team red.

You on the other hand, you have your headphones in, music blasting in them as you dance through the forest and around the trees. Capture the flag has never really been as important to you as your teammates on the blue team, and both Annabeth and Luke eventually learned to give you a simple task and let you do your own thing. 

The nymph's join along in your activities every once in a while, but for the most part they just stay in their tree form as you dance past them.

You’re in your own world with your favorite song playing on your wired headphones that stay connected to the ipod in your hand that your girlfriend gifted to you after she came home from a quest a few months ago. It’s only when someone hits your helmet-covered head with the butt of their sword so hard you pass out that you realize you wandered into the red team's territory.

Waking up, the first thing you notice is the harsh light of the sun glaring down at you. Then it’s the rough feeling of wood on your back and the tight pull of rope on your stomach when you try and fail to stand up from your sitting poston. Your stomach churns as you realize what kind of situation you're in; no help, in a vulnerable position, and no weapon. Lastly, you groan when you realize that your headphones have been taken out of your ears and are laying in a tangled pile a few feet away along with your ipod.

After a few seconds, your vision clears up and the two blobs of color that you saw in front of you turn out to be two people. They’re clearing down at you from their standing positions, one with a sword out and the other holding a dagger.

“Good morning sunshine.” You cringe at the nickname that comes from one of the boys you now recognize from the Aphrodite cabin. It’s the one that your girlfriend uses for you. 

Children of Aphrodite may be well known for her being the goddess of love, and all things pink and pretty, but sometimes people forget she is also a goddess of war. Her demigod children are sweet and nice, but it’s no big surprise why Clarisse likes having them on her team when you see their fighting abilities when they actually try.

“What do you want with me?” You question harshly, trying but eventually giving up on trying to force the ropes to untie by moving your body around. You’re tied to a thin tree, thin enough for your arms to reach behind you and wrap around it- it's kind of like your giving the tree a backwards hug with your hands tied together around it- but not thin enough to break when you push you back up against it to test the theory on if you can snap it. 

They look at eachother and chuckle, putting their weapons away when they realize you can’t get out of your ties. One you recognize as Oliver steps closer to you as he says, “Annabeth and Luke care about you so much, the moment they realize that you’re missing, they’ll forget all about the flag and Clarisse can go get it.”

You stare at them blankly for a few seconds before you burst out laughing. They glance at each other before narrowing their eyes at you.

“What are you laughing at sunshine?” You finish laughing when the ropes pull on your stomach way too tightly with the way your body shakes with the laughter. “You ummm…” You start, taking a deep breath when you find yourself beginning to giggle again. “You thought the most amazing plan…was to lead my overprotective friends and girlfriend…the girl who carries a spear with her everywhere she goes and hurts anyone who looks at her wrong mind you…to the spot where she’ll find her partner tied up to a tree in a clearing where no one is around to stop her from killing you guys?”

They stare at you with a sudden look of fear in their eyes before they walk a few yards away to begin whispering to each other, the confidence from earlier gone and rethinking their plan after you brought the obvious ending to your attention.

“Hey guys?!” You shout out, smiling when they turn around for a second to face you. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell Clarisse not to kill you! She usually listens to me because the last time she killed someone, I didn’t cuddle her for a week!” Their eyes widen at your casualness, as if her killing someone is completely normal in your world before turning back around so you can’t see them panicking. It doesn’t matter though, the way they move their hands erratically and have to take deep breaths from raising their voices in fear is enough knowledge.

They come back a few minutes later, the fear still there as they stand in front of you. You don’t ask what plan they’ve come up with now, and they don’t tell you.

You guys sit in silence for a second before you glance at your earbuds and ask, “Do you guys like jazz tunes?” The boys stare at you with a confused expression.

“Um..…no. Why? Is that what you were listening to?”

“No. It’s just a conversation starter. The quiet was getting kinda awkward.”

The silence is back again, before you begin to quietly hum the tune of the song you were listening to before they interrupted your state of happiness. “So…..did you guys see my amazing dancing?”

Liam chuckles, eyes not meeting yours as he scans the forest around you guys and mumbles, “It wasn’t that good.” Oliver lets out a small hum of agreement. 

You scoff, eyes falling to your legs as you whisper under your breath, “Well damn. I’m definitely letting my girl kill you now.”

Suddenly, a few yards away, there is a loud scream that could make someone's ear eardrums bleed. It isn’t one of fear or sadness, but of anger. The boy’s eyes widen and they begin to spin in circles to try and keep track of the attacker as they pull out their weapons. You just smile.

The sound of someone running is what finally snaps them out of their panic enough to try running away, but she’s already there using the end of her spear to hit one's back so hard he falls forward and pulls the other one of one backwards and throws him on the ground by his armor. 

The first boy she pushes tries to get up and scurry away, but she simply places her foot on his back and presses so down with her boot with enough pressure he looks ready to cry. He really should be wearing armor. 

“Clar! Clar, it’s fine! I’m fine!” You shout when the fear starts to set in that she might actually hurt them, and she doesn’t even seem like she’s listening as she twists her spear in a circle and looks towards the other boy with a grin on her face that you know all too well. She’s going to kill them.

You begin to try and pry your hands out of the rope so hard it begins to shred your skin like paper in hopes of stopping her from doing something she’ll get in so much trouble for, and it’s only when you let out a small whimper of pain does Clarisse stop her actions. The grin falls from her face, and her foot releases the boy as she hurries over to you.

Both boys get up off the dirt, stumbling over their own feet as they begin to run back into the forest to hide from Clarisse. “You touch them again and I’ll kill you in ways even my father couldn’t imagine!” She screams over her shoulder in a terrifying voice, and the way she then turns to you with a sweet smile would be weird to anyone else. It only comforts you.

“I’m so sorry sunshine. I’m so sorry I let them hurt you.” She whispers as she uses the sharpest part of her spear to cut the ropes off. You sigh in relief, bringing them to your lap so you can gently caress them. There are red marks surrounding them, some of which you can already tell are going to bruise and one with a small cut on it from the rope and bark on the tree rubbing on your skin.

Your girlfriend looks guilty, so when she begins to spill even more apologizes you shut her up with a gentle kiss. “It’s okay Clar. I’m okay. It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.” She shakes her head no and you watch with a small smile as she uses the most gentle touch you’ve ever felt to pick up your wrists and assess the injury.

“Really. I’m fine. It’s just some rope burn.” She hums in understanding, bringing them up to her lips one by one to place a feather light kiss on the red spots. “Better?” The curly haired girl asks with a small smile. 

“Much.” She nods, letting out one more apology before she picks you up bridal style and begins to walk back in the direction of camp. It’s only when you make it to the edge of the clearing and the cabins, mess hall, and big house come into view do you realize she’s not taking you back to your team's territory. 

When you go to ask where she’s taking you, but she just shh’s you and takes the trail to the infirmary. In the distance, the conch shell sounds, signaling the end of the game. It’s followed by the familiar cheers of your team, making you feel bad.

“I’m really sorry Clar. I could have walked myself. I’m so sorry” She just shakes her head, walking into the small building that only has about three Apollo children in it, the kids who don’t like to play capture the flag and volunteer to stay in the infirmary in case someone needs medical help. You know them, sending them all bright smiles and they do the same.

She sets you down on a gurney, a quick glare to the boy standing awkwardly a few feet away with a clipboard is all he needs to run over and begin gently cradling your arms to wrap your wrist’s. His name is Jamie, and he’s the quietest out of all of your siblings. Even with his silence, you know he’s an absolute sweetheart after nights spent painting with him or enjoy a walk in the sun together.

“Just take off the bandages to ice them every once and a while, and you should feel fine in a few days.” He mumbles before scurrying off to do something else, but in reality you know he’s just trying to get away from the girl who now stands at the edge of your bed like a guard. My protector.

You stand up, slowly walking towards her and wrapping your arms around the back of her neck. “You know, your siblings are beginning to despise me for being the reason you guys are losing.”

She shrugs, a small smile making its way onto her face. “Let them. They ever talk shit, you come to me. I’ll deal with it. Until then, they can despise you in silence. I’m just happy you’re okay sunshine.”

“Thanks to you. My protector.” With that she chuckles, leaning down to kiss you as your arms tighten around her.

“But I’m definitely getting Chiron to change the Apollo cabin to our team.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

[masonmontz]

hello :) it’s been a while, uh? i just wrote that this morning bc i’m working on some big fics and i still haven’t finished them

smut (blowjob) word count: 1,6k

✦‎۟ ࣭ ⊹

“I'm exhausted, I wish I could sleep in our bed in Manchester right now” Mason grumbled as he turned off the car in front of his parents' house.

