#it came out just the way i wanted it to

[amplifyme]

Had a post cross my dash this evening that made me think of this one. An oldie but (hopefully) goodie. Sunday night smut.

Red Letter Day (read on AO3).

Explicit. MSR. Humor. Post-Fight the Future. Pre-Season 6. Absolutely no redeeming value. Originally published summer of 1998.

Summary: Mulder discovers the hidden benefits of Scully's PMS.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

If I was anywhere near the crack genius most people seem to think I am, I would have taken the time to check my calendar before I ever opened my mouth.

News flash: Dana Scully is hell on wheels the two or three days prior to the monthly visit from her "friend."

That's how she refers to her period: as her friend. If I had a friend that made me psychotic on a regular basis, I'd definitely be looking around for a new one. And you'd think a well- educated doctor could come up with a term a little more clinical than that.

Whatever.

There we were in our brand-spanking-new office (which I hate with a passion that knows no bounds because it’s bare and lacks the charm it had before the fire), knee-deep in cardboard boxes filled with freshly printed copies of all the X files Scully and I'd had the good sense to save on disk and stash at home.

We'd spent the better part of the previous weekend at the offices of the Gunmen, shooting the shit while the boys' printer got a workout. Call me paranoid, but I have no definitive proof that the printers at the Bureau aren't out to get me.

Note to self: send Byers a decent bottle of scotch, the collected works of Korn to Langly, and a copy of Alien Probe to Frohike.

Scully was cross-legged on the floor, stuffing papers into candy- striped file folders and consulting a list of case numbers, checking off each one as it was compiled. I'd made the mistake of volunteering to put said folders into some kind of order once she was done with them. And that's where we ran into trouble.

You see, Scully's idea of a filing system is way out of line with mine. I've always grouped files by phenomenon; Scully prefers to do it by case number. Consequently, our old file cabinets in our office (may its previous flotsam and jetsam rest in peace) were not exactly what one might call organized. That sort of thing doesn't faze me too much, but it makes her crazy. Had I bothered to note the date, I would have known not to cross her when she questioned me about it.

Live and learn.

"You're doing those by case number, right?"

I wasn't really paying much attention to her question. I had my back turned to her and had gotten lost in the last file she'd handed me, mourning anew the untimely, bizarre death of Clyde Bruckman and his equally bizarre take on my own demise. I made a noncommittal noise in reply.

"Mulder? You're filing those by case number?"

Her question finally registered. "Uh, no. Should I be?"

I flinched at the stinging slap of her hand hitting the hard surface of the floor. "Dammit, Mulder, I thought we agreed to do it by case number."

My radar went active and the alarms started going off. I had no idea why she'd flown off the handle so quickly, but I was pretty sure I was about to find out.

"We did?" I was being careful, buying myself some time to try to figure out what was going on. I turned and gave her my most guileless face as I got busy trying to recall what I might have done recently to piss her off. Hard as it may be to believe, I came up empty.

She gave me a long, icy look and gritted through her teeth, "Yes, we did. The last time you were at my apartment, as a matter of fact. Don't you remember?"

Okay, that was an easy one. I knew the right (read: best) answer and spit it out gratefully. "I'm sorry, Scully. My head must have been somewhere else."

So far so good. My excuse was legit. Especially if you take into account that the last time I'd been at her place, sex had been the only thing on our minds. And I've discovered that Scully gets very talkative afterwards, while I tend to zone out during my usual post-coital return to all my favorite places on her body. I'd much rather nuzzle the underside of her breasts or the curve of her ass than discuss the best way to organize our file cabinets. So I let her ramble on and she lets me poke and nibble. It's generally an equitable trade and, to be perfectly honest, I'd always figured she was paying as little attention to what I was doing as I was to what she was saying.

But like I said, live and learn. Because my smartass mouth then overrode my common sense. "Now that I think about it," I elaborated before I could stop myself, bending low and whispering. "I'm pretty sure it was between your legs."

"Jesus Christ, Mulder, is that all you think about? We have work to do here."

"I'm working. See?" I waved a hand at the open file cabinets and the rows of folders tucked inside.

"No, you're not. You're thinking about your head being between my legs. No wonder you can't file anything properly."

Obviously she wasn’t as concerned as me about the office being bugged.

I fought to tamp down my sudden flash of anger. What the hell was her problem? "Just because I'm not doing it the way you want me to, Scully, doesn't mean it's not being done properly."

"Whatever," she shot back. "Just do it however the hell you want to. You always do anyway."

Bitch.

While part of me was slowly realizing there might've been something more to her outburst than just my ill-timed comment, the rest of me couldn't have cared less. I found myself glaring at her. She glared right back.

"Fine," I snapped, swinging back around and yanking all the neatly filed folders out of the cabinets and slapping them down on top. "I'll do it your way."

That seemed to do the trick, because she got very quiet after that. At least she didn't gloat over her small victory. I kept up a steady stream of silent curses as I worked to re-file everything by case number. I was almost through the first pile when she began muttering under her breath.

Without turning around I asked, "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

"I knew this was gonna happen," she announced.

That's all it took to suck me right back into the game. "Knew what was gonna happen?" I turned just as she was getting to her feet.

