#as i had to learn more about her in order to talk about her

[krirebr]

Luck Be a Lady

Pairing: soft!dark Curtis Everett x female reader

Word Count: ~10.1k

Summary: Desperate for money, you accept a job as a cocktail waitress at an underground casino. You think you know what you're doing, but when you meet Curtis, will you realize you're in over your head?

Warnings: Mob AU, violence, allusions to murder, explicit language, dubcon touching, noncon touching (not Curtis), willfully oblivious reader, SMUT - facefucking, dirty talk, light d/s dynamics, praise kink, other explicit sexual content. This is definitely on the darker end of the soft!dark spectrum, so proceed with caution! All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Masterlist

A/N: And here it finally is! This is my first real attempt at soft!dark. I hope I did it right! 😂

This was inspired by two things: 1) me going to a rep screening of Goodfellas and spending the entire time wondering why I hadn't done a mob au yet and 2) @bigtreefest saying "enforcer!Curtis Everett and mob boss!Andy Barber" in my general direction. Thanks for the inspo, friend!!

And big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who not only came up with Curtis's name for reader but also offered heaps of encouragement and was a great sounding board. And thanks to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how exactly we'd get to the smut. Thanks Siri!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Please come scream at me about this! 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You fruitlessly tug down your very short skirt as Holly talks at you. You’re both standing in the corner of the bar’s basement waiting for the night to start in earnest—your first night.

“Lloyd’s not so bad,” she says of your boss, the man who runs this little underground gambling ring. “You’ll have to split your tips with him at the end of the night, but he doesn’t take that much, and you’ll make enough that you won’t really notice. As long as you do that, he’ll mostly keep his hands to himself.”

You nod along, glancing at the mustachioed man conferring with the bouncer at the door. The interview process for this job had boiled down to a thorough once-over that’d made you feel naked in your jeans and t-shirt and a “You’re not too stupid to take a drink order, are you?” and then you had the job.

Holly had vouched for you. Neighbors for almost half a year, she’d come home early one morning last week and witnessed you trying to convince the landlord that you were good for your past-due rent. She’d taken you for coffee and told you she might be able to help if you were good at keeping your head down and mouth shut. And now you were here.

“The customers, on the other hand,” she continues, smacking her gum, “you’ll have to let them touch, at least a little bit. Within reason, you know? But if anything gets out of hand, you can just tell Jake at the door and he’ll take care of it.”

“Within reason?” you ask, voice shaking, just the littlest bit, as the pit that started forming in your stomach when you agreed to this grows a little more.

The look she gives you verges on exasperated. “Well, you want to make money, don’t you?”

Yes, you do. Very much so. It’s a need, not a want. So you nod and try to listen as she keeps giving you the rundown. 

Before you’re ready, the first patrons start trickling in and then you’re off to the races. It’s not too bad. No one’s orders are too complicated, mostly just bottles of beer and glasses of straight whiskey. The bartender, Colin, is friendly enough, although you learn that he’s another person you’ll need to split your tips with. 

As for the touching, there are hands on your hips, pats to your ass. But you’re rewarded with folded-up bills held up between fingers or tucked into the strap of your top. Or, twice, slid behind the waistband of your skirt. Once you realize that the majority of these bills aren’t ones or fives, but twenties, you care about the touching that comes with them much less. Plus, you’re too busy to really think about it that hard. 

You can’t believe how busy it is for a random Tuesday night, multiple games of poker, craps, and who knows what else all going at once. But when you mention that to Holly, she just laughs and shakes her head. “This is nothing,” she says. “On the weekends there’ll be three more of us and another one of Jake. Things get wild.” 

You don’t have time to decide whether that makes you nervous or excited before someone is signaling for your attention again. You manage to suppress your grimace when he slides his arm around your waist to tell you what he needs from the bar. You’re rewarded for your troubles by a wad of twenties. You aren’t sure who these men are to tip so freely, but you know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It’s an hour or two later that Lloyd calls you over to where he’s speaking to a large, impossibly broad man, dressed in a soft-looking henley under a leather jacket with dark jeans. There’s dark ink all over his hands that disappears up his sleeves and reappears on his neck in intricate lines. He’s got close-cropped hair and a full beard that’s neatly trimmed. His deep blue eyes drill into you right away and you do your best not to shiver.

“Got a new girl tonight, Everett. Still learning the ropes, but she’ll take good care of you, won’t you, Cupcake?” 

“Yes, of course,” you say, before Lloyd wanders off to check on one of the poker games.

The man, Everett, lets his eyes rove over you. “Cupcake, huh?” His voice is deep, gritty, but there's something there that's much gentler than you expected.

You give him what you hope is a coy smile. “Sure. If you want.” Lloyd was treating him like he's important. You hope important means deep pockets.

He hits you with a penetrative stare, so strong you almost have to take a step back. “No,” he finally says. “I don't think so. I'll find something more fitting.” Then he turns and starts to walk away, before calling over his shoulder. “I'm gonna get dealt in. Bring me a whiskey once I'm settled.”

You watch him go for just a moment, and then head to the bar, asking for a whiskey. 

“This for Everett?” the bartender, Colin, asks. When you nod, he grabs a fancy bottle off the top shelf. “This is all he drinks. And he doesn't pay for it, alright? Don't ever think about giving him a bill.” 

You look back at the man in question, seriously looking at the cards he’s just been dealt. Who is he???

You collect his whiskey and move back to him. As you set it down, he turns to you. “How about this?” he asks as he holds up a crisply folded hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes widen at the money. All you’ve done is bring him one straight pour. “There’s another one of these in it for you if you make sure I never see the bottom of this glass tonight. Sound good?” And then he folds the bill one more time in his thick fingers, before sliding it under the low-cut neckline of your blouse. Your skin tingles where he brushes against it.

“Yeah, you got it,” you just breathe out, a little shocked you’re able to form words. He gives you a smug smile that you can only describe as shark-like before turning back to his cards, and you understand it as the dismissal that it is. 

You move around the room, collecting empties, getting refills, trying to goodnaturedly accept unsolicited touches. The whole time you feel eyes on you, but whenever you glance Everett’s way, he’s focused on his poker game.

Eventually, a down moment finds you catching your breath against the wall. The moment Holly sees you standing still, she’s quickly making her way to you. “You need to be more careful around Curtis,” she hisses, lowly.

You look at her, confused. “Curtis?” Jake’s at the door. Colin’s behind the bar. You don’t know a Curtis.

“Curtis Everett!” You glance at the man at the poker table. He’s running a poker chip across his knuckles mindlessly. Then he looks up and you briefly make eye contact before you quickly look away. Holly is staring at you and she looks worried. But the name still doesn’t mean anything to you, so you shake your head and shrug. She groans as quietly as she can. “He’s Barber’s top enforcer!”