“Tomorrow we'll go back, dear, and you know your mother will be happy with you here” You spoke and leaned towards Mason to kiss him, bringing your hand to his neck to hold him against you.

Mason was doing a lot of things during the day while he was in London, he had meetings with some brands in the morning, lunch with Declan, in the afternoon he had a photo shoot and now he still has dinner at Debbie's house. Even speaking has become a difficult task, because it requires a lot of effort.

Mason moaned as you kissed his neck and you smiled, then realized that it was one of those days that Mason would be completely surrendered to you.

“Please, let's go in or we'll have to leave” he said.

Debbie opened the door smiling, hugging Mason for almost a minute while telling him how handsome he was and that she had missed him. Even as an adult, Mason is still the baby of the family and it is hilarious.

“Y/N, I missed you too sweetheart. Wow, you are so beautiful” you smiled as you hugged her, ‘cause Debbie was just as special and important to you as the rest of Mason's family.

“We missed you too, Mason and I were alone in that huge city.”

Everyone was already there, Lewis and his boyfriend, Jaz with the children, and as always only Stacey was not present because she was on the other side of the world.

Mason was quickly sitting on the floor coloring with Summer and Mila, who was now able to say a few words and communicate. Summer played an excellent big sister.

Debbie had prepared lasagna for dinner and soon you were all eating, Mason sat in the last place at the table against the wall and you sat next to him, and he stayed away cause he was tired and didn't want to talk too much during dinner.

“Y/n, do you already know if you'll be able to travel with us next month?” Jaz asked, because it was her birthday and she was organizing a girls' trip, and even Stacey was coming.

“Yes, I'm looking forward to getting to know Spain.” Mason was quiet beside you and you looked at him, and he just gave you a tired smile.

You placed your hand on his leg, stroking it lightly, a way to comfort Mason, just like he did with you.

“Oh, I think we're going to see some beautiful beaches, I'm really excited. I'm also excited for Sam to take care of the girls on his own.”

Jaz looked at her husband who shrugged, still a little scared about taking care of Summer and Mila alone.

You still had your hand on Mason's leg, and when you realized, Mason took his hand under the table and pulled your hand towards his crotch slowly. You were taking a sip of wine and almost drowned, but you tried to hide it.

Mason was tired, but you didn't know he was so needy after an exhausting day. You slowly slid your hand down his cock, trying not to let anyone notice, and Mason leaned against the table, taking advantage of the fact that no one was talking to him.

Mason was getting hard, so you quickly took your hand away from him and volunteered to help Debbie clear the table. Mason sighed, sitting for a few more minutes after Tony called him into the living room for them to talk.

“Mom, I'm going to lie down for a bit, I'm tired and I'm not feeling well” he said and Debbie agreed, so Mason quickly left the kitchen so no one would see anything.

Fifteen minutes later you told Debbie that you were going to check on Mason to see if everything was okay, so you quickly walked upstairs to the last room in the hallway which is Mason's old room.

You walked in and Mason was lying on his stomach, you closed the door without locking it and approached him, who opened his eyes and looked at you.

“You good, babe?” You asked and sat on the edge of the bed, then Mason turned around and you almost whistled when you saw the bulge in his pants. “Wow, you pervert, your whole family is here.”

“I've tried thinking of the weirdest things possible and it just hurts more” he complained, bringing his hand to his own cock and stroking it through the fabric. Poor boy, so needy and hard.

You licked your lips as you watched Mason trying to relieve himself, feeling your own body heat up as you realized how sore he must be and how much he needed relief.

“Do you want help, dear?” You asked and brought your hand to Mason's, stroking his cock along with his hand that began to make quick movements because he desperately wanted to cum.

“Please” Mason groaned, and then he opened the button and zipper of his pants, and you managed to put your hand inside to feel his cock, hard as a rock. “I'm so hard and I don't have the strength to fuck you today, love.”

“Shh, I'll take care of you.”

You knelt on the floor and Mason sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed as you pulled his pants and underwear down, but didn't take them off. He didn't even bother to take off the white shirt he was wearing.

Your mouth watered when you saw his pink cock dripping, with the veins pulsing. It was truly a sight that would keep anyone awake at night.

Mason brought his hand back down to his cock and jerked off hard, and you just pulled away quickly to tie your hair into a messy ponytail before pushing his hand away.

“Let me do this” you whispered and Mason closed his eyes, supporting himself on the bed with his elbows while you contoured his cock with your hands and moved it up and down slowly. “So needy, baby.”

“Please I need to cum, Y/n” he whispered in despair, his breathing quickening.

You brought your mouth close to his cock and licked it from the base to the top. Mason threw his head back, biting his lips to keep from moaning.

His cock throbbed once more and you finally took it into your mouth, and then used one hand to push Mason back against the mattress so he could just relax.

You made quick movements with your mouth and used your hand to masturbate what didn't fit in your mouth, and in a few seconds Mason was already restless and desperate.

“Oh… Oh my God.”

Mason lifted his head to look at you once more, and your gaze met his for a few seconds before he closed his eyes again and let his head fall back onto the mattress. Mason wouldn't last long and you knew it, which was great because someone could arrive at any moment.

You made quick movements with your mouth and sometimes you just left licks all over the length, blew on the wet tip or licked his balls, which was when Mason moaned against his own arm so as not to make noise.

“Good?” you asked and Mason just moaned in response, then when he started pressing his hips up you knew he was going to cum, because his movements became desperate.

“Please, Y/N, I’m going to cum” he put his hand over his mouth to keep from moaning, and then you brought your hand down to the base of his cock again and made quick movements. Mason contracted his abdomen and you felt his cock throb in your mouth before feeling the liquid hit your throat.

You took his cock out of your mouth but didn't stop your movements as Mason came, and he came a little in your mouth and a little on his belly when he pulled his shirt back so it wouldn't get dirty.

Mason was breathing heavily as he was still cumming, and you didn't think he had cum this much in all the times you had sex.

“Feeling better?” You asked and got up, throwing yourself next to him on the bed, his eyes closed and a small smile on his face.

“Thank you for helping me, love” he mumbled and you ran your fingers over his stomach, feeling him squirm, then you took the fingers with his cum to your mouth and then leaned in to kiss him.

“You don't have the strength to fuck me but I hope you have the strength for me to sit on your face because I'm so horny right now I feel like I'm going to explode.”

“We can do that when we get to my flat.”

You helped Mason clean himself with a wet wipe that was in the room, probably because of the kids, and he quickly put his clothes back on and continued lying down. You sat next to him and leaned in to kiss him once more.

“Y/n? Mason?” your eyes widened when you heard Debbie call you and open the bedroom door that you forgot to lock when you entered. “Hey, are you feeling better darling?”

“Yes mom, I'm better. Y/N and I are going down soon” he replied as you avoided looking at Debbie out of embarrassment.

She nodded and closed the door again, and you and Mason looked at each other and started laughing when you realized anyone could have walked in.

“Oh my God, that was close” you said and Mason agreed, laughing with you.

“Imagine if she had come sooner, we would be screwed.”

“Shall we go?”

“Yes honey, we still have a session for you to sit on my face at home.”

[outofconcheol]

friends forever? (lmh x f!reader)

pairing: Minho x reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: fluff, humour, angst if you squint, brief smut, established relationship, 18+

summary: Minho has the difficult task of wooing someone very important to you.

warnings: CATS, a very confused Minho, swearing, mentions breakups, mentions periods, just lots of feels ok, smut warnings: brief oral (f receiving), kissing

word count: 1.9k

a/n: Where are all my cat people at? this idea came to me today and it was so cute i almost passed out (jk I did actually pass out today). i really said enough of Minho wooing reader, i want to see this man woo a cat and i made it happen! Also Lulu is one of my nicknames for my cat (but he's a boy). this is very unedited, I wrote it in like an hour but I hope you enjoy!

It’s past midnight when Minho notices the eyes for the first time. They peer at him from the endless darkness of the hallway and he looks around nervously, wondering if he should say something. In the corner of his eye, he can see you rustling around in the kitchen, cabinets opening and closing as you try to find some snacks for the both of you. If there’s an intruder in your apartment, you don’t seem perturbed, humming quietly to yourself.

He wonders if this is some kind of test from the universe, if some evil spirit’s been sent down so that he, as your newly-minted boyfriend, can prove that he’s brave and worthy of protecting you. But before he can whip out his ghost-busting skills, your sock-clad feet are padding towards him on the couch, a surprised gasp leaving your lips.