"This," she said. "This problem you seem to have staying on task. I knew as soon as we started… you know… you'd have trouble separating that part from the work. Honestly, Mulder. I'm trying to get some work done and all you can think about is going down on me."

All this blurted out with her arms folded defensively across her chest and that holier-than-thou tone of voice. I opened my mouth to let loose with some retort and snapped it shut again as soon as I got a really good look at her face. Her flushed face. The high color and the sparkling eyes that spoke not just of anger, but of what I'd come to recognize as arousal.

It dawned on me in that moment that Scully was as horny as she was angry. Maybe even more so.

It took all my considerable self-control to keep the smile off my face. I took a step toward her and said, "I hate to point out the obvious, but you're the one who keeps bringing it up. I was just making a joke. You're the one who can't stop talking about it."

"And just what are you implying?" Her eyes danced fire as she glared up at me.

I've found that sometimes my silence can say more than words ever could. This was one of those moments. I watched her face change as she realized that I had more than a clue what was going on.

"Oh, I don't fucking believe this," she muttered, turning away and grabbing her trench coat from the chair she'd draped it over. "I'm going home. I'm not going to stand around here and watch your head explode from your over-inflated ego." She stomped to the door and flung it open, struggling comically to get her arms in the sleeves of her coat. "Good-bye, Mulder. I will see you in the morning."

I spent the next few minutes smothering my laughter and then dug out my pocket calendar, settling into a chair as I confirmed my suspicions.

It was probably four years ago when I started keeping track of Scully's menstrual cycles. At first, I'd just been marking down the days when she seemed to possess a shorter fuse than normal. After about three months, a definite pattern had emerged. I'd been able to pinpoint the days that marked the actual start of her period because she'd invariably complain of lower back pain and be popping Advil throughout the day. Once those events occurred, I knew I was safe for another month or so. It was the two or three days prior to that when I had to be careful.

Those were the days when Scully would act as though she'd just as soon shoot me as look at me. Or speak to me. Or have anything to do with me. Those were the days when we both would find any excuse to avoid being in close contact. She would take off for a long weekend or a symposium at Quantico or, if neither of those were possible, I would grudgingly offer my temporary services to BSU. If we happened to be in the field or out of town on a case, we'd come up with ways to work separately. Since there was almost always a corpse or two that needed slicing and dicing, it was never much of a problem.

All this time I'd been thinking that she just had less patience with me those few days than at other times-a result of hormones gone wild. It never once occurred to me that she might've been avoiding me for an entirely different reason. I was stunned by the idea that she maybe she'd wanted nothing more than to throw me down and screw me blind, hence her pissy manner that insured I'd stay away and not become an irresistible treat. Considering we hadn't been lovers until just a few months ago, that would certainly explain why she'd felt a need to be as far away from me as possible.

Can't exactly go around jumping your partner on impulse, now can you? So you take pains to avoid them instead. Out of sight, out of mind, Scully?

My grin just got bigger as I checked the previous two months on my calendar. Sure enough: those particular red letter days were times when we'd been apart for one reason or another. So even though we were engaging in hot monkey love by then, she had habitually avoided me the few days before her period. Wouldn't want to actually admit she might be extraordinarily horny and indulge herself in our new favorite pastime.

Well.

Wasn't that interesting.

So then I did what any red-blooded man would do: I formulated a plan to use her hormones to my advantage.

Now before you start lecturing me about what a pig I am, ask yourself: wouldn't you do the same?

I thought so.

I gave the unfiled files a cursory glance and decided they weren't going anywhere. I locked up the office and headed home. After grabbing a quick shower, I threw on jeans and a t- shirt and hightailed it over to her place.

Apparently I'd interrupted a rare session of Scully self- indulgence. I took a quick look over her shoulder as she threw open the door, spotting the pint of Wavy Gravy on the coffee table. William Hurt and Kathleen Turner were raising body temperatures on the TV.

"What do you want?" she asked. The pissy tone was still there, but she couldn't stop her eyes from raking me over head to toe in a rather predatory way.

Bingo.

"Hello to you, too, Scully. Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing," she growled.

"Good." I stepped right past her, ignoring the indignant look she aimed at me.

I heard her huff dramatically as she closed the door. "What do you want, Mulder?"

"Who says I want anything?" I pulled off my leather jacket and tossed it onto the chair. Flopped down on the couch and grabbed the ice cream. I had the first spoonful in my mouth as she came around the end of the couch and planted herself in front of me, hands on hips.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Eating your ice cream."

"I can see that."

I leisurely licked the back of the spoon clean, my eyes pinning hers.

"Why are you here, Mulder? Surely it's not just to eat my food."

I jammed the spoon back into the container and set it on the table. "You're right. That's not why I'm here."

One eyebrow crept up her face and her hands lifted in question.

"I think," I told her, “That the real question is, what do you want?

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you're not being honest with me, and I don't think I like it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

That's the moment I realized Scully was capable of looking me straight in the eye without actually looking at me. Avoidance by confrontation.

Amazing.

"You're a lousy liar, Scully. You always have been." I was a little surprised at how raw my voice sounded to my own ears. Hoarse, aroused. I was even getting a hard-on, and I'd yet to lay a finger on her. It was shaping up to be an interesting afternoon.