This whole conversation feels so out of the blue that it takes you a minute to catch up. Barber. Andrew Barber. The most feared mob boss in the city. Probably the state. Maybe even more. Ruthless and exacting was how the papers described him. He’d been the subject of multiple stings and taskforces and whathaveyou but nothing ever stuck. “He works for Andrew Barber?” you ask, shocked and a little appalled.

Holly stares at you in a way that you can only describe as dumbfounded. It takes her a few moments to find her words, then, “Bitch, you work for Andrew Barber!”

Everything stops. “What?” you gasp.

“Oh my god,” Holly groans. “This was such a mistake. It’s an underground card game in his city! Who did you think was running things?”

“I– I don’t know,” you stutter, stupidly. The god’s honest truth is that you’d never really stopped to think about it. You’d been staring down an eviction, struggling to afford groceries. Unable to make ends meet no matter what you did. When Holly told you about this job, all you saw were dollar signs. You didn't think about anything further. Of course, you’d known these games were illegal, but it seemed so minor in the grand scheme of things. You hadn’t connected it to anything bigger because you just hadn’t wanted to.

But now– Now that you know the truth, what are you going to do? You know what you should do. You should walk out the door right now. You should find some other legitimate way to pay your bills. It’ll be safer. It’ll be better. It’ll be so much harder.

As you bite your lip, trying to process all of this information, Holly continues. “Listen,” she says, “still get him drinks, be friendly, whatever you need to do. But keep your distance however you can. Don't encourage him. He's just– He's really dangerous. They don't call him Barber’s attack dog for nothing, ok?”

“Yeah,” you say. You start to look back in Curtis’s direction but stop yourself. You think about the hundred you already have and the one promised to you at the end of the night. You think of how empty your pantry is. But then you see the genuine fear in Holly's eyes. You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I got it. Thanks.”

“He doesn't even come in here that often. I'm surprised to see him tonight, so I'm sure it’ll be fine,” she says, but you can tell she’s nervous.

You nod, absently, finally letting yourself glance over at him. His drink is getting close to the bottom. “Shit,” you mumble. “I gotta get him his refill.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Holly asks. 

You should let her do it. You absolutely should. But you just can’t give up on that tip. You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine. But thanks.”

You head back to the bar and grab Curtis’s top-shelf whiskey of choice from Colin, then make your way to his table. You set it down next to him, hoping to move away without him even noticing, he’s so engrossed in the game. But as you take a step back, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. He holds it tightly until you meet his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you can’t help the sharp intake of breath or the way you feel his words in your knees. He strokes his thumb down the inside of your wrist, then abruptly lets go, pushing his chips to the middle of the table. You step away, gathering yourself as subtly as you can, and get back to work.

The rest of the night goes quickly. The crowd gets a little rowdier as they drink more, but you find that it’s nothing you can’t handle. The reality of who these people are, what they’re connected to, never leaves your mind. But really, they’re not so bad. None of this feels so bad at all. And soon, people start heading out. You’re beginning to clean up, when a recognizable voice rings out, “Bambi!” You turn and lock eyes with Curtis. He crooks two fingers at you and you quickly make your way over to him.

“Bambi?” you ask.

He grins at you and it feels more than a little predatory. You’ll never admit how much you like it. You try to keep Holly’s warning at the forefront of your mind. “Wide eyes and just getting your legs under you,” he says. You instinctively duck your head at that, which earns a dark chuckle. “Here,” he continues, as he pulls a genuine, fat money clip out of his back pocket. You’ve never seen something like it in real life before. He peels off two bills and holds them out to you. “This is what good girls get,” he says, a low rumble in his voice.

You swallow as you take them from him. Two hundred dollars. Twice what you were expecting. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He shakes his head. “You earned it.” Then, after one last long look at you, he turns around and leaves.

You stand and stare after him. You don’t doubt anything Holly said, but three hundred dollars, just for bringing him drinks. He doesn’t seem that bad, not really. A little intense maybe, but there’s some sort of interest there, and it can’t be that bad to encourage it, just a little if it earns you these sorts of tips, can it??

Any hesitance you have about this entire endeavor completely disappears as you count your money at the end of the night.

Your first week flies by. You're starting to get the hang of the job. You get along with your coworkers. You get to know the regulars. You like it. Even Lloyd isn’t so bad as long as you give him his cut at the end of every night.

And you’re making so much money.

In your downtime, you pay your landlord what you owe him. You go grocery shopping without scouring for coupons first or calculating exactly what you can afford beforehand. You make a Pinterest board of what you want your apartment to look like now that you might actually be able to buy things to fill it. For the very first time, you’re thinking about things you actually want, not just desperately trying to figure out how you’ll pay your bills. You’ve never felt this calm, this relaxed, this free before. It’s an incredible feeling.

And Curtis. Despite Holly’s reassurances that you wouldn’t see him much, he seems to be there whenever you are, trying to capitalize on his winning streak at the poker tables, you assume. His tips are still insanely generous. You don’t think he carries anything less than hundred dollar bills. 

And there’s just something about him. The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. It’s not like the other men here. His touch is like fire, warming from the inside. There’ve been times when his hand on your hip has almost made your knees buckle. That doesn’t happen with anyone else here.

But you’re being smart and you’re being safe. You are. You’re going to set a savings goal, you think. And once you hit that number, you’ll be out of here, onto something more legitimate. And until then, you’ll just keep your head down and mouth shut, like Holly said. You haven’t even really seen anything. It’s a good plan. It’ll be fine.

She’s right that the weekends are wilder. Even with three additional girls working the room, you’re kept running. You do your best to keep an eye on Curtis’s drinks, but it’s much harder than on weeknights. And you aren’t really able to pause when you drop them off. It’s one of these times, as you’re pulling away from the table as soon as you’ve set his glass down, that you’re stopped short by his hand on you. He pulls you back in by the wrist and says, “They’re just running you ragged tonight, huh, Bambi?”

You smile and shrug. “It’s busy.”

He holds out a bill and you try not to smile even wider as he slips it into the waistband of your skirt. “For all your hard work.”

You bat your lashes a little. “You spoil me.”

“I like spoiling you,” he says, lowly. 

“You’re too sweet,” you say softly. Then, pulling your arm away with a wink, you add, “Gotta run,” and you’re onto the next table.

You’re getting good at this, figuring out what level of harmless flirting is just enough to keep the money flowing. And you’re having fun. You’d never expected that.

Holly and two of the other girls, Jane and Kristi, are congregated at the end of the bar, waiting for drinks, when you join them. They’re all watching you warily. “So, uh,” Jane starts quietly, “you seem to be getting pretty cozy with Curtis.” 