“Oh! I see you’ve met Lulu.”

Minho blinks once, twice, before following the sound of your voice, looking down over the edge of the couch. 

Those same eyes from the hallway blink up at him. It’s a cat. Your cat, fluffy fur and all, looking at Minho through narrowed eyes.

Immediately, he softens, silently relieved that he wouldn’t have to slay any demons tonight. Minho loved cats. He had three of his own waiting at home. He slides off the couch, dropping to his knees, extending an arm out.

“Hi there Lulu, I’m Minho. Nice to meet you.”

Lulu cocks her head, taking a few seconds to look Minho over, assessing him from head to toe. And then she… remains completely still, refusing to budge and accept the offer to smell Minho’s hand. Minho feels his heart drop, arm still outstretched with the hope that she’ll change her mind, but to no avail.

“Babe,” Minho zips his head in your direction, and you offer him a comforting squeeze to his arm. “Lulu takes a while to warm up to new people, it’s nothing personal. She never liked any of my exes.”

You giggle, pulling Minho back onto the couch with you so he can rest his head in your lap while you start the movie. Minho tries to focus on the film, but his mind remains elsewhere, darting over to the side where he sees Lulu sitting next to the couch. Eventually, she jumps up onto the cushions to join you, snuggling into your side, but maintaining a safe distance from Minho.

Minho resists the urge to overthink the interaction from earlier. He knew better than anyone that cats were temperamental beings, and that they required extra love and attention. So what if Lulu never warmed up to any of your exes? She’d warm up to him eventually, because he planned on sticking around for a long time. 

If you asked Minho the key to winning a cat’s heart, he’d tell you time. And maybe lots of treats. But mostly time. He thought time would be enough to heal the frosty first impression he’d left on Lulu, but every time he was over at your place, there she was around the corner, mean-mugging and making him feel guilty for crimes he didn’t commit.

He didn’t want to worry you with his silly beef with your cat, knowing that you loved her and she’d helped you through many hard times. 

So Minho, being the amazing boyfriend he was, tried to tackle the problem on his own.

He started with treats of course. The sizeable dent in his wallet from owning three cats only became all the more palpable when he’d buy an extra box from the pet store every week, hoping to woo over Miss Lulu with the five-star meal of some pureed chicken in a tube.

Lulu stared down the tube like it was a foreign object, before slapping her fluffy tail against Minho’s face, turning on her heels, and walking away.

She had the same reaction to the freeze-dried treats he tried the week after.

Then he theorized that maybe Lulu was averse to the smell of his own cats on him. So Minho kept an extra pair of clothes in his car all the time, one he’d change into before coming over. When he knocked at the door, he was met with your dazzling smile, cupping his face to press your lips to his, but as soon as it was over he caught sight of Princess Lulu running down the hallway away from him.

Months passed with Minho doing everything he could wrap his mind around what he could do win over the second most important person in your life (after him, of course). He’d even powered through a tense meeting between Lulu and Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, worried that his sons would scare her away, or even worse, hurt her, and that would be the end of you and Minho. But much to his surprise, Lulu played happily with the boys, even letting Dori tackle her and lick her fur.

And so began Minho’s mutual grudge against your cat. He did his best to hide it, but the lack of acceptance from Lulu was getting to him, like an arrow through his heart. He wondered if he could survive years by your side with a cat that hated him, but one look at your sparkly eyes and pretty smile told him that yes, this was worth it. You were worth it.

So Lulu ignored Minho. And Minho ignored Lulu. And both of them continued on in their own little worlds, centered around you. 

Minho slams his lips against yours, pushing you up against the door of your bedroom, smirking when he feels your lips part in a soft moan. The two of you make out lazily against the door for a few moments, until you’re both breathless and panting, Minho stepping back to admire the handiwork he’d left on your neck, the angry marks disappearing underneath the neckline of your shirt. 

Minho runs his thumb over your lip, watching your eyes go dark with desire, and in no time at all, you’re pinned underneath him on the bed, legs dangling with Minho in between them. He wastes no time diving in, eating you out with fervor until you’re writhing against his face, a wave of pleasure building inside you.

Only for it all to come crashing down seconds later, when he suddenly stops. You let out a pathetic whine, running your fingers through Minho’s hair while he remains crouched in between your thighs.

“Min, baby what’s wrong?” you lift his chin up so he’s looking at you, and the look in his eyes is so starkly different from a few minutes ago, his face pale.

“She’s watching us,” he whispers, like he’s seen a ghost.

You follow his line of sight to the top of the dresser, where Lulu is now perched, tail tucked underneath her butt, eyes narrowing at you and Minho.

“Just ignore her, babe,” you nudge his head between your legs again. Minho gives a few tentative licks to your folds, but lets out a heavy sigh, sitting back on his knees.

“I can’t.” And he looks so unbelievably guilty it makes your heart melt. You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, before throwing on his discarded shirt, softly padding over to where Lulu rests.

“Hey pretty girl,” you coo at her, cradling her in your arms. “How about we go drink some water, huh?”

Minho sits on the edge of the bed, legs crossed and head in his hands. He doesn’t hear you come back inside, jumping slightly when you throw your arms around him, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“She doesn’t hate you,” your voice is muffled, nuzzling your nose against his jaw.

“She does,” Minho whines, trying not to let his voice break. “She literally won’t accept any treats from me. Every time you have period cramps, she glares at me like she’s saying “It’s your fault, asshole.” She even plays with Changbin more than me. And he’s allergic! She hates me and you’re going to break up with me because I can’t get along with your cat.”

“Why would I break up with you, silly?” you giggle. “I love you.”

Minho grabs you by the shoulders, cupping your cheeks in his hands, shock on his face.

“Y-you do?”

You nod your head, reaching up to grab his hand with your own.

“I love you, Lee Minho. And Lulu too. My heart is big enough for both of you.”

Minho feels better after that night, his anxieties melting away, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can survive this impasse with Lulu.

Until you ask him to do the unthinkable.

“Please Minho? It’s just for one night.” you beg him. Something urgent had come up for work, and you needed to take an overnight trip to handle it. Which meant Minho had to stay home with Lulu.

Minho wants to protest, saying the little brat will be fine, but then you pout. And it’s game over. He’s agreeing before he can think it through.

So you leave, the door clicking behind you, and Minho sits on the couch, Lulu across the room from him, the two of them staring each other down much like the first time they’d met. He takes meticulous care to fill up her food bowl and clean out her litter box, his heart doing a flutter when she doesn’t refuse either.

But she remains at her safe distance, and Minho is alone on the couch, missing the warmth of your presence next to him. He clicks through a few tv channels, before turning the TV off, throwing his hoodie on and slipping out onto your balcony, making sure to leave the door slightly ajar in case something happened to Lulu.

He sits with his knees curled to his chest, watching the city lights twinkle, until he hears a soft whine. He turns to see Lulu across from him on the balcony, maintaining her healthy distance, but staring at him with curious eyes.

“You’re a tough nut to crack Lulu, you know that?” Minho blurts out. “I just wish you’d like me, kiddo. I try so hard for you. And for your mom.”

He leans back against the railing, letting out a heavy sigh, and the words keep pouring out.

“I love her a lot. Like a lot a lot. I think I’m probably gonna marry her someday. And then we’ll be stuck together whether you like it or not.”

Minho closes his eyes, wondering what the future would hold for the two of them, when he feels it. The soft brush of fur against his leg, and then tiny vibrations.

He blinks his eyes open, and Lulu is nestled against his leg, soft purrs coming from her as she burrows her nose into Minho’s sweaptants.

Tears prick at the corner of Minho’s lids as he fights every bone in his body not to jump for joy. He reaches over, softly stroking Lulu between her ears, and chuckles when her tiny mouth drops open.

“Of course. The only thing you love more than attention is ____. I should have known.”

He stays impossibly still, battling against the ache in his leg, his eyes growing heavy with sleep. 

That’s how you find him in the morning, still cuddled up to Lulu. You smile softly, grabbing a blanket from the couch to throw over Minho while you work on breakfast for him and Lulu, finally content that the two most important people in your world love each other as much as they love you.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[yournightmary]

i need bsf!ellie whos secretly inlove with reader.. maybe even childhood bestfriend!ellie RAAAA i will preach the friends to lovers agenda till i die!