"Excuse me?" she blustered. "If you've come here to insult me, Mulder, then I think you'd better leave."

"I didn't come here to insult you." I slumped back against the cushions, my feet purposefully planted wide. "I have something much more pleasant in mind."

She did a quick check of my crotch before lifting her eyes to mine. She tried to look innocent, like she hadn't just been caught eyeing the goods, but she couldn't pull it off.

I had her fair and square.

"Look, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but-"

"Just couldn't stop thinking about it, could you?"

"What?"

"My head between your legs." I made each word slow and precise. "The thought of me going down on you. It turns you on, doesn't it, Scully?"

She began to stammer, no doubt trying to get out some kind of excuse. I didn't give her the time. "In fact, I'd lay odds you're getting wet right now, just from me saying the words."

"Mulder-"

"It's okay. It turns me on, too. See?" I glanced at the rapidly growing bulge in my jeans. She obediently looked. When she raised her eyes, they'd gone dark and heavy-lidded. "The only thing I'm not sure about is just what turns you on the most. Is it the thought of my mouth against you, licking you? Or my tongue dipping into you?" I deliberately looked back down at my crotch. "Or maybe it's this you're thinking about."

I knew I was. I didn't have a whole lot of choice. My cock was straining uncomfortably against the rough denim of my jeans, demanding attention. I heard her sharp intake of air as my hips lifted slightly in invitation.

"It's okay," I told her again. "You don't have to hide from me anymore, Scully. You don't have to pretend. Whatever you want, whatever I can do for you, all you have to do is tell me and I'll do it."

I lifted my hands from where they rested on my thighs and draped my arms along the back of the couch, settling deeper into the overstuffed cushions. "Now why don't you just slip out of those clothes and come over here and tell me exactly what you want."

It was harder than hell to sound cool and confident when my heart was pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. My throat had gone so tight I don't think I could have swallowed had my life depended on it. Not that there was any saliva remaining in the arid desert my mouth had become.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn't just white-hot lust that caused my symptoms. I was terrified of Scully's response. Despite the way her hooded eyes lazily meandered over my body, despite her ragged breathing and the soft, inviting curve of her mouth, I had absolutely no idea what was going on in her head. For all I knew I was seconds away from having my ass booted out of her apartment and being told in no uncertain terms that I was no longer welcome there.

I'd never done anything like that with her before. While we'd indulged in the typical flirting lovers are wont to do over the last couple of months, I hadn't ever been that blatant in approaching her. We'd always entered into lovemaking the same way we did everything else in our relationship: slowly, cautiously, with few gestures and even fewer words.

All I could do at that moment was sit quietly and wait for her to decide. Though it might have appeared to anyone else that I was in charge of the situation, the complete opposite was true. It was Scully's call. She was in control, and I knew that was just the way she liked it.

It wasn't until her fingers lifted to the buttons of her blouse that I released the breath I hadn't been aware of holding. She pinned my eyes and wouldn't let go until she was forced to bend over to pull off her pants. And then she straightened and faced me, clad in nothing but a lacy bra and panties.

"All of it," I managed to croak.

And then she cocked an eyebrow and gave me tiny, wicked smile. A ragged chuckle escaped me and I finally took a deep breath.

Thank you, Scully, for not kicking me out. Thank you for not laughing in my face. Thank you for wanting me as much as I wanted you.

She made short work of the bra and panties and stood there waiting, giving me back a little of the control, letting me take a leisurely look at what she was offering. She was five-foot two inches of walking, talking perfection. I sat up and extended a hand to her and she stepped forward and silently took it. I tugged until she was standing right in front me, only inches away, trapped between my knees. I closed my eyes and breathed her in.

You know what it smells like just after it's rained on a perfect early spring evening? When you catch a whiff of new grass and leaves and just a hint of the musk of flowers still forming blossoms. That's what Scully smells like.

I let go of her fingers and moved my hands to her hips, holding her firmly in place. And then I leaned forward and kissed the soft slope of her belly, just below her navel. Her fingers slipped through my hair as I turned my cheek and rested it against her.

There I was just seconds after telling her to strip naked and talk dirty to me, struggling with a hard-on that could cut glass, when suddenly the back of my throat started to ache and my eyes to sting. All signs of impending tears. My face was buried in the softness of her belly, inches away from the source of her intense fragrance, and all I could do was get teary-eyed because I thought I must be the luckiest sonofabitch on the face of the earth.

Now you must understand something: I never thought Scully and I would get to the place we've reached. It's not that we weren't aware of our feelings for each other and the attraction between us, or curious about what it might be like to give in to that attraction. It's just that when you cut to the chase, both of us tend to be chickenshit when it comes to matters of the heart. Especially when you factor in all we had to lose if it'd turned out that sex between us was something better left to the imagination.

But we were lucky, Scully and me. We came together and discovered it could be even better than we had any right to expect. And sometimes that gets to me. It did that day, and in all honesty, it still happens with alarming frequency.