Before you can respond, Holly scoffs behind her. “I’ve tried to warn her but she won’t fucking listen.”

You roll your eyes. You’re tired of hearing this. “I seriously don’t get what the big deal is. He’s nice and he tips well. It’s harmless!”

Kristi just gapes at you. “He’s nice?!”

Holly slams the drinks she was waiting for onto her tray. “Whatever,” she grumbles. “It’s her fucking funeral.”

You shake your head as you watch her go. It’s fine. You can take care of yourself.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. You don’t get much of a chance to talk to Curtis, but you feel his eyes on you before he disappears a little before closing.

At the end of the night, once you’ve helped clean up, you cash out with Colin and Jake and then go to find Lloyd in his office. You think it’s kind of ridiculous that you’re basically paying him to work there, but it is what it is. And Holly was right, you’re making so much that you barely even notice. 

Lloyd is sitting at his desk, looking a little more disheveled than you’re used to. He startles at your approach, which is also new. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, with slightly rounded eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You look at him, a little confused. “Just here with your cut,” you say as you hold out his money.

His hands immediately fly up to his chest, palms out. “No, no,” he says. “You made that fair and square. You just– you keep what you make from now on, Cupcake. Sound good?”

You swallow and nod, preparing yourself for whatever other price you’ll have to pay for keeping your job, mentally calculating what you’re willing to do. But Lloyd doesn’t do anything, doesn’t make any move to get closer to you. Just stays there at his desk, turning back to his work. “You have a good night,” he says, clearly dismissing you. 

You leave confused, but richer, telling yourself not to question it too hard.

Things go so smoothly for a few weeks that you’re a little shocked when the bubble bursts. 

It’s a relatively quiet weeknight. There are a few games going, but nothing compared to the weekend. The pace of the night feels leisurely. It’s nice.

It’s maybe the first night you haven’t seen Curtis there. It feels weird. He’s become such a part of this place for you. A fixture, like the bar or the carpet. Just one of the elements that make it what it is. But it’s fine. Of course, he doesn’t come every night. He probably has a whole life outside of this. He must’ve gotten bored of playing cards. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

You’re passing the time talking to one of the regulars at the bar, Vinny. He’s in his fifties, you think, with gray hair and laugh lines. He’d gone bust at the poker table (or maybe it was craps tonight) earlier and then had moved to the bar to drink away his sorrows and bad luck. That was how his nights tended to go.

He’s sitting on a barstool, his arm around your waist where you stand next to him. He’s a little close for comfort, but he’s always just been a friendly guy, so you’re alright. Which is why you’re so surprised when, in the middle of a story about the good old days of the Copa Cabana, his other hand suddenly finds its way between your thighs. You freeze. For just a second. Then you force out a laugh and try to push his hand away. “Bad boy,” you try to tease, your voice shaking. His hand will not move. What is happening? “Come on, let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

Instead of doing what you’ve asked, his thumb briefly brushes the inside of your leg and then his whole hand begins moving higher. You stop breathing. You push again but he won’t budge.

“You’re such a pretty doll, aren’tcha?” he says. 

Tears start to gather in your eyes. You look around wildly to see if anyone’s noticing what’s happening. Colin’s busy making drinks. Jake and Lloyd are talking by the door. Everyone else is engrossed in their own business. “Vinnie, stop, please,” you whisper. You don’t know why you can’t get your voice to work, can’t get your body to move.

“Come on,” he cajoles, “I’m being nice, aren’t I?” 

Then his thumb brushes against your panties and your entire body jolts into action. You wrench your leg out of his grasp and take several steps away from him. Your whole body is shaking now. “I gotta–” you start, trying to keep your tone casual and failing miserably. “I gotta get back to work, Vinny.” Then you grab your tray off the bartop and walk away as fast as you can.

You don’t really have a destination in mind. You pick up a few empties as you wander between tables. You can feel his eyes on you, following you. You try to take a deep breath, calm yourself down. It isn’t very helpful. You look up to see Jake by himself now. You make your way over to him, Holly’s words on your first night in your ears. That was out of hand, wasn’t it?

He looks up as you approach. His big golden retriever smile on his face. “Hey, what’s up?” Then he actually takes you in and his smile drops. “What happened?”

“Um, Vinny, he, uh–” You feel a few tears fall down your cheeks and you just shake your head.

Jake’s face darkens. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No, uh, he– he just–” You shake your head again. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Jake doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at you. There’s something about the way he does it that makes you think he understands everything you just can’t say. He nods once. “Alright. I’ll take care of it. You go take your time in the back. Do what you need to do. He’ll be gone by the time you’re done.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, thank you,” you say so quietly. Then you get yourself to the back room as quickly as you can.

It’s really more of a hallway than a room, small and narrow. All of the storage space for the building is in the legitimate bar upstairs. But there’s enough room for you to crouch down, your knees pulled up tight to your chin. You bury your face in your thighs and let the tears you’ve been holding in finally fall. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re fine. 

You don’t know how long you’ve spent trying to calm yourself down when a large shadow suddenly looms over you. It takes you a moment to gather your strength to find out who it is. You hope it’s Jake telling you Vinny’s gone. You’re afraid it might be Lloyd, here to tell you to get back to work. There’s a slowly building terror that it might be Vinny himself.

After a deep breath, you look up to find Curtis staring down at you, concern on his face and fiery anger in his eyes. “What happened?” he growls.

You shake your head and turn away. He crouches down in front of you. “Are you alright?”

A humorless, uncontrolled laugh escapes you. Once you finally stop, you ignore his question and ask your own, “Why are you here?”

It takes him a very long time to answer. He just looks at you seriously for several moments. Then, finally, “Jake called me.” While you try to figure out why on earth Jake would do that, he continues, “I'm sorry I wasn’t already here.”

“Why?” you blurt out without thinking. 

He looks away without saying anything. You both just sit in the silence for a few moments. Then, you try to change tactics. “Where were you?” you ask out of morbid curiosity. You can't imagine what his life is like outside of here.

“Working,” he says curtly. He plays with a ring on his middle finger and the movement draws your eyes to his hands, specifically his knuckles. They're scraped and caked with dried blood. 

You swallow and you catch how his eyes track the movement. His eyes are always on you. He catches everything. 

“Someone touched you?”

“Lots of people touch me,” you say, flatly. “It's part of the job. You touch me.”

His eyes narrow at that. “But this was different.” It isn’t a question.

You look down at your hands in your lap and don't say anything. 

“Tell me who it was.”

“No,” you say instinctively, something about the moment feeling incredibly dangerous. 

He huffs in frustration. “Are you trying to protect him?”

“No!” you say, sharply. “I’m protecting myself.”

“You don’t have to do that. Not from me. Not ever.”