Bsf!Ellie HCs

content warning:: fem!reader, jealous!Ellie maybe?, modern!AU, mentions of drinking and smoking

AN:: Friends to lovers is so underrated.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s the type of friend to jokingly call you her wife/girlfriend. Probably has your contact saved as ‘my wife💍’ or something similar.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s always very cuddly and clingy. Cuddles you to sleep during sleepovers… that’s just what good friends do, right?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She was such a loser when she was younger oh my gooddd. Her first kiss was you when you both decided to ‘practice’ kissing as friends. Totally did not feel butterflies in her stomach and her heart didn’t ache, what are you taking about?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I can see her not really knowing that she was in love with you, you know what I mean? Like, she’d think that you’re just her platonic soulmate- that’s why she feels the best when she’s around you… and why she gets jealous whenever you start getting along with other people.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Made the mistake of being jokingly flirty at first and then you mistook each and every one of her attempts as just her being her usual silly self.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Buys you valentines gifts and says that that’s just what best friends do.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Definitely the type of person to force herself to date someone just so she could take her mind off of you. She couldn’t.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Maybe like a cat and mouse sort of situation. Like you’d get into a relationship with someone so she’d start looking too, but then once she gets into a relationship you’d break up yours. Am I making sense?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Probably did some stupid shit just to impress you when you were younger. Always ended up with bruises and tons of scratches, maybe even detention or getting grounded.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Jokes about you guys getting married if you don’t find anyone before turning 30. Then gets happy like an idiot when you agree.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Slept over at your place so much when you were younger that your parents started giving her chores and inviting her to family vacations. When you got older it turned into her having her own drawer of clothes and helping you out with every single task you do. Going grocery shopping? She’ll tag along. You have to fill out some important paperwork somewhere? Yeah, she can come with you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I have a teeny tiny feeling that’s she’d try to sabotage your dates. You’d be at a restaurant with this new person you met and she’d call all panicked and upset about something, saying how you need to come see her right now. And you’re her best friend, so of course you’re muttering apologies to your date and leaving immediately.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Most of the people that aren’t your friends think you’re dating. Then when you tell them you’re just friends they’re like ‘righhhhttt…’ (no one believes it)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ In high school she told people you already have a prom date (you didn’t) just so they wouldn’t ask you. Then she’d swoop in and say that you should go as friends, since you both didn’t have a date.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’d compare herself to all the people you’ve dated all the time. And if you’ve never been in a relationship she’d do the same with your crushes, celebrity or not.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves to have multiple days sleepovers because it kind of feels like you’re a happy couple living together.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ FOR SURE would read articles like ‘How to tell if your best friend is in love with you’ when she was younger. Sprinkle in some ‘How to tell if someone’s gay’ if you’re feeling like it.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Asked you to fake date in early high school because ‘some guy kept bothering her’ (he did not wtf)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ You were with her every time she did something for the first time. When she got her first period, when she first drove a car, when she first smoked and drunk alcohol, when she had her first kiss… maybe even more. That’s what best friends are for, am I right?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’d say she likes someone and when you asked about it she’d do the whole ‘You know this person really well’ thing OH MY GODDD.

I love women

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

A few days pass as the humiliation of your big lesson clings in the air. You think about it too much. Enough that you find yourself cringing to yourself on your bike ride home or even when lying in bed. You’ve never been the most socially adept so the encounter leaves you reeling.

As you help Bre with opening, you feel your heartbeat pick up once more. You need to chase the elephant from the room. You puff out and wet your lips as you glance over at her. She measures out grinds into the silver machine as her eyes pinpoint on the task.

“Um, so, Bre,” you approach her warily with a fresh sleeve of cups, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Mm,” she grumbles groggily. She’s on her second coffee already and she only just got there twenty minutes ago.

“So, um, that guy, from the other day,” you rub your boiling neck, “with the mustache. You said he’s the boss. So he owns this place?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes as she shuts the lid of the machine and turns the silver dial on the front. She shakes her head as the machine starts to brew and she plants her hand on the counter in front of it. She faces you, her other hand going to her hip.

“Mr. Hansen? Lloyd. Hansen.” She enunciates as if you should know the name.

Your lips downturn and you shrug, “is that his name?”

“Are you new in town?” She asks hotly.

You nod, “yeah, actually. I used to live about forty minutes out of town but there was nothing there--”

“It shows,” she retorts, “he owns this shop, he owns the street outside, he owns me, he owns you. He owns this city. Got it?”

You hum and nod as you look thoughtfully to the ceiling, “not really. But he’s important, got it.”

“Just if he comes back in, come get me and say as little as you can. And please, for the love of god, do not ask him for money,” she snips.

“Oh, alright,” you deflate, “I didn’t know--”

“Now you do. Just trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to fuck around with him. If he tells you to pour boiling water on yourself, you’re better off just doing it,” she sneers.

You wince, “okay, sorry, Bre, I was just asking.”

“You ask too many questions,” she turns and goes into the backroom. She returns, dangling a keyring from her finger, “open up. It’s time.”

You take the key and go to unlock the door and flip on the sign. You retreat back behind the counter, swallowed up by the tension between you. You regret asking. You thought it might help clear the air but now you can barely breathe.

When the first customer enters, you volunteer to help them. Bre just mutters and slurps from her coffee. She might have less of a headache if she takes it easy on the caffeine. You don’t say as much to her, nothing really at all as you work through order after order.

She hops onto prep as you man the till while the queue grows. The morning rush is in full effect as you slide baked goods into little paper sleeves and hand them over before sending customers down to the window to wait for their drinks. The hectic flow helps you forget about the awkward start.

When at last the crowd trickles down and the cafe hums with voices sitting at the tables, you have a moment to catch your breath and center yourself. You like this job, it’s just like your last one, but the company isn’t as pleasant. Bre taps her thumb on her phone screen and ignores you.

The ebbs come with hide tides and soon lunch has you scrambling once more. The smell of toasted bread and cinnamon has your stomach grumbling. You’re too busy to let the emptiness bother you for long. When high noon influx subsides, Bre yawns.

“Lunch,” she announces, “I’m going to head down to Tabitha’s. They’re having a clearance sale.”

“Oh, alright,” you agree, not mentioning that she said earlier you could go first, “I’ll be here.”

She doesn’t respond as she disappears into the back to get her things. You hear her leave through the side door that leads through to the alley. You sigh out and watch the sit-in customers on their laptops or chatting with friends.

You resist the temptation of the tarts staring at you from the display. You can hold out until it’s your turn. The door jingles and a new customer enters. You’re too fixated on the painting of a latte to glance over. Not until you sense the sudden shift in the air. Several people quiet and pack up to go.

Footfalls scuff across the floor and customers leave their unfinished drinks on the table as they hurry for the door. You peer around then at the approaching shadow. It’s him. Oh no. Bre isn’t here.

“Um, hello, Mr. Hensen,” you smile shakily, “how are you?”

He stares at you as he comes to stand across the till from you. His blue eyes darken as he lets a long exhale out through his nose. You gulp and your cheeks tremble. He tilts his head and arches a brow.

“Hansen,” he corrects.

“Right, Floyd Hansen, I remember--”

“Lloyd,” he hits his fist on the counter and you gasp. “Lloyd fucking Hansen.” He leans forward and bares his teeth, “get that through that thick fucking skull.” He reaches for you, grabbing the front of your shirt, “you won’t forget who I am.”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m bad with names--”

“Shut up,” he twists the fabric until it strains against the back of your neck, “if you weren’t so goddamn pathetic, I’d drag you across this counter.”

Your eyes round and you bat your lashes. He’s only an inch away from you. You shiver as he opens his hand and presses the vee of his index and thumb to your throat. You’re frozen, terrified. Who is this man?

“Get me my fucking coffee,” he squeezes then shoves you so you choke.

You stumble back and bring your hand to your neck. You nod, eyes glittering with unspent tears, and look around. You can’t remember what he ordered. You’ll just have to make something up. Or maybe you could just sneak out like Bre...

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

so i have a VERY BAD FEVER AND I WANT CRYO LADIES USING THEIR VISION TO COOL OF sick! S/O

(you can also add any other charafter of your liking ❤️❤️)

(Genshin Impact) Eula, Rosaria, Ayaka, Ganyu, and Shenhe using their vision on a sick S/O

This is completely unrelated to the ask, but while writing this I've been listening to the Winter Soldier theme from Captain America. And for such a lovely ask it is very strange writing to one of the hardest themes I've ever heard in my life.

Eula huffs and puffs when her S/O gets sick, but absolutely does not hesitate to begin applying Cryo therapy.

As long as it wasn't contagious anyway.

With one hand gently resting against their forehead as she sits next to them in bed, Eula can't help but brush her fingers across their hair while doing so.

Her expression is gentle, until the moment S/O speaks up.