Scully, bless her horny little heart, pulled me right out my sentimental brooding. "You were right, Mulder," she murmured as I turned my face and kissed her again. "About everything you said. You made that joke in the office and I couldn't stop thinking about it. It just made me so…"

"Horny?" I supplied.

I felt the vibration of her silent chuckle as I continued to taste her belly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. And I had to get out of there. I'm not used to being able to admit my feelings to myself, let alone to you and… oh, don't stop doing that, Mulder… and so I ran away."

I moved my hands around and took a hold of her perfect little ass, gently kneading the flesh. I dipped my head and began to kiss along the crease where thigh met torso. "Old habits die hard, huh?"

"Oh, God. Yes, they do." Her fingers had taken a firmer grip on my head, directing my mouth where she wanted it. Which just happened to be where I wanted it, too. I nuzzled the crisp copper curls at the apex of her thighs. "Mulder, please."

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

"No," I reminded her, "I want you to tell me."

She got quiet and I pulled away a little, looking up at her. She was gnawing on her bottom lip. Her expression was one of shyness struggling with need, and it was just about the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. I considered letting her off the hook. For a second or two. But it was too good to let go. My cock twitched in anticipation.

She closed her eyes in a slow blink and whispered, "I want your mouth on me."

Good girl.

"Where, Scully? Show me."

She gave me a look that told me I was going to pay big-time for being so insistent. I was smart enough not to let her know how much I was looking forward to that. Sometimes you just have to keep things to yourself.

I thought she might take the less risky option and beat around the bush (no pun intended), but she apparently didn't want to waste any more time. One hand left my hair and came to rest on her stomach. There was only a moment's hesitation before she slid it down and cupped herself.

"Here," she breathed.

Never let it be said that I give up easily; especially not when things are getting interesting.

"I'm sorry, I can't see, your hand's in the way. Where?"

She slowly made a return trip up, this time with the first two fingers of her hand spread apart. This, of course, opened her up and left the small bud of her clit peeking out. She was wet, her folds plump and glistening, shaded a deep pinkish-red.

Beautiful. My little hothouse flower.

I licked my lips in anticipation and she sighed quietly as she spotted the tip of my tongue.

"There?" I asked.

"Yes." She growled impatiently, "Jesus, Mulder, just do it."

So I leaned in and flicked my tongue once against her clit, sliding off the couch until I was on my knees. And then I went in for the kill. It was a good thing my hands were still on her ass, because her knees buckled almost immediately. She groaned low in her throat and dug her nails into my scalp.

I've never understood men who don't enjoy being on the giving end of oral sex. It's always been right up there on my list of favorite things to do. I could spend hours at it-and have. Consider it a benefit of my obvious oral fixation. Scully certainly does.

I ran my tongue along her soft folds and then pulled them into my mouth, gently sucking the flesh before letting my tongue slip inside her. She clenched tight around me, beginning to thrust and grind against my mouth as I dipped in and tasted her smoky sweetness. I drew my tongue back and then ran it up her cleft, landing on her clit and mirroring the small circles her hips had begun to make.

Scully was moaning and whispering nonsense words, her legs grower weaker as the minutes ticked by. I wasn't sure how much longer I'd be able to hold her up and my neck was beginning to complain about my awkward position anyway. So I pulled away and shoved the coffee table out a few feet, lying down on my back on the floor. I ended up with Scully standing above me, her feet planted on either side of my waist.

She gave a little grunt of disappointment and then squatted and reached down, going for the buttons on my jeans. I grabbed her wrists to stop her. She looked down at me with unfocused eyes, her tongue snaking out to wet her lips.

"Uh-uh." I let go and grabbed her hips, pulling her up toward me. "C'mere, I'm not finished yet." She crawled up until her knees were next to my ears and settled right down on my face.

Oh, yeah. It was heaven. It was as good as it got.

Somewhere along the line, I reached down and undid my fly. My cock had gotten progressively larger and harder and I was afraid the little bugger might suffocate if I didn't give him some air. It eased the pressure but not my discomfort. My cock was aching to do what my fingers and tongue were busy at.

But that's just part of the fun-holding off until you can't stand it anymore. God knows Scully and I had made it an art form, waiting over five years before we finally gave in the first time. Now that I knew she wasn't going anywhere, it was nothing to wait until I'd made good on my word to give her what she wanted.

Just a few minutes later Scully went stiff, her back snapping straight, and noisily came. She ground against me a little longer, riding it out, and then folded bonelessly at the waist. She braced her hands on the floor above my head and I wiggled out from beneath her and got on my knees. I quickly hauled off my t-shirt and then shoved my jeans and boxers down my hips. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I lifted her ass in the air. And then, not giving her time to catch her breath, I buried my cock inside her in one savage thrust.

She squeaked and I grunted and then she arched her spine and shoved back against me, matching me stroke for stroke. I knew I wasn't going to last long. I could already feel the heat coiling low in my belly, gathering strength and moving even lower, into my balls and all along the length of my cock. But I wanted to make Scully come one more time. Just once more. Her two for my one. It sounded fair to me.

I spread my knees as wide as my jeans would allow and draped myself over her. Reaching up and grabbing a breast, I pinched the nipple between my fingers and then slid my hand down her belly and found her clit.

"Oh, Mulder."