You don’t know how to tell him that every atom in you knows that that isn’t true. You can’t explain it, and it wasn’t until the moment he joined you in this little closet, but you’d swear that he’s a danger to you. You just can't articulate how, but you feel it in your bones. And still, here you stay.

At your silence, he grits out, “If you don’t tell me who it was, Jake will.”

Jake probably already has, that’s what you’ve figured. “Great,” you say. “Then you don’t need me to say it.”

“Bambi,” he lets out in an exasperated growl. “I'm trying to help you.” 

You just look at him and then figure you may as well ask the main question that's on your mind. “Why did Jake call you?” 

He ignores you and stands up. “Come on,” he says and extends his hand, “I'm taking you home.”

You just blink up at him. “My shift isn't over.” 

He shakes his hand at you impatiently. “It is now. Come on.”

You shake your head. “Curtis, this is my job. I can't just– Lloyd will–”

“I'll take care of Lloyd. Let’s go.”

You think about going home. About sitting alone in your small apartment. At least here you'll have something to do, things to focus on, to keep you busy. At home, there'll be nothing to think about other than that hand between your legs and– “No,” you say as firmly as you can manage. “I'm staying here. I'm finishing the night.”

His jaw ticks but he doesn’t say anything, just tries to stare you down. You stare right back. You will not concede this. 

Finally, he exhales through his nostrils, then growls out an unhappy “Fine. But I'll–” He's interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket. He takes it out and glances at the caller ID and sighs. “I have to take this.” He steps away as much as he can in the tiny area and answers with a curt “Everett.” There's a slight pause. “Yeah, I took care of it.” Another pause that has him glancing at you. “No, something else came up.”

You don't wait to hear the rest of the conversation. You take the opportunity to go back to the main room and get back to work. 

You don't see Curtis again that night. You don't spare much thought to where he might've gone. You're too focused on getting through the remainder of your shift. When it's done, Jake insists on seeing you home. You don't ask why. You already know who's behind it.

The next few days are fine. You try to put what happened behind you, doing your best to ignore it. But that becomes impossible when three days after the incident you watch Vinny walk in. You can’t help the little burst of panic you feel as you warily watch him sit down at his usual table and get dealt in. 

As subtly as you can, you make your way over to Jake. You don’t even say anything before he’s looking at you, chagrined. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I had to let him in. I promise it’s all going to be taken care of. It’s just– You can ignore him tonight, ok? Just trust me. You don’t need to worry about him. I promise.”

“Ok,” you say reluctantly, trying to resist looking back at Vinny. “I just– I didn’t think I’d have to see him again.”

“I really think that after tonight you won’t,” he says sincerely.

You don’t really understand what that means, but you nod anyway. “Ok,” you say. “I, uh, I should get back to work then.” 

He just nods after you, looking a little concerned and a little sad. But the room is filling up, so you don’t have time to delve into it.

Sometime later, as you’re taking a brief moment to idle by the bar, a strange hush descends over the room. You’re facing away from the door, away from the rest of the room, but you see Colin take in whatever it is that’s caused this. His face pales and he lets out a quiet, urgent, “Shit.” 

You turn around to see what on earth could be going on and you immediately freeze. Curtis is here. But that’s not what’s garnering all of this attention. Well, not all. Because he’s not alone, there’s a man with him. A little shorter, not quite as broad. But you’d be able to feel the power radiating off of him, even if you didn’t recognize him. Soft dark hair, thick beard, an immaculately tailored suit. You’ve seen him in the papers, on the news, but in real life, he’s even more intimidating. Andrew Barber.

Barber leans in close to say something to Curtis, who nods, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. Your breath catches, but luckily Colin calls your name behind you and you have an excuse to turn around. He places two glasses of dark liquor on the bar. “Everett,” he says, gesturing to one, then “Barber,” while waving his hand over the other. “Got it?” You nod and place them on your tray. They’re identical to your eyes except for the fact that Barber's has a muddled black cherry at the bottom of the glass.

You carefully bring them over, trying to force yourself to breathe. Curtis intercepts you and grabs the drinks when you're a few steps away. “Thank you, Bambi,” he says, lowly. 

Barber perks up. “This is Bambi? Really?” He extends a hand and you have no choice but to take it. “Andy Barber,” he says with a disarming smile. “It's a pleasure to meet you finally.”

His handshake is firm, demanding. He is terrifying in his friendliness. And he knows who you are. Has known, for who knows how long. You glance at Curtis, but he's just calmly drinking his whiskey. You don't know what to say, what are you supposed to say?? So after too long a pause, you practically whisper, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

He chuckles lightly as he takes back his hand. To Curtis, he says, “You're right, Bambi does suit her.” Then he turns back to you and adds, “Andy, please.”

“O– Okay, Andy,” you say, with what you desperately hope is a benign smile. You look over at Curtis, you’re not entirely sure why, but out of these two dangerous options, he, at least, is familiar. “I should get back to work.”

Curtis is staring at you, but it’s Andy who answers. “Mmm, and we have a game to join, don’t we?” Curtis nods but still doesn’t break his gaze. Andy smirks, “No rest for the wicked.”

You have no idea what to do with that sentiment, so you take the opportunity and get out of there. You walk through the tables, checking to see if anyone needs anything, but the mob boss’s physical presence seems to have ground all action to a halt. The room is collectively holding its breath. 

You go back to the bar for want of anything else to do. Colin is standing ramrod straight, coiled in case he needs to spring into action. Lloyd is sitting down at the end of the bar, drumming his fingers, eyes moving all around the room. You settle next to Holly, who looks just as scared as she did that first night when she was trying to warn you off of Curtis. “Is this,” you start to ask, your voice shaking. “Is this normal? Does he come here a lot?”

“No, never” she shakes her head. “Why would he come here? He has real clubs and restaurants. He doesn’t need to hang out in a shit hole like this.” She shakes her head again. “He’d only come here for a reason.”

You turn your head back to the room and find that Andy and Curtis have settled at Vinny’s table, joining his game across from him. Your heart lands in your throat. That can’t– No. You’re just some cocktail waitress. Even with Curtis’s obvious interest in you, you aren’t important enough to bring the most powerful man in the city here. You’re nothing. He must have other reasons.

The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop as everyone waits for something to happen, which is why when Andy does start speaking, you don’t have to strain your ears to pick up every word.

He looks at his cards carefully, then over at Vinny. “You know, Vinny, you’re a hard man to track down.” His voice is so calm, it sends a chill up your spine. “You don’t go home, we can’t find you at work. I was starting to get worried.” He runs a few chips through his fingers before tossing them into the center of the felt. “That’s why, when I heard you were showing up here, I sent my best man to investigate,” he nods towards Curtis, “just to make sure you were ok.” 