(Eula) "Am I enjoying this? Of course not, my plans must be halted because you had the audacity to fall ill. Something I will not forget easily, of course. I could always freeze you right here and now."

Yet, her hand is resting on S/O's face still, fingers rubbing down to their cheek as if they were made of glass.

Rosaria honestly didn't think of using her Cryo vision to bring down S/O's fever.

She really only used it for work, and S/O sure as hell wasn't on her list for tonight of people to use it on.

But, at their insistence, she lets her hand cool them down, being very careful to use it sparingly.

(Rosaria) "If it gets too cold, let me know, I guess. Don't say I didn't warn you, though."

Rosaria tries to be as gentle as she can, and has to remove her gloves to avoid poking S/O in the eyes.

Her own hand feeling S/O so tenderly gets her a little flustered, the only way S/O can tell was by her actively avoiding meeting their eyes.

Ayaka felt like a stroke of genius hit her when she brought S/O's high temperature down.

With a smile, Ayaka eagerly sits down with S/O in order to help.

(Ayaka) "Please, rest easy S/O. Would you like anything to eat while I'm here?"

She could just hire some help or get Thoma to help S/O, but part of her quite enjoyed being the one to care for S/O.

It was unfortunate they were sick, but she sure wasn't going to complain about spending time with S/O, especially when she could actively help them.

The entire time she's with them, Ayaka's smile never really goes away.

Ganyu has done the same to herself whenever she felt under the weather, though without too much effect since she was used to the cold.

But she breathed a massive sigh on relief when it had a visible effect on S/O's fever.

(Ganyu) "Ah, good! It's working! The medicine should be working soon, but in the meantime!-"

She brings a little bit of her paperwork to get through as she sits next to S/O, multi-tasking to help them recover.

Even if her S/O insists that they don't have to worry, she'll still take care of them anyway.

Work was important, but the love of her life was even moreso.

Shenhe, on top of retrieving some medicinal herbs and creating a brew concocted by her master, helps S/O's fever with her Vision.

...By grabbing onto their forehead with her entire hand, looking like she was about to crush their head instead of heal.

(Shenhe) "Are you comfortable S/O? Please relax and I'll bring down your temperature."

Careful with both her strength and Vision, she used them in moderation in order to help, much to S/O's terror when half their vision was blotted out by her palm.

The entire time Shenhe is focused on making sure S/O recovers well, trying her best to make sure they were comfortable.

Was it entirely comfortable? Truthfully, no. It was a little awkward.

But damned if S/O wasn't grateful that Shenhe was trying.

[cinnahoons]

౨ৎ. 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐄! - 𝖭𝖨𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖬𝖴𝖱𝖠 𝖱𝖨𝖪𝖨

CHAPTER 03. #missmovingon - written - 1.7k (masterlist)

YOU ARRIVE AT THE HYBE BUILDING A LITTLE BEFORE NOON. It’s hot; sweltering, even. Summer in Korea has never been something you’ve found all that appealing. It gets really humid here. Case in point: there’s already sweat collecting at the nape of your neck.

A sigh of relief escapes your mouth as you swing open the door, cool air conditioning sweeping over your skin in an instant. Thankfully, you haven’t sweat off any of your makeup. It’s a small victory, but all you can wish for in this cruel, cruel world. 

A nervous buzz permeates your senses. You fiddle with the sleeve of your pink tweed coat as you make your way up to the information desk.

“Hi,” you blurt, before you can find the sense to stop yourself. A woman with a shiny black bob whips her head toward you, thick black-framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She smiles warmly.

“Hello,” she greets, dipping her head. “How can I help you?”

“Um,” You blink nervously, a hot flush traveling down your back. “I’m the new stylist and makeup artist…for ENHYPEN.”

A look of recognition passes over the woman’s deep brown eyes, and she claps her hands together in excitement. 

“Oh, you’re Y/N?” She sounds delighted, enough that it starts to ease the knot in your stomach. You nod a little more enthusiastically at her, which only brightens her smile. “Lovely! Follow me.”

She rises from her chair, gesturing with her hand for you to tag along. Her black heels click against the flooring, and you have to skip a little to keep up with her pace as you begin to navigate down a long hallway. Her bob swishes as she turns to make sure you’re following.

“You’re going to love this, really,” she gushes, pushing her glasses up her nose. “They’re the sweetest group of boys.”

You hum in acknowledgment, offering her a little smile of your own.

“I’m sure they are. I’m excited to work with them.”

You’re fighting a very pesky and self-sabotaging urge to tell her that you already know them. You’d met them all before—two years ago, to be exact, when a bright-eyed and slightly younger version of Riki had brought you home to his dorm one day to meet them. He managed to keep you a secret from their management, but to hide you from the other members would’ve been an impossible task.

You swallow nervously.

At the end of the hallway is what appears to be a conference room. The door is large and…important-looking. There’s a little silver placard on it, and the woman flashes you an excited smile before rapping her knuckles against the wood.

There’s a pregnant pause—one in which you start contemplating whether any of this is worth it. There’s a lot on the line here, namely your dignity. You hadn’t thought that you would ever have to be face to face with Riki ever again, that that chapter of your life was over and the page had turned for good. But as fate would have it, all that separates you now is two inches of wood and a festering urge to run for the hills. You’re trying hard to remember Wonyoung’s words of encouragement when the handle turns with a click, and the door opens to reveal a tall man with shoulder-length black hair.

The woman waves at him before turning around to gesture at you.

“This is Y/N.” To you, she says: “Good luck with everything!”

You thank her, and then she’s off. Turning back to the man in the doorway, you give him a polite bow.

“Hello! I’m Y/N.” 

He smiles. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you. My name is Yuki; I’m the boys’ manager. Come in, come in.” He opens the door wider, but the large meeting table is still obstructed enough that you can only see the corner. You slip inside, which is the very moment your world begins to crumble.

All seven of the members are sitting around the table, conversing idly with one another. Their heads pop up one by one.

The progression is comical. Jungwon’s jaw drops first, followed by a bug-eyed Sunoo. Heeseung and Sunghoon look like they’re two seconds away from bursting into laughter while Jay and Jake watch nervously, their eyes flickering to the left. It’s probably Riki.

Oh, god. It’s definitely too late to turn back now. You find yourself contemplating whether or not you’re a good enough actor to fake passing out of heat exhaustion. Probably not.

Your eyes slide to the left. And; it’s Riki. Of course it’s Riki.

He’s different. Where there was once a soft roundness to his cheeks, he’s now grown into his face. His lips are plush, his eyebrows neat and thick above the dark angles of his eyes. His hair is dyed black. He also looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You’re standing stick-straight in front of the table, unmoving. Yuki seems to catch onto the weird energy that’s enveloped the room, looking from you to the members. 

“What is it?” He asks.

Heeseung actually barks out a laugh.

“Isn’t that—“

“Our old friend,” Jungwon interrupts. He’s managed to wipe the shock off his face, instead shooting Heeseung an unreadable look before turning back to you to smile with just a little too much teeth. “She’s our old friend.”

“Oh, are you? You didn’t mention that.” Yuki turns to you. You stare at Jungwon for a second before plastering on an awkward smile.

“Yes. Yeah. Um, I didn’t want to influence the company’s decision.”

He nods, smiling.

“I understand. Well, that’s actually great to hear. I hope you’ll feel a part of the team quicker this way.”

You haven’t spared Riki another glance since the first one. Frankly, you’d rather take a nice, long stroll over hot coals. The awkward energy in the room washes over you in waves, and your face feels oddly robotic as you attempt to maneuver it into another positive human expression. 

“Oh, definitely. I’m, uh, excited to get started.”

Yuki smiles widely, turning to the members.

“Okay, boys, this is how it’s going to go. I’ll leave you to get situated with Y/N, and in about…” he pauses, checking his watch. “...twenty minutes, I’ll come back to grab Sunoo and Sunghoon so that Y/N can get started on styling them for their variety guesting today. We’ll have our first group shoot with her tomorrow for EN-O’ Clock. Does that sound good to everybody?”

There’s a chorus of distracted hums from the members. Yuki barely pays them any mind, flashing you a quick thumbs up. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” he whispers, before he’s slipping out of the room.

Then, it’s just you and the door. You and the big, brown, important door.

And also the seven pairs of beady eyes drilling holes into the back of your head.

Someone coughs from behind you. Begrudgingly, you turn around. 

“So,” Jungwon says.

“So,” you parrot back. You feel awkward, standing there in your pink jacket and your matching pink heels. Obviously, you look good, but still. You suddenly wish your friends were there to say something helpful, like diffuse the tension! or fuck Riki! Either would work.