It was first intelligible thing she'd said in several minutes, and it came out in a low keen. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell her how fucking good she felt - tight, hot, wet, squeezing around me - but I was beyond words, beyond any thought but relieving the ache in my balls and the screaming in my head. I settled for turning my face into her neck and taking her earlobe between my teeth. I bit down just as she came and she bucked violently against me.

Two, three, four more thrusts and I followed her down, throwing my head back and growling like a goddamn animal. I kept pounding into her long after my cock stop spasming and she'd milked me dry, not wanting to stop what had felt so unbelievably good. But my knees gave out in the end, forcing me to lift myself off her back and collapse on the floor next to her.

Scully's face was buried in the carpet, her fiery hair a tousled mess, her legs and arms akimbo. Her back was rising and falling rapidly as she desperately sucked in air. I fought to control my own breathing and reached over to run a hand down her sweat- covered back, coming to rest on the swell of her ass and giving it a friendly squeeze.

She lifted her head a few minutes later and turned her face toward me, squinting at me through the hair that fell over her eyes.

"Hi," I murmured.

She groaned in reply and opened her eyes all the way, looking me over. A slow smile spread across her face.

"What?" I asked.

She snickered. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look, Mulder?"

I looked down at myself and then back at her, grinning like a fool. My jeans and boxers were bunched around my knees, my feet still encased in boots, my erection rapidly deflating and lying wet and limp against my thigh. All in all, not exactly the model of suave sophistication. "I didn't hear you complaining earlier, Scully. Besides, you're not exactly cover girl material yourself at the moment."

"Depends on what magazine I'd be posing for." She made a 'gotcha' face, obviously pleased with herself.

I chuckled and pulled her closer, "Baby, you can pose for me anytime you want."

"I figured as much. And don't call me baby." She levered up on an elbow and brushed the hair from her face. I watched, with much appreciation, the sway of her breasts. "Mulder, kiss me."

"With pleasure." I wrapped a hand around the nape of her neck and guided her mouth down to mine. The first touch of her lips was electric, like a high-voltage current shooting through my body.

Scully and I are stingy with our kisses. I guess part of the reason is that neither one of us wants to get used to them. They're incredible, you see, and it would be far too easy to become addicted to them, to want to indulge without any thought as to where we are or what we should be doing instead. Too easy to be in the office or out in the field and be overwhelmed by an intense desire to turn to each other and grab a big, fat, wet kiss. So we dole them out carefully.

But that's not the only reason. It goes deeper than that. I think maybe it's because getting to that first kiss took so much longer than anything else. There's something even more special about kissing her than fucking her. I know it may sound strange to you, but then Scully and I have never exactly been poster children for normal behavior.

Eons later we broke apart and I licked the taste of her from my lips. She peered at me drowsily and declared, "You know, this is completely unfair of you."

"What is?"

"Taking advantage of me the way you just did. Pulling your profiling wonder boy act and figuring out what my problem was."

I smiled in victory. "Does this mean I can pencil you in for a repeat performance in about, oh, twenty-six days?"

"I have to wait that long?"

I tossed back my head and laughed as I gathered her into my arms. "You don't have to wait at all. Like I told you: all you have to do is tell me and I'm there. Whatever you want, whenever you want it. Your secret is safe with me."

"At the rate we're going, I won't have any secrets left."

I drew back a little and looked at her. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

"My mother always said a woman should have one or two secrets, just to maintain an air of mystery."

"And what do you say, Scully?"

"I say," she stretched up and kissed me, "that some secrets are too good to keep to yourself."

I couldn't have agreed more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[hinamie]

spiraling

[ink-the-artist]

Rabbits

Some bonus art, I initially started making this in a totally different art style but changed my mind about halfway through lmao, here are the parts I finished

[razzafrazzle]

enough strong bads... time for strong sads (theres still a strong bad here)

[image description: a page of drawings of a human design of strong sad from homestar runner, where she is depicted as a fat, tan-skinned trans woman with gray and brown hair pulled into a bun and multiple piercings. she is wearing a gray sweatshirt, jeans, and steel-toed combat boots, and next to her is a note stating that she is trans and bisexual and that her pronouns are she/they. next to that is a drawing of her smiling and wearing a sloshy t-shirt, and above that is a comic of strong bad poking her in the stomach and saying "even her gender is my hand-me-downs", to which she stays silently angry at him. end id]

[spitedemon]

i really don’t think it’s “typical dragon age fandom nonsense” for people to be genuinely upset about the world state choices. combat, level design, art direction, gameplay gimmicks, those have all varied across each dragon age game. the one thing that’s remained constant are nods to our previous choices.

i wasn’t expecting my HoF to come riding in on a griffon, but i can’t find a monument dedicated to warden tabris somewhere around the anderfels? lucanis couldn’t have some lines about the time that one arainai boy was stirring up trouble in antiva city? you’re gonna tell me that making a mage the new divine wouldn’t have some impact on nevarra and antiva? on the anderfels, the supposed most devout militant andrastian nation in thedas? you’re saying nobody in the north is paying attention to who rules orlais or ferelden? come on.

[clouvu]

Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love, mine, all mine

[lilybug-02]

Eimmet High...temmiE high. OMG!