You don’t have a great view of Vinny from where you’re standing, but you can see how stiff he is, how silent. But he still calls when it’s his turn.

“You can imagine my relief when I found out you were alright. Except,” he raises again, a few more chips into the pot, “you’re losing a lot of money, aren’t you? Now, this upsets me. Not because you’re losing your own money. But because it’s mine, isn’t it?”

Vinny finally tries to pipe up. “Andy, hold on. I can ex–”

“You owe me $150,000, Vinny. With interest, that total’s climbing every day. And yet, you sit here and you just keep losing, don’t you? At my own game. What would you do if you won, huh? Would you really try paying me back with my own money? I thought maybe you’d at least have the smarts to cross the border and try this at one of Roger’s casinos. Huh? Paying me back with my enemy’s money, at least that I could respect. But no, it’s only me you think is stupid enough to fall for your bullshit. So now I’m here to give you the chance to fucking do it to my face.” With that, he violently pushes all of his chips into the center of the table. 

Everyone else has folded. It’s just Barber and Vinny now. You’re not sure Curtis even actually played. He’s just staring Vinny down, although occasionally his eyes will flick up and meet yours. You hate feeling like you’re a part of this, but you don’t know what else to do besides watch it play out.

Vinny is just spluttering, while Andy calmly looks on. It’s all the expected, cliche stuff you’ve seen in gangster movies. He’s got the money, he swears. He just needs a little more time. Andy has to know he’s good for it! You want to roll your eyes right along with Andy.

“Call, Vinny,” Andy cuts him off, sternly. “That’s $150,000 I just put in the pot. Call. And if you win, we’re even. Your debt’s erased. But if you lose, well then that’s $300,000 you’ll owe me. And you know I won’t be able to tolerate that. So call. And let’s find out where we stand.”

You can’t see what Vinny’s doing, but you can imagine the way his fingers must be hovering over his chips, his eyes moving down to his cards to check, one more time, if they’re as good or bad as he remembers. You know there’s no way out for him either way. He’ll have to call. He’s just delaying the inevitable.

You feel like you can't breathe as you wait for him to just finally do it, but Andy cuts in again. “The thing I can't understand, Vinny, is why you kept coming here after Curtis showed up. Either you're very stupid or really fucking greedy.” He looks at Vinny carefully. “Maybe a little of both. I hear you've been touching something that doesn't belong to you.”

You gasp. No one notices, but you do. He can't be talking about you. He can't. He can't. 

Vinny seems even more confused than you. “What are you talking about? I haven't touched anything!”

Andy continues to ignore him. “So you're stupid and greedy. That's why you aren't afraid of him like you should be. They call him my attack dog, did you know? Have you heard that? Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you think he’s some puppy that follows me around. You’d be stupid to underestimate him, underestimate me. But maybe you only do that because you've never seen my dog off his leash.”

Curtis springs into action, lunging across the table to grab Vinny by the collar, and then slams his head into the felt. Before there’s even time to react, he’s stood and he's picking Vinny back up and hurling him onto the floor. Curtis comes around the table to stalk after him and the look on his face has you gasping for breath. You've never seen Curtis like this. There's a glint in his eye that might be the scariest thing you've ever seen. Who is this man? What is he capable of?

Vinny is dazedly trying to crawl away, but Curtis catches him easily. He grabs Vinny’s collar and hauls him back up, delivering two punches to his face in quick succession. The sound it makes. There's no other sound in the whole room. No one's saying anything, no one's doing anything. Everyone's just watching, hypnotized. You turn away, your stomach churning. Your eyes catch on Andy, sitting back in his chair, placidly drinking the whiskey you brought him, completely relaxed, like he's watching anything else. You can't look at him either. 

The room is completely silent except for the crunching of bones, Vinny’s whimpers, and Curtis’s grunts. You look up again to be startled by eye contact with Curtis. His eyes are wild, unhinged. Feral. But there's something else in it, like all of this is for you. That all of you are there, everything is happening, because Vinny dared to touch you. It takes your breath away. It’s mesmerizing.

Andy finally stands and strides over to where Curtis is holding Vinny up in the middle of the room. He looks down at Vinny, then spits in his face. “I'm tired of trying to draw blood from a stone,” he says. Then he turns to Curtis and finishes, “Get rid of him.”

Curtis gives you one last long look, his face unreadable. You feel it in your knees. Then he drags Vinny out, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

The moment they're gone, it's like the entire room can breathe again. “Lloyd,” Andy calls out. “How ‘bout a round for everyone? On me.”

Lloyd nods to Colin who hurriedly starts pouring drinks. And you, so grateful for something to do, instead of just standing there, shaking, start loading the glasses on your tray.

As you begin to pass them out, Andy of all people, pulls you aside. “Bambi,” he says quietly, “I hope you know now, we take care of our own.”

You gaze at him, shocked. It feels like a comfort and a threat. But why? It's not so much the implication that this all had something to do with you, but you can't for the life of you imagine what you've done to get yourself to a place where Andy Barber might consider you his, however distantly. It can't just be that you work here. You can't picture him doing something similar for Holly or Colin. Once again, this all feels so incredibly dangerous. 

While you're struggling to come up with anything to say to that, he grabs a drink off your tray and downs it quickly. Then, with a wink, he turns and leaves. You’re left staring after him until someone calls after you and you're scrambling to pass out drinks again. 

The night ends quickly. No one seems eager to stay and drink and play after everything that's happened. Not when there's still blood on the floor.

You do what you can to help clean up, but when you stare at the stain helplessly, Lloyd tells you not to worry about it. He's got a guy.

Colin walks out with you so you aren’t in the parking lot alone. You're grateful. You're still so shaken. As you approach your car, your beater that you still don’t quite have the money to replace, you see someone leaning against it. You stop short, looking to Colin for help, but he just keeps walking to his own car, his head down. That’s when you know it’s Curtis. 

You take a deep breath and then force yourself to keep walking towards him. You can't begin to parse how you feel to see him now. Your keys are ready in your hand like you might just get in and drive off without speaking to him. You know you won’t.

When you reach him, his voice is rough as he asks, “Are you ok?” He’s cleaned up. There’s no more blood on his hands, his clothes have been straightened.

You open your mouth to answer, even though you have no idea, so instead what comes out is “Did you kill him?”

“Did you want me to?” is his immediate reply.

It stops you in your tracks as all sorts of feelings come bubbling up, ones you can not, will not examine. This is about his propensity for violence, how terrifying he became, not– No. “Did you?” you insist. 

He looks at you carefully then shakes his head. “I don't think you actually want me to answer that.”

“But you've killed before?” You can't stop yourself from pressing, from pushing. You don’t know why. 