“Someone say something already.” Jay breaks the silence, shifting in his seat awkwardly. You sigh.

“Look, this is weird. But it doesn’t have to be weird. Because, like, this is my job now,” you drone on, the panic in your voice increasing with every word you get out. “And I obviously wasn’t going to turn it down just because of… er, I wasn’t going to turn it down.”

You almost flinch at your mistake, hoping nobody else caught it.

“Anyway, I’m not looking to be friends with you guys or anything. I’m your stylist now. So we can be, like, all weird and stuff outside of work, but in this building I’m going to do my job, and you’re all going to have to let me.” You inhale deeply, trying to calm your nerves.

“Can I just say—” Sunghoon tries to speak, but your gaze snaps over to him and he shuts his mouth promptly.

“Uh-uh. I’m not done,” you say, standing up a little straighter. “Just so you know; I’ve worked my ass off to be here, and I’m not letting stuff from my past ruin that. This is my career, and I’m not who I was two years ago. Okay?”

“Understood,” Jungwon murmurs. Almost all of the boys nod in agreement. Almost all.

Riki clears his throat, standing up from his chair. He’s much bigger and taller than you remember, his frame having practically doubled. He doesn’t spare you a single glance, his dark eyes trained on the door.

“I have to go,” he mumbles lowly. There really is a lot that’s changed about him; you can barely recognize the timbre of his voice. You try to say something back; nothing comes out.

As Riki announces his departure, a heavy silence settles in the room. He pushes past you, avoiding eye contact, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. You feel a pang of something—confusion? Anger? Regret?—as he disappears from sight. The rest of the members exchange uncomfortable glances, unsure of what to say or do next.

You swallow roughly before deciding not to get too caught up on it. After all, you weren’t lying. This is something far more important than a failed relationship; it’s your career. Riki can be as immature about it as he wants to be.

Taking a deep breath, you force a smile and turn back to the group. 

“He didn’t start insulting me the second I walked in, so I’d call that a win,” you say. Jungwon snorts, and Sunoo flashes an apologetic smile as you smooth your hands over your jacket and move closer to the table. “Also, I know I gave that whole speech, but…I really do hope you guys don’t think this is weird.”

“It’s a little weird,” Sunghoon chirps. Jake elbows him in the side.

“It isn’t weird,” Jake corrects, casting a sideways glance at Sunghoon, who’s now rubbing at himself dramatically. “Promise we’ll make this as not weird as possible.”

The rest of the members—save for Sunghoon, of course—hum in agreement. The uncomfortable feeling in your throat eases just a little bit.

“Thanks, guys.”

You can only wonder what tomorrow will bring.

💭 A/N! so sorry abt the wait on this one!! they have finally met each other again omg...riki is emotionally constipated wbk but now the real #story begins!! pat urself on the back for making it this far friends

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© cinnahoons. do not plagiarize or reupload my work!

[city-of-ladies]

"Mycenaean women put their own spindles to splendid use, producing luscious cloaks and long, richly patterned or striped skirts. Far from resigning themselves to the weaving rooms, they travelled in chariots, performed songs or poetry to the accompaniment of lyres, and carried wheatsheaves for public ceremonies and rituals, as vibrantly coloured frescoes from the palace at Mycenae reveal. In one of the most enigmatic paintings, one woman holds a sword, another a spear, while two tiny men, one painted red and the other black, float mysteriously between them, like toy models or thought bubbles. Through their contact with the divine, perhaps, the women pictured gain agency over the men’s fate. Hera, Zeus, Poseidon and a female birth and death goddess known as Potnia were among the deities the Mycenaeans are known to have worshipped. While Mycenaean women clearly played an important role in religion, their political position within the palaces was weaker than that of their Minoan counterparts, and secondary to the men’s. Each Mycenaean palace complex was presided over by a male ‘wa-na-ka’ or wanax.

Surviving clay writing tablets provide just as fascinating an insight into the lives of women in the real palaces of the Mycenaean era. The fullest collection of tablets comes from a pair of rooms in the palace complex of Pylos, but Knossos, the former Minoan capital, was also a key repository. A total of 4,476 tablets have been preserved across the two sites. Among these there are references to more than 2,000 different women. Unlike Linear A, the Minoans’ writing system, the Mycenaeans’ similarly syllabic Linear B has been successfully deciphered. Working (as opposed to non-working elite) women were denoted by signs resembling an abstract impression of the female form. ‘Woman’ was conveyed by two dots for breasts, legs joined to suggest a long skirt of the kind Mycenaean women wore, and a curved line where her head would be, suggestive of long or dressed hair (in the sign for a man, by contrast, there is a straight line for the head).

The women referred to in the tablets were employed in a wide range of jobs, many of them familiar from the Homeric epics. In the Odyssey, women grind wheat and barley, ‘the marrow of men’, at mills. There were ‘flour-grinders’ at the palace in Pylos. In both epics, women weave, whether royal or servile. Andromache works in the Trojan palace with a loom and distaff while ordering her servant women about their work. Helen embroiders a purple cloth with scenes from the Trojan War as if she were telling the story of the poem herself. And as we have seen, Penelope weaves and unweaves a funeral shroud for her father-in-law, Laertes. The women who wove at Pylos and Knossos were no less versatile in their handiwork. They managed something like a textile industry, producing goods for export as well as the palace community, and worked in groups according to specialism. There were wool-spinners and carders, linen- and leather-workers, finishers and headband-makers for horses. These women usually worked separately from men, but at Pylos there is evidence that at least two women, Wordieia and Amphehia, formed part of a mixed leather-making group. 

Working groups were the modus operandi at the Mycenaean palaces. Women were usually accompanied by boys and girls, presumably their own children, as they went about their tasks. Many were divided also according to their geographical region. Pylos was split into sixteen districts over two provinces, Nearer and Further, separated by Mount Aigaleo. The palace-workers came from more than 200 named places, some of which may have been local streets, while others, including Lemnos, Miletus and Knidos, lay further afield. It is possible that, like the Sidonian (Phoenician) women carried to Troy by Paris in the Iliad to weave fine robes for the court, some of the women working in the Mycenaean palaces had been enslaved.

Although the women were engaged in hard, practical labour, their work was recognised as highly skilled, and the Mycenaeans took some pride in it. Men were sometimes described on tablets as being the offspring of women of particular crafts, for example, ‘sons of flax-workers’. Female workers were allocated the same amount of food in the regular distributions as their male counterparts, and twice as much as their children, whereas in Babylonia, men typically received three times the female ration.

A mysterious senior class of priestess at Pylos known as ‘keybearers’ (did they open and close shrines within the palace complex?) even owned land. A landowning keybearer named ka-pa-ti-ja (‘Karpathia’) was wealthy enough to donate almost 200 litres of grain to the palace, probably for a religious festival. Given the historical prominence of women at the court of Pylos, it is fitting that a mythical Pylian king should intervene in the dispute over Briseis in the Iliad. Old Nestor urges Agamemnon to return the woman to Achilles and to end their feud."

The Missing Thread: A Women's History of the Ancient World, Daisy Dunn

[scuttlingcrab]

Regrets of the Living

Summary: Emmrich can barely keep himself together while Rook is trapped in the Fade. His routine is in shambles, his heart broken into a million pieces, as he tries to hold on to something, anything, to keep himself from drowning in despair.

Hello everyone! This is my first Emmrich and Dragon Age fic! Ahhhh!!! I really hope you guys like it, more to come... this damned necromancer has bewitched me, body and soul.

You can find it on AO3 too.

BTW! I'm open to receiving any/all prompts on Emmrich aka Bone Daddy, so please send away! xx

Emmrich Volkarin was a man of practice. It was something he prided himself in, an attribute he knew aided most of his accomplishments throughout his time in the Mourn Watch. In truth, he had his parents to thank for that. What memories he had left of them, he clung to like an anchor. 

Their professions were not as glamorous as his current station, no, but all the same, they had approached their routines with meticulous passion. As a butcher, Emmrich’s father trimmed each slab of meat as if he was a sculptor crafting a piece for the Maker himself. And his dear mother, once a cook, prepared ordinary dishes with the care and attention befit for Nevarran royalty. He was transfixed by how they moved in perfect harmony, performing the same silent choreography day by day. 

And so, just like his parents before him, Emmrich was always the first to wake. No matter the occasion, he kept this tradition, making sure to give himself enough time to complete his own tasks before dawn broke. 