Part 28 || First || Previous || Next

--Full Series--

Next update may take...much longer! I have finals and an internship and not to mention I have to draw- A LOT :')

[overheard-at-camp-half-blood]

“They changed the narrative from the books to make Athena bad.”

Athena was horrible in the books too, it was just glossed over by everyone. 💀

[gentle-hero-blog]

Actually wait ok i'm not done. i'm actually so serious abt this. I think that a large part of the reason i got attached to metroid when i was younger is because it was the first media i discovered where the main female character was allowed to look like this:

and like. people thought she was cool. BOYS thought she was cool and I had never seen boys think a female character was cool before, much less want to be like one. she had all these interesting traits that I had only ever seen in male characters (person of few words, calm and ruthless bounty hunter persona, highly respected for skill, her appearance isn't mentioned Ever, etc etc). and that was formative for me and my relationship to gender i think

[dykedvonte]

You ever just see a Mouthwashing take that makes you want to bang your head into a wall? I literally just saw someone claim Curly couldn't have been emotionally abused by Jimmy before the crash because he was in a higher position of power than Jimmy.

-Shrimp Anon

The mouthwashing fandom has shown me that people genuinely do believe that certain types of abuse are not as detrimental as other types especially when they deem those immune/resistant, ergo, believing one is objectively worse no matter how it affects the person nor the intersections of power, history and dynamics at play.

Get ready cause this is a yap session:

Cause like it's heavily implied that Curly and Jimmy's friendship was toxic and abusive, pointedly in the direction of how Jimmy uses Curly's belief/comfort in him. Curly wasn't forced to enable Jimmy but he was emotional and mentally on edge around him in almost every scene in some way. Mental and emotional abuse are not contingent on what positions you have at work. Yeah, he's Jimmy's boss but he was Jimmy's friend first and it's like getting into Psych discussion to talk about how social power tends to overshadow any perceived organizational power in the human mind. People are concerned about their jobs ofc but they tend to hang onto and put more value/investment into their personal relationships, hence why there tends to be laws and restrictions around mixing the two.

I always see the sentiments that "Curly is a grown ass man", "Curly is bigger than Jimmy", "Curly is Jimmy's boss", "He just needed a backbone" as criticisms of Curly and while I do agree that on the surface level all of these to be true and viable ways Curly could've taken more control of the situation, I often look at the parallels of Anya and Curly as victims of Jimmy pre/post crash.

The way Jimmy talks to Anya post crash is how he talked to Curly in the pre-crash segments. It's hard to pin-point mainly because we know he hates and wants nothing to do with Anya compared to his contrary but similarly handled obsessions with Curly. It's a weird sort of "honey-moon" effect of abuse Jimmy does in terms of emotional and mental victimization. He is always horrid to Anya, always talking down or questioning her abilities and thoughts in a situation, this of course includes the harassment and assault. However, he has a moment of attempted gentleness/conditioning when he question her about the mouthwash when she's contemplating drinking it at the table. The key difference is he has no personal investment in Jimmy outside wanting nothing to do with him, meaning there is no sort of romanticized version of him that he can condition her off of. He knows this, hence, why he always reverts to trying to make her to scared to oppose him.

This sort of give and take of "kindness" doesn't work on her because she knows he is just doing it to take more from her than whatever he could possibly give but it reflects even the "softer" scenes between him and Curly where he always rewords or rephrases Curly's sentiments and concerns to sound more shallow. He is feigning a deeper understanding by reworking Curly's emotions into something bad and needing to be hidden. Everything is laced with envy and resentment, an outburst just around the corner, I mean he even slams the table in the birthday party scene, a tactic in emotional manipulation to set the victim on edge and cloud their ability to respond. Even if Curly knows Jimmy won't get physical in that moment, the physical actions is intended to make him back down in the confrontation in case it does. This is something that is just not person specific. It ingrains itself into how you interact with the world and life and it shows in major and minor ways with Curly.

Post-crash, the abusive nature is more in tandem to the physical victimization Anya went through and the stripping of voice and autonomy we see take place. Like the parasite in HFIM, Jimmy speaks for Curly most of the time and puts words in his mouth, similarly to how he takes Anya's plans as his own. He very commonly, with the both of them mind you, supplements the worst aspects of himself into them; pettiness, selfishness, lack of understanding... And tries to cover himself with their best qualities; kindness, planning, initiative, etc...

These parallel are just to say that positional power has little to do with if a person can be abused and how it can even be flipped to further the abuse. There is no doubt that Curly could've picked up on Jimmy's envy of his position hence another reason he never confronted him as a Captain but as a friend as doing so would immediately put Jimmy in a space to be confrontational/combative.

I think the disdain some people have when they talk about the heavily implied if not implicitly stated emotional/mental abuse Curly experienced being Jimmy's friend is when treating it as an excuse to why he didn't do more. I can understand that completely because it is not an excuse to why he didn't do more but is a very real reason people in his position in these scenarios can experience whether in the context of a work or social environment. However, I also think the way people talk about it really does demonstrate a bigger problem when talking about abuse when somehow who is/was abused is either part of the issue or enabled it.