He just sort of smiles, gently almost, in a way that is deeply unsettling. “You need to stop asking questions you aren’t ready for me to answer, Bambi.” And it’s the way he says the nickname, like you really are that babe in the woods, just born with no knowledge of the world around you, that has your hackles rising.

“Andy called you his dog,” you say, like he should be offended.

To your surprise, he laughs, his head thrown back. Then he takes a step closer to you, and you take the opportunity to sneak in behind him, get to your car. You realize your mistake immediately when he turns back around and cages you in, your back pressed against the driver’s side door. “Everyone calls me his dog. Because he’s the civilized man in the designer suit, and I’m the animal just begging for a reason to slip my leash.”

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. You should get into your car. You should drive away as fast as you can. You should never come back. But you don’t. “You did it for him,” you say, mustering all the strength into your voice that you can. “You didn’t do it for me.”

He leans over you, the space between you shrinking rapidly. “Yeah, he asked me to do it,” he nods. “But if he hadn’t, I still would have done it. For you.”

 You try to shake your head, to tell him that that can’t be true, even as a wild, loud part of you starts to rise up and claw out of your chest. You try to tamp it down, deny it, but before you can, Curtis is leaning in further, his whole body pressing against you, and then he covers your lips with his.  

There’s a heat that comes up out of him that fills you, the instant his skin touches yours. His hands are on you, your neck, your hip. You can’t keep track, can only say that his hands are there, everywhere, that his body touches all of yours, that his lips and his tongue are demanding, unrelenting. You are burning up from the inside.

Too soon, but ages later, he pulls away. His eyes are on fire as he looks at you. Then he tears his gaze away, and hits the roof of your decrepit car twice, looking at it disdainfully. “You get home safe,” he says, then steps back to allow you the space you need to get into your car.

You do what he wants you to do. You get in your car, sit in the driver’s seat, and then stare blankly out the windshield. You’ve never felt so out of control in your life. How did this happen? You were flirting for tips, that was all! You encouraged it for money, that was it, and now– You press your thighs together, trying not to pant. You will not be unmoored. 

A slight movement in your periphery makes you notice that Curtis is still standing just to the side of your car, watching you. You turn your keys in the ignition and shift into drive.

It doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything, you chant to yourself all the way home.

It’s your next shift back, and everything seems to have changed. You don’t understand it. You keep doing laps of the room, keep sidling up to regulars you were so friendly with just a few nights ago, but now, they won’t even look at you, let alone touch you. No one’s ordering anything.

Or at least, they aren’t ordering from you.

Holly has been running around nonstop all night, basically having to take care of the entire room by herself. You watch man after man after man slip her little bundles of money. 

You want to scream. What the fuck happened? What did you do? What are you going to do?

You go to stand by the bar to wait for something you can do. Colin gives you a brief nod of acknowledgment but that’s it. He’s been cold, too. No. Not cold, distant. You don’t understand what’s changed.

You take a deep breath. It’s one weird night. Things will be better tomorrow.

Things don’t get better. The next night is the same. You’re starting to panic. This job was supposed to be your lifeline. Without it, without the money you were making, you’re not sure how you’ll survive.

Curtis comes in after a couple of hours of nothing. You could cry you’re so happy to see him. But terrified too. If he gives you the cold shoulder, this job really is over. But you have no idea how he’s going to act, not after what happened last time. You’re not sure how you’re going to act either. You can still feel his lips on yours.

You bring him his whiskey immediately and he greets you with an arm around your waist, pulling you in. “Hey Bambi,” he says quietly. Then he gets a good look at you. “What’s wrong?” 

You look at him carefully, not sure what to confide. You aren’t even sure what the problem is. You shake your head. “Not my best night,” you say with a tired smile. “But I’m fine.”

He stares at you for a moment, then stands up. “Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you to the little back room. You feel eyes on the two of you the whole way there.

Once he’s closed the door behind you both, he asks again, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “The last two nights have been weird here. I don’t– I don’t know. I’m just worried. I don’t know what happened but I’m not making any tips. No one’s treating me like they used to.”

“Mmm,” Curtis hums thoughtfully. “I think,” he says as he takes two steps closer to you, which in this small space is significant, “everyone else here has figured it out.”

It’s suddenly a little hard to breathe with him standing over you like this. His presence, his attention is always so much. “Figured what out?” you ask, confused.

“That I have lost my patience for watching other men touch you.” 

It hits you like a freight train. “What?” It comes out in a whisper.

“I’ve let this go on for too long,” he says, his voice is calm, casual. “I don’t want you working here anymore. This is done.”

“I– What? Curtis. What?! I have to work! I have to pay my bills! I don’t understand. I don’t–”

He takes one last step forward. You feel the heat coming off of him. “Shh,” he soothes, cradling your cheek in his hand. “It’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you. I take care of what’s mine.”

You pull your face away, even as the urge to nuzzle into him is so strong. You feel like you’ve missed something, a thousand things. You feel too many steps behind. “Curtis, I’m not– I’m not yours.”

Something comes into his eyes and you’re reminded of him standing over Vinny, covered in blood. His hand travels down from your cheek. He strokes your throat once, and then his hand closes around it. “Look me in the eye,” he growls, “and say that again.”

His hand is firm, snug, but it doesn’t tighten. But you can imagine so easily how it might. You look him in the eye. You open your mouth, ready to say it again. But then– then you see it. In the way he looks at you, the way he’s always looked at you. You feel it in his grip on you, now. You can’t deny it anymore. 

Curtis shoves you into his bedroom. You’re panting already. You need his hands on you, right now. You don’t have to ask for it. He gets you to the center of the room and yanks down your skirt, tearing it in the process. You step out of it and take your blouse off, throwing it on top of your skirt. Curtis’s eyes are cataloging your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out of your bra, your soft tummy, thick thighs. His gaze, as always, takes your breath away.

You reach out for Curtis’s shirt, but he grabs your hands. “I want you on your knees,” he growls and you immediately kneel for him. He throws off his shirt, revealing the expanse of his chest, the muted blacks and grays of his tattoos. You’re desperate to run your hands over them, trace the art, but instead, they just twitch at your side. He'll tell you what you're allowed to do.

He begins unbuttoning his jeans and your mouth drops open. He chuckles darkly. “Perfect little slut.” He takes his phone out of his back pocket and aims it at you, taking a picture as you gaze up at him under your lashes, your mouth wide open. “I've been dreaming of getting you on your knees for me.” He puts his phone on his dresser, then continues taking off his pants. “You ready to choke on my cock, baby?”

“Please,” you whine. You're practically salivating now. His bare thighs are as thick as tree trunks, the muscles corded. His abs ripple as he moves. His shoulders, his back. You want.

He frees his cock and rolls his black boxer briefs down his legs, stepping out of them. It's long and thick, just like the rest of him. Your breath catches. You don't think you've ever taken something that big before.