He began his mornings with exercise, of course, after getting a sufficient amount of sleep required for a man of his years. His preferred method was stretching, deep movements for flexibility, to keep him limber, his posture pristine and core in check. This was a must, he thought, there was nothing more important than being attuned to one’s body, as that itself factored into the very art of spellcasting. It baffled him how some of his esteemed colleagues failed to undertake even the most basic forms of physical activity.  

Once satisfied, he would promptly bathe, shave, and pick his wardrobe, all of which was concluded before the sun even began to peak its rays over the horizon in the lands above the Necropolis. 

Emmrich found comfort in this routine, in his solitude most of all. The stillness helped him concentrate, kept him grounded in reality as he mentally set the stage for what each day had in store. 

In the past these thoughts occupied lectures, composing bespoke lessons for his budding pupils, or perhaps even lingering on one of the recent cases of corpse whispering he had been assigned. 

Since arriving at the Lighthouse however, those thoughts had been replaced with worries about eventually fighting the Evanuris, and often simply trying to wrap his head around the ever changing fabrics of this part of the Fade he temporarily called home. 

But now… now in the days since Tearstone Island, all he could do was languish over Rook. His darling Rook. The woman who entered his life like a tempest, filling the void in his soul he never knew existed. Or perhaps he always did, but was too afraid, too much of a coward, to admit it had been there in the first place. 

Rook who was… who was gone, vanished from his life as quickly as she had appeared. 

Emmrich’s heart trembled as he went over the words he so desperately wished he could tell her. What he should have professed weeks ago. These residual emotions weighed the heaviest on his conscience, the pressure nearly crippling him. The quietude he once held so dear was deafening, replaced by the never-ending nightmares of his current reality. Of the aching loss. Plagued by his memories, his insecurities, and how he impetuously wasted his last hours with Rook on a petty squabble.

You fool. You stupid, miserable fool.  

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress. 

Emmrich kept this routine as best as he could, craving the familiarity, while time moved on around him. Each day he searched for Rook, for a tear in the Fade, for a sign of his beloved. The mere thought of her ripped through the cracks of his armour like a griffon. What he had spent years building and perfecting was so easily destroyed, his heart along with it. 

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress.

Repeat. 

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress.

Repeat.

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress.

Re…

Emmrich couldn’t remember what day it was. He had not slept, that much was for certain. His eyes were heavy, longing for a moment's respite, his movements slow and sloppy. A dull pain radiated from his tailbone, travelling up his spine and he flinched. If only he sat down, rested his head on…

“No.” He said aloud, his own voice startling him. 

He paced his room like a caged animal, focusing his attention back to the Fade. To the wretched prison that still held Rook. Emmrich had missed something. That had to be it. If only Bellara was here, he could’ve… 

Emmrich destroyed that train of thought before it became another weapon against him. He only had so much room for grief and he needed it for Rook, he owed her that much. He would mourn Bellara’s absence at another time. Properly. 

Footsteps suddenly came from the hallway, approaching his quarters. Emmrich froze, and for a fleeting moment, hope coursed through his veins as he imagined Rook barging through the threshold, toppling him with one of her many heated embraces. 

“You missed breakfast. Again. ” A voice growled, as the door creaked open.

Emmrich's world turned back to ash when it was Lucanis who peeked his head inside. 

“Oh… yes, it seems I have. Don’t trouble yourself on my behalf, please.”

Lucanis entered the room regardless of Emmrich’s protests, trudging straight towards his desk. He held a silver tray, full of porridge, assorted fruits, and some tea. He replaced the tray that already occupied the surface, which still had yesterday’s untouched meal. Lucanis let out a pained sigh. 

“If you keep this up Manfred will no longer be the only skeleton in this Lighthouse.” 

“Spare your concern for someone who needs it, Lucanis. I will eat. Later.”

Lucanis twitched slightly, his eyes flickering purple as he allowed Spite to have the next words. Emmrich bit the side of his tongue, bracing himself for what complaint they might throw at him next. 

Spite vigorously sniffed the air, scowling at Emmrich. 

“He smells worse. Sorrow. I’m sick of it.”

Emmrich tensed, his temper bubbling to the surface like some form of blight. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself, to cease the corruption from growing within him any further. Of course Lucanis, the others, were only doing what they thought best. They were a team who had just lost their leader, their friend… but the longer he spent dawdling about in idle conversations, listening to their qualms on his appearance, was time lost. Time wasted. He needed to focus on the Fade. On Rook. 

Lucanis twitched again as Spite promptly retreated. 

“Spite. What did I tell you?” There was a pause as both Lucanis and Emmrich waited for another jab, but there was only silence in return. “Sorry. Spite is getting testier. We all are.”

Emmrich bowed his head in agreement, watching as Lucanis slithered back towards the doorway. 

“Neve and I are leaving soon, she’s heard new reports of Solas’ movements in Minrathous. We could use–”

“Thank you, but no. I’m afraid I still have some work to do. Taash or Davrin would be better suited to accompany you for the outing.”

Lucanis’ eyebrows furrowed at Emmrich’s words, his lips tightening as he reluctantly nodded. The door slammed upon his exit, once again leaving Emmrich alone. 

When Emmrich was certain he would not be disturbed again, he dragged himself towards the desk and sagged into his red leather chair, finally succumbing to what felt like the force of the entire world on his shoulders. His eyes caught sight of the food in front of him. He lifted a spoon questionably, picking at the porridge, digging through it as if he might find some hidden answer to this madness at the bottom of the bowl. With an exasperated breath, he shoved the tray aside, burrowing his head in his hands. 

“Ugh…” A shrill sound came from behind him, “What has become of you, Volkarin?”

“Johanna, must you start?”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Johanna began, “watching my life’s work tragically ripped from my fingertips, when I was on the cusp of greatness…” 

Emmrich’s ears were ringing, his head throbbing. The world began to spin around him, faster and faster, but he placed his hands on the desk, attempting to shake away the ailments. He reached for one of his notebooks, flipping through it as he pulled his thoughts together, refocusing on the Fade, on the task at…

“Or seeing you withering away, decaying… turning into a husk of your former self.”

Emmrich froze as he picked up a dip pen, fingers trembling as they hovered over an empty page. He could feel Johanna’s blistering stare on the back of his neck. 

“What do you hope to gain from these incessant protestations? Are you so desperate for attention that you would stoop so low, Johanna?” 

“Pah! I am only stating the obvious, as I’ve always done.” 

Emmrich squeezed the pen tighter, his fingers turning white. 

“Your feelings for that wretched woman will be your demise, Volkarin. I’m surprised it’s taken this long. Only an utter prat would allow themselves to—“

“Enough!” 

Emmrich’s voice reverberated through his chambers, slashing Johanna’s words like a knife. He had only raised his tone in front of her once in all the years they’ve known each other. He had regretted it then, but today he had no remorse. He paused, realising he was on his feet, breath ragged as if he just sprinted through the entirety of the Lighthouse and back. His vision blurred slightly and he blinked, focusing his gaze towards the fireplace to keep himself centred. 

A soft hiss came from the staircase and Emmrich turned towards it, eyes locking with Manfred. His ward stood there, watching him, mouth slightly ajar. He had not heard Manfred descend from the loft above as he carried a hefty stack of books, volumes Emmrich had requested a short time ago for more of his research. Manfred tilted his head cautiously the longer they stared at each other. 

“Hurt.” Manfred eventually blurted. 

“Manfred, I…” 

Emmrich’s right hand felt warm, sticky. How peculiar. He glanced down only to discover his fist clenched, blood dripping on the desk, all over his notes, his books... The pen was broken in two, one end still remained lodged in his palm. The food Lucanis had so thoughtfully prepared lay strewn on the floor beside him. 

“Ah,” Emmrich whispered, his cheeks burning in shame, “what a mess I’ve made…” He opened his hand, it stung at the small movement, but he held it up towards the firelight, examining it. A minor wound, albeit reckless, no underlying tissues exposed… but it was deep, and he would need to stop the bleeding. 

Emmrich removed a handkerchief from a pocket with his uninjured hand. He carefully extracted the pen, before pressing the handkerchief to the wound. He healed himself with what available mana he had, finding that action exhausting in and of itself.

Manfred blurted out a few more noises and concerned hisses, and Emmrich ceased his movements; taking a moment to listen to him, nodding along to each point. Manfred’s worries, his unease at Emmrich’s current state… And in an instant, Emmrich’s heart softened. Looking at Manfred, a sliver of light peaked through the darkness, at what he had accomplished, of how much Manfred had grown since first floating into his life, of what he would one day become. 