Harkening back to the sentiments about Curly's inaction regarding Jimmy, I think the exact phrases I used/have seen show how there is an inherent belief that it is easier to overpower the effects of emotional/mental abuse that go in tandem with the perception of Curly as someone who should be able to. There is not an age you suddenly stop being susceptible to abuse nor a set point or low where you realize how it has affected you. You don't suddenly know to stand up or put a face on to face your abuser nor admit that you inadvertently enabled them to subjugate someone else to the same treatment. Maybe it's my psych brain but their is this growing belief that direct action is somehow easy or always the best method with the game shows you instances where it is not always the case. In real life that rings true too. He should have done more, but it's not impossible to see why he struggled to find a way or didn't even if it makes us mad.

It's not easy to suddenly gain a "back-bone". You don't immediately want to resort to aggression, especially if it mirrors the type you were a victim to. You don't want to believe you allowed yourself to be treated this bad, let it get that bad or allowed something bad to happen to someone else. It is easy to be in denial, to retreat to your thoughts or make excuses to avoid the painful truth. It's frustrating but in a way we know is relatable. It why we both hate and love Curly for it. We know we'd be better, we think we'd be better, we like to think we wouldn't falter in the same ways but it's always easier to say that from the outside looking in. It's easy to see what he was doing wrong because we are seeing it, not him, but the game really does make you picture what you would do if this was your raw reality and it's why this debate about Curly seems so never ending/contradictory. We can all say what we'd do but bottom line is that's much different when you're in the moment with all the emotions and human feelings attached.

I personally think Mouthwashing tackles the themes of rape culture, enabling, toxic masculinity, types of abuse and patriarchy in ways that are meant to deconstruct the typical straightforward views we mostly have of these concepts and how little subtilities of them are just as, if not more, detrimental than the overt/obvious parts. The game deals with the idea of little details and bigger picture in a way to show that sometimes the bigger picture is not the issue but the little details that make it up. It's why I have a personal dislike of depictions of Jimmy as the typical horrible person who would of course do something like this because the game is about noticing the little warning signs, the foreshadowing and foresight.

It's why I dislike the typical discussion of "bro code" and "boys will be boys" for the game because the game makes a point to avoid the standard depictions of such. It is about the type of men who still enable despite not condoning, agreeing or even perpetuating harmful beliefs because they can't see the little details or the ways it seeps into their everyday. The severity is not obvious to them as it was not obvious to Curly, Swansea or even Daisuke the way it was to a woman like Anya. There are little details about Jimmy that should ring alarms but if you are too naive like Daisuke, too distant like Swansea or too conditioned like Curly, they are just off markers.

There is 100% more constructive/concise ways to say "Curly was a victim of Jimmy's abuse on an emotional and mental aspect that clouded his judgements and perceptions in the scenario" while also critiquing on the side of "Curly still had a responsibility to protect Anya as a crew mate and Captain that he failed to do due to biases and stigma's he failed to surpass" without the weird condemnation people give him about should've knowing better than to let himself be manipulated by a person he considered a close, if not family/best-friend and had his own reasons to trust initially. Also stop being weird about victims of abuse in general with this fandom, like sorry not everyone has a like social epiphany the moment someone's nasty to them. People are treating it like you immediately know when you are in a toxic relationship immediately or comprehend when a person is actively dangerous and either it's your fault for not knowing how to leave/cut them off or you deserve it. Like the hypocrisy of people believing how certain fans treat the story reflect their irl views but not their own is crazy.

End statement is: I honestly don't even know man, I've been writing this too long and just like no man on that ship was perfect or really helped Anya when it mattered and I feel like pitting them against each other in discussion on who did the least or most or how it was justified sucks cause in the end Anya always did the most and best thing for herself.

[flickering-nightfall]

Some bugs for fun!

[bumpscosity]

(1 2 3)

[waddles-ex-machina]

some more comic panels I liked :>

[emberheartbeat]

New Arthur painting and older Merlin painting

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

It started back when he was 16.

His parents found out about him and Vlad thanks to the fruitloop being an idiot and practically outing them both. Danny was so lucky that he had planned for a situation like this. He had go-bags ready with a few changes of clothes, a thermos, some weapons, a star projector, lots of money from Sam and enough medical supplies to make a hospital jealous.

It was a good thing too, after crippling the GIW and destroying all the gear they and the Fentons had they destroyed their research and everything ghost related. Vlad at this point was already dead so he wasn't much of a concern.

Dannys had landed in an alley in a new dimension, only problem now was the parting shot his mother gave him on his back. Due to the placement of it Danny couldn't reach to treat it properly and he didn't know anyone in this dimension who could help him.

Thats when his ghost sense went off. He groaned, hoping he wouldn't have to fight a new ghost in this state when a man in a red helmet (Mask?) walked up to him and motioned for peace.

"I'm not going to hurt you." The man said gently, "I just wanna look at that injury, maybe help."

Danny stared at him. He didn't feel anything off about the guy and Danny prided himself on being a good judge of character. "Okay." He scooted himself around so his back was exposed to the stranger.

"Wow, you're really not from around here." Danny stiffened, had he been tricked? The man made no moves to hurt him, just got to work tending to his wound. The man was swift, and aside from the slight sting of an ointment he didn't recognize there was no pain at all.