He takes a few steps so he's completely in your space, his cock bobbing right in front of your face. He takes it in one hand, the other firmly on the back of your head and slowly feeds the tip into your mouth. You taste his musk on your tongue. As he rocks into your mouth, going a little further each time, your hands come up to grasp his thighs. On his next thrust in, you run your tongue along the underside of his dick. His movements stutter just a little and then he looks down at you, a smirk overtaking his face. It's just a touch mean, in a way that has you soaking your panties. “You ready?” he asks, his voice rough. And then without waiting for the answer, he thrusts in all the way, making you take him deep in your throat.

You flail, slapping his thigh as you try to swallow around him, breathing frantically through your nose. After holding you there for a moment, he sets a brutal but steady pace. It takes you a moment, but you find your rhythm, your panic subsiding. Once you feel steady, you lift one hand from his thighs and bring it up to cradle his balls. “Fuck, Bambi,” he grinds out. “You're gonna– I– fuck!” His hand moves from the back of your head down to the back of your neck, which he grips firmly, pulling you off his cock. As you cough and splutter on the floor, he growls, “The first time you make me come is gonna be inside that perfect cunt.”

He helps you stand on wobbly legs, then shoves his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy over your panties. “Shit, fucking soaked just from deepthroating me?”

You let out a needy little whine, trying to push further into his hand, but he withdraws it, instead settling on your hip. “Well,” he grins, “if they’re ruined anyway…” then uses that hand to rip the black lace down the side, letting them fall to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra as well, then takes a step back and sighs, “Shit, Bambi, look at you.” It’s the reverence in his voice and on his face that has you launching yourself at him, unable to keep from kissing him any longer. He lets you, quickly taking control, letting you feel all his hunger, the want he’s kept barely bottled up since he first laid eyes on you. You understand it all now. His erection brushes against you, and now it’s his turn to whine, just a little. 

He pulls away, brushing a hand down your cheek, then says “Get on the bed, on your stomach.” You quickly comply, laying in the center of the bed with your knees pulled up and spread beneath you. He brings his hand down on one asscheek harshly and you can’t help the lewd moan that escapes you. He chuckles, “Oh, I will definitely remember that for later.” He grabs your hips and cants them up, then whistles at your exposed cunt. “I knew it. Absolutely beautiful.” Then he unceremoniously shoves two fingers into your hole and you choke on nothing. “Shh,” he coos. “You can take it. My cock’s gonna be a lot thicker.” 

As he starts scissoring his fingers inside you, you can’t hold it in any longer and start babbling. Mostly a combination of “please,” and “Curtis,” and “I need,” over and over.

“I know, baby,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. “I’ve got what you need right here.” You have a brief moment to feel the tip of his cock on your pussy lips before he’s thrusting it into you, as far as he can go without making it hurt. 

“Oh my god,” you cry, pressing your forehead into the mattress and balling his dark blue sheets in your hands. You feel so full. It’s so good. He’s working himself into you as quickly as he can, desperate now. You both are. Once he bottoms out, fully seated in you, he pauses. Then with one hand on your stomach and the other around your neck, he pulls you up onto your knees, your back flush to his chest. You cry out at the new angle; he’s somehow even deeper now. He starts thrusting up into you at a punishing pace. You’re bouncing up and down in his firm grasp. The hand on your neck turns your head to face him, his lips brushing against yours. He holds eye contact with you as the hand on your stomach snakes down your pelvis so his thick fingers can begin circling your clit. “Fuck! Curtis, please!” you shout. 

“Yeah, come on,” he breathes, “you can let go. You can do it. Come for me like a good girl.” It’s those words that send you careening over the edge, your cunt pulsing around his cock, squeezing him until he’s coming too with a grunt, filling you up until both your cum is leaking out around him. 

He holds you there, on your knees, as you both come down, your twin pants all you can hear.

You wake up slowly, the sun shining on you through the soft drapes. You start to shift then groan at how stiff you are. The night before comes back to you. Curtis took you two more times before you both collapsed in satisfied exhaustion. He’s still out like a light beneath you. 

You take a moment to look at him. It’s odd to see him so peaceful, so still. There’s nothing of the feral predator he projects to the world. It makes you feel oddly close to him, seeing him like this.

You carefully get up without disturbing him and begin collecting your clothes. You put on your bra, but there’s no saving your panties. Same for your skirt; it’s ripped along the seam. So instead you pick up Curtis’s t-shirt from last night and put it on. It smells like him. You breathe it in shamelessly knowing there’s no one to witness it.

You savor the soreness as you move out of the bedroom. It’s like you can still feel him inside you, how much he wanted you, needed you. It makes you feel a little powerful, having that effect on a man like him.

You make your way into his living room. You didn’t really have a chance to look at his house last night, as determined as he was to get you into the bedroom. If you’d ever thought to picture it, this wouldn’t be far off. It’s all rich blues and greens and grays, leather and dark wood. Masculine. It suits him. 

As you’re admiring the room, you hear footsteps behind you and then two big arms are encircling your waist, pulling you into him. “Good morning,” he rasps. 

You turn your head to him. “Good morning,” you say with a smile.

“Fuck, Bambi, you’re even hotter in my shirt than you were last night.”

You smirk at him even as your face heats. “Mmm,” you hum. “It’s comfy. You might not get it back.” He nuzzles into your neck as you continue. “I was hoping you might have something I could wear for bottoms, too. You destroyed my skirt.”

His beard roughly drags against your skin as he asks, “Why the hell would I let you wear bottoms?”

You laugh. “Because I have to leave the house, Curtis.”

“No, you don’t,” he says as his hand begins to move between your thighs.

You playfully swat him away, even as you feel yourself getting wet again from his attention. “I have to go home.”

“Why? You’re staying here.” It’s how certain he sounds that has you turning around in his arms.

“What?”

“I don’t like your building. It isn’t safe enough. Now that I finally have you, of course, I’m going to keep you here with me.”

Once again, you feel too many steps behind. You just blink at him, confused. How does he even know where you live??

He takes your chin in his hand, his fingers gentle. “I told you, Bambi, I take care of what’s mine.”

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[not-too-many-eyes]

A Study on Mesmer Jr.

(Also Known As: Nott is obsessed with the bigot autistic girl from the time travel gacha game and its her birthday tommorow so lets talk about her.)

(CWs: Ableism, racism, child abuse) I Love Mesmer Jr. Which isn't a secret to any of my friends who have had to listen to me talk about her at length. I cannot get her out of my head. I think she's fantastically written, fun to read about, and just an all around interesting character.

As such, I want to take a moment to pull apart Mesmer Jr, and consider her place in this story. To contemplate why she acts the way she does, and to connect to the themes relating to her character. I hope you enjoy reading this.