“Alright.” Emmrich responded, giving into his pleas, “I shall. Yes, yes, I know. Thank you, Manfred.”

Emmrich retreated towards the back of the room, standing underneath the staircase. He faced the far end of his bookshelf, reaching towards a small golden skeleton bust. He pulled it towards him and it clicked. The bookshelf slid open with a low rumble, showcasing a small hallway that led to his bedchamber. He took a step forward, but not without stopping to look over his shoulder. Manfred was already by his desk, rushing to clean up the disorder he left behind without an ounce of judgment. Emmrich smiled softly to himself and continued inside.

His bedchamber was spacious, and decorated just as lavishly as the main area of his quarters. The room had a few circular windows, looking out into the expanse of the Fade that surrounded the Lighthouse. A large canopy bed sat at one end of the room, with thick lilac coloured curtains draped around it. The other end contained his lavatory, complete with a clawfoot tub, sink, and freestanding mirrors. 

As Emmrich walked towards the sink to wash away the blood, he halted, unexpectedly catching sight of his reflection in one of the mirrors. He gasped at the unrecognisable man who stood gawking back at him, at the state of himself, convinced it was some sort of sick farce, an illusion. His eyes first went to his clothes, how wrinkled they had become, how dirty. He cared for this ensemble once, how… how did he let it get to such a state? His shirt, which used to be a tight fit around his lean shoulders, hung over his frame slightly. He moved to his face, his eyes were hollower, dark circles carved under them… he raised his hands to his cheeks, his jaw, now covered in patchy stubble, weeks of growth left unattended. And his hair… unbrushed, frantic, maddening… he wouldn’t be surprised if he had gone greyer in the weeks that have passed.

Emmrich went to reach for his razor out of instinct, but stopped himself. Sleep beckoned him, and he needed to rest. His fingers still quivered and he could barely keep his eyes open. He wouldn’t be much good to Rook if he let himself continue to wilt like an unloved flower. He washed his hands instead, changing into a fresh pair of clothes and collapsed into bed. 

---

Emmrich woke with a start, his shirt sticking to his damp skin, heart pounding against his chest. The same nightmare plagued him still. In his slumber he heard Rook sobbing, heard her pleading, to someone, something… he tried to reach her, convinced he could see her in front of him, standing alone against the bleakness of the Fade. But when Emmrich reached out to grab Rook, to pull her towards him… he was yanked back, forced to awaken.

As he lay there, taking a moment to recuperate, goosebumps sprouted on his arms, a chill running through his entire body. There was a shift in the air around him, a slight electricity buzzing, and that’s when he heard it. 

Rook’s voice. It continued to echo around him, as if she was slightly out of view. 

Emmrich pranced out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face as he quickly dressed, throwing on what available clothes were in front of him. He passed by Manfred as he ran out of his bedchamber. 

“Manfred! Assemble the others. Hurry! Tell them it’s Rook. I know how to find her.” 

Emmrich didn’t wait for Manfred’s response, he was already sprinting from his room, jumping down the steps as he approached the Lighthouse’s main library. 

He continued following Rook’s voice, so distant, as if an echo, eventually finding his way to the music room. He came to a halt when he saw the grand piano. The instrument pulsed dangerously, vibrant colours sprouting from an irregularity as it resonated with the Fade. 

Taash was the first to appear, entering the room with a weapon held high, on the off chance there might be a fight ahead of them. Davrin, Lucanis, and Neve quickly followed suit, stopping near the threshold as they gaped in unison at the piano. 

“Quickly, Neve! We need to start probing… it’s thinner there, by the piano.”

“You better be right,” interjected Taash. 

“I’m certain of it.” 

Rook’s crying continued, her inaudible words intertwined with the pulsing hum of the piano. 

Neve’s eyes widened when she heard it and approached Emmrich’s side, positioning herself as she prepared her mana.

It happened in a blur, the magic coursed through his fingertips as he poured his entire heart and soul towards the piano. A light formed in front of them, growing bigger, and bigger, eventually forming an opening wide enough for maybe one or two of them to enter. 

Without hesitation, Emmeric jumped towards the light, plunging both of his hands inside. There was a moment, when his hands were merely suspended, floating in nothingness, until he felt Rook grab hold of him. Lucanis soon appeared, grasping her arms. And together they pulled, and pulled… 

The light spit Emmrich and Lucanis out, causing them to land on their backs and Rook on her knees beside them.

The opening instantly collapsed upon itself, vanishing in nothing more than a fizzle. There was a pause as Emmrich sat up, staring at Rook with concern. She was a bloody mess, wounds from the fight with Ghilan'nain still very fresh. Her dark brown hair was matted against her forehead, long scratches lined her cheeks, and her left shoulder lay slumped at her side.

Rook in turn inspected the room, meeting the gazes of the other companions huddling around her, until she eventually landed on Emmrich. He held his breath as the world slowed around him, as they stared at each other, their glances worth a thousand words, another thousand apologies. Rook attempted to smile, but the expression only looked pained, forced, her eyes dark with grief. 

She immediately fell towards Emmrich, hiding her face in his chest. He could only hold her in return, careful not to hurt her, to cause her any more discomfort. She began to shake uncontrollably as Emmrich registered she was sobbing. 

“Oh, my darling…” He whispered. 

A knot formed in Emmrich’s throat listening to Rook weep, feeling her tremble against him with each surge of anguish. He was convinced his heart would've been restored at Rook’s return, but it was only broken again, shattered into a million pieces at her suffering.

Emmrich looked up at the ceiling to keep his own tears at bay. 

He needed to be strong for Rook. 

He needed to be better. 

---

Emmrich watched over Rook as she dozed off, as her chest rose and fell, like the softest wave against the Nevarran Coast. After bathing and dressing her wounds, she slept soundlessly, at peace with whatever horrors she had faced alone in the Fade.  

Rook insisted Emmrich stay, until she fell asleep at least, and naturally he obliged, pulling up a seat next to the chaise lounge in her room. Not only would he remain at her side, but he’d be there all night if she needed him to.  

Emmrich told himself he remained to reassure Rook, that if she woke, he’d be there to support her, to ease her back from any night terror she might've had, but… the reality was, Emmrich stayed to comfort himself most of all, to make sure they would never be separated again. 

Later, when Emmrich was positive Rook would not stir, he finally allowed himself to weep, crying silently in his palms as a plethora of emotions unraveled all at once. Nearly a month's worth of pent up frustrations, anger, resentments, sadness, longing... 

But Rook was alive. That's all that mattered. She had returned. 

Tomorrow Emmrich’s routine would begin anew, and he would confess everything to her.

He had to be brave. 

For Rook.  

For them.

[stari-hun]

Everything Anya does in the plot of Mouthwashing on the day of the crash and esp afterwards is for her own self preservation first and foremost. Every decision she makes is to keep herself alive and from being brutalized by Jimmy again. Everything in Mouthwashing foils to another aspect of the plot and game, and if Anya told Curly that SA was involved in her pregnancy and he just didn’t care then so many things wouldn’t make sense. Curly and Jimmy were best friends and knew each other long before the Tulpar, he literally GOT him onto the Tulpar. Anya isn’t dumb she’s super smart, her self preservation and the fact that she’s been suffering from Jimmy’s harassment so long shows in the way that she appeases him. She knows he needs constant reassurance that he’s in control which is why she has him give Curly his pills. It’s a task to reassure him that can’t inherently kill Curly without him directly intending to. Despite his quickness to abandon Curly once he pinned the crash onto him, they would’ve been very obviously close to everyone else. Jimmy’s harassment would’ve been clear far before the assault in the same way that it was close to the crash. But why didn’t Curly do anything? Curly trusted Jimmy. It’s likely that Jimmy would be cruel to him in their friendship for years, so he wouldn’t have seen him being demeaning to Anya all the time as abnormal. Plus Swansea was mean to Diasuke on the ship and it was a more constant problem considering Swansea wanted him to never wanna come back for another flight and get stuck there. Curly had trusted Jimmy so much because of his personal experiences with him that he never actually protected her. He did his job as a captain and kept the peace, but that’s the extent of his actions. Anya couldn’t tell Curly about the assault while guaranteeing her safety for the same reason she didn’t tell Daisuke of Swansea: they were also men who knew Jimmy and there was no absolute guarantee they’d value her safety over keeping him around. The commentary on misogyny and rape culture is so important in Mouthwashing it’s like 90% of the plot. She couldn’t guarantee that a crew made of entirely men wouldn’t value covering up for each other and saving their pride in their desertion of people, especially since opinions of him were fairly positive and assumed he was just a hard ass.