Once Danny was all patched up the guy made to leave, "Wait!" Danny called out and the man halted, "Who are you?" The man turned his head to look back at him, still facing away from him, "Red Hood."

As it turned out, Red Hood was the new up and coming crime lord who everyone was talking about. He came seemingly out of nowhere and was making a lot of waves in Gothams underbelly. Gotham...so this was Dannys new haunt.

Danny wanted to protect it but...he wanted to protect Red Hood even more. So when he heard about Red Hood forming a gang he made a decision. He gathered up materials to make his own supervillian outfit- basically an all black outfit with a long hooded coat and combat boots- and to add the finishing touch he put on a all white gas mask that he had made himself, complete with a voice modulator, night vision, heat vision, etc. If Hood ever wanted him to prove it was him he could make his mask glow using his ghost powers. Not that it was needed. Hood seemed to be able to sense him in a similar way that Danny could but in a much much smaller range.

With that being said, hoods men didn't trust him at first, which was fair considering he just started randomly appearing at their operations and helping them out...by force usually. They weren't sure what to make of him but Danny didn't want to go through the usual goon enlistment process as Hood would want to know his name and face and everything else and Phantom was...well a phantom.

Danny liked to hide, even in plain sight. He couldn't deny the little game of cat and mouse they had was fun. Hood would try to follow him home or track him or get him to take off the mask and Phantom would dodge his attempts every time.

It took a while, but Red Hood did eventually come to trust him, going so far as to make Danny his right hand man after 3 years of working together, though that may also be because he had rarely failed any of the tasks Hood had given him.

Maybe thats why he never told any of the bats about him. He had picked up that there was something between Hood and the bats but he never could figure out what it was without prying into his bosses personal life. Still, it was rather shocking when Red Hood showed up one day with a large red bat symbol splayed across his chest.

It also made him look at how freaking chiseled his boss was. He couldn't count how many times he had to drag his eyes away from his abs and chastise himself for thinking that way.

Danny was in love with a man whos face he would never see. But that was fine. He was happier standing by this man's side and yearning than he ever was back in Amity and it wasn't like Hood knew his face or name either.

-----------

He felt like a halfa though an incomplete one. He had a core but it felt hollow, like the soul was forcibly removed somehow and only emotions remained. Hood gained a bad reputation for flying into a monstrous rage but was always calm when Danny was near, a fact that even Red Hood himself seemed to pick up on.

Hood began to fall for his second in command pretty quickly, always trying to feed him and take care of him (as is his love language) while Danny was openly obsessed with assuring Hoods safety and well being even going so far as to use his powers (that no one knows about) to overshadow a computer and hack into the bats systems to make sure Hood was okay after a prolonged period of him being MIA.

The bats are freaked but Danny being Danny gets lucky and they always seem to miss his trail by a hair. Lucky ghost.

Things start going sideways when Fenton tech starts showing up in this new dimension only for Danny to find out his parents have remade the portal and are looking for him. The bats are being hunted by his parents and and the now rogue government agency the GIW. Danny tries to explain things to Hood without compromising his own secrets but once the newest Robin gets captured and Hood freaks Danny puts everything on the line to go rescue the stabby bird.

[420faggyactivities69]

You were a young, good looking girl. Or so you were told. Your long blonde hair fell gracefully on your bony bony shoulders. Your defined cheekbones gave you a sharp look. Your skinny waist made you quite the catch in the eyes of people around you.

But you weren't happy, were you? The long hair didn't feel right. Neither did the feminine face or the skimpy outfits you wore to show off your tiny body.

So you choose to pursue happiness instead and admitted to yourself that you're not the girl you're pretending to be. You chopped off the hair into a messy mohawk and dyed it bright colors, got piercings and tattoos, traded your tiny dresses and heels for oversized leather jackets, rough jeans and combat boots. It took years but you eventually even got on testosterone. The changes made you ecstatic. You gained muscle mass, your body hair grew and got darker, your voice deepened....

And you became hungry. All the years of denying yourself the pleasure of food in order to fit into a box caught up to you and for the first time you ate freely. After all, you were basically going through a second puberty and that's just how teenage boys get, right?

They chug bear, tear into a steak, devour plates after plates of chicken wings, fries, pizzas, whatever they can get their hand on. You were no different. You ate everything in sight and soon it started catching up to you.

Your small waist blended into your wide hips, giving you a more boxy, manly appearance. Your thickening thighs tore through your old feminine skinny jeans and became the perfect resting place for your softened belly. Your arms got huge and mixed with the muscle mass you still got they gave you almost bear like appearance. You could easily go out without binding because your tits now just looked like moobs.

Nowadays, you as much as catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and can't help but get horny. The body you worked so hard on makes you wet just thinking about it. You made it yourself out of flesh that was unfit for you and you did it one shot and one stuffing at a time.

Tell me boy, doesn't it feel nice? To finally become one of the big men you always admired? Doesn't the low vibrator of your voice in your throat make you excited? Don't you want to get that tummy to jiggle even more?

I know you want this.

So eat up

You were never meant to be a small girl anyway