A Curious Impression

Mesmer Jr makes an interesting impression when you first meet her. For one, she immediately causes alarm bells to rings when she talks to Sonneto, one of her earliest conversations, who she says she enjoys talking to because of their "shared values" she feels the need to say that she would have liked talking to her more if she were a "full-blooded human."

Which is something that you see a lot whenever she's complimenting an arcanist, or considering arcanists in any positive light. Even if it's inappropriate in the context, she feels the need to assert her beliefs, to say that:

Mesmer Jr, Praise: As an arcanist, your performance really amazes me. Wish you were a pure-blood human.

Of course, as we know, Mesmer Jr is an arcanist. She's a full-blooded arcanist. Being noted to be from a very Important family, and even being implied to be more talented than most of her family in their line of work: (The Fallacy of Idealism)

Nobody is more talented in this than Mesmer Jr. Her bloodline gives her outstanding ability and keen senses, which makes everything clear and intelligible to her.

She's also startlingly obedient. She has no noticeable outward negativity towards what Constantine has ordered her to do to Vertin, despite it seeming to cause pain or stress. Insisting that this is the normal treatment given to patients despite Madam Z's opinion, and we learn Much Later that her boss had an ulterior motive to all this.

She's even noted before we meet her to seem like a:

(Open Sandwich)

???: It is the other one- the one with indifferent outlines that makes her look like a refined machine.

Evoking images of perfectly programmed robots and droids that do what they are ordered to perfectly without question.

Of course, in the same part this line is from, the game is already nudging us to be open-minded when it comes to interacting with her. As the first thing we learn about her isn't her personality, isn't her appearance, isn't even her Voice.

It's her abuse.

Dirtied Hands

Open Sandwich is one of my favorite bits of writing in this game. It creates this incredible tension where you just waiting for the bad thing to happen, the line about how the child labor laws were turned into paper to wrap the sandwich is wonderful, and I love it.

But it's also the first time we ever actually hear about her. It depicts her having a Sensory Meltdown. Caused by her family's uh- blatant disregard for children's rights, and exposing her to a patient at age 12 because her skill was useful for the treatment. The trauma of the event marking the start of her "nightmare."

Of course this isn't the Only Thing she has gone through at the age of 12. The entire events of Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien happened during when she was 12. She might of had even more traumatic experience before that, considering she went to SPDM, a school that we know Very Well for their child abuse, and she Certainly had traumatic experiences afterwards.

She Is a 16 year old therapist taking care of The Foundation's most "unstable" patients, after all:

Mesmer Jr, Suitcase Climate: Those insane people screamed and rushed out of the guardroom. They kept meaninglessly and repeatedly roaring. Then, their blood shed on the snowy ground. I've seen that a lot.

The Rights of Children Don't Matter when there is Scarcity. Her needs are secondary to The Company's. Her welfare simply isn't important for the Foundation's Beautiful Future. Only the skills and infromation she can provide.

Constantine even manipulated Mesmer Jr into telling her the plan. Purposefully traumatizing her so that she would become scared and anxious. She Asked her to help them, trusting that Constantine, an adult she trusted, would be able to help. Constantine just lied, and made her continue to treat these people even when the experience mind numbingly traumatic for even fully-grown adults.

As a result, Mesmer Jr has developed multiple mental illnesses. Most notable OCD, but she seems to hallucinate in her Monologue.

She's not exactly a healthy person, which really compounds how much you Don't want her to be a therapist.

Of course, it's not like she would ever seek actual proper treatment for it.

For many reasons.

For one, Reverse 1999 is not exactly a kind world to the mentally ill, and she herself is a good example as to why.

Proper Treatment

Let's go back to the first thing I mentioned about Mesmer Jr. She's a bigot, she's a certified racist to every arcanist she ever talks to. She thinks humans are the superior race that will overtake arcanists.

She's also ableist. Just horrible ableist. These two bigotries are intertwined in Very important ways. Her hatred of arcanists is informed by her hatred of the mentally ill, and is further informed by what she has been taught about arcanists.

Reverse has established that the way arcanists and humans are generally viewed is that arcanists are the more emotional, unstable, immature ones and humans are the more logical, stable, and mature ones.

Now, this is a stereotype, one that has been proven wrong time and time again. There is nothing logical, stable, or mature about being so upset at a 12 year old you think killing her friends is a good idea.

And similarly, there is nothing actually inherently wrong about being a weirdo, or mentally ill. For one, uh, everyone is a bit of a freak sometimes, and two, Mesmer Jr treats it as if for the world to get better arcanists need to fully disappear and be replaced with human rationality, but Madam Hoffman says it best:

(Chapter 6 Part 15: With Hope Rekindled)

Hofmann: We have all heard it, humans are more rational and arcanists are more emotional. Hofmann: Their sensitive to the darkness of the world, so they can easily become absorbed in their own emotions and ignore reality Hofmann: But, if we put a human child in the position of an arcanist, who always takes on the world because of his uniqueness, who is never understood for his talents... Hoffmann: Maybe he too will become impulsive, sensitive immature and unstable Hoffmann: And that's why it sometimes dawns on me that if we put an arcanist child in the position of a human being who receives enough love, education, and positive feedback... Hoffmann: These 'instabilities' might be controllable. At least enough to keep them from hurting themselves or others.

But Mesmer Jr really does believe wholeheartedly that being a "freak" is bad, and that being an arcanist is to blame for why she is one.

Mesmer Jr, Hat and Hair: Thanks to it, we are all freaks now. Haven't you ever blamed your brain? Haven't you for once vomited due to the sound or whisper in your brain? How naive and ignorant.

That being an arcanist is something inherently wrong, and as a result of that inherent wrongness, that inherent "insanity," they need to be controlled by humanity.

Mesmer Jr, Chitchat II: I can only stand those arcanists from the Foundation and the Laplace. After all, their insanity is contained by humans.

She believes that humans are destined to overtake arcanists like it's natural selection. That it's only inevitable that arcanists will be overtaken by a species that in her eyes, is logical and understandable.

Mesmer Jr, To the Future: Just like Homo sapiens wiped out Neanderthals, arcanists will be eliminated as well. This is not a prediction, but a predestined fate.

This is, of course, due to the systemic part of Reverse's world constantly pushing this idea that arcanists are Inherently more immature and chaotic.

Constantine and her family deeply traumatized Mesmer Jr and then told her it wasn't actually their fault but this Other Group that She is also apart of but Don't Worry it can Be Controlled.

Mesmer Jr: It's not just about age. It was never going to be suitable for me. Mesmer Jr: Unless one day all the arcanists are gone. Pandora Wilson: Then you and I will be gone, too. Mesmer Jr: Exactly, along with the source of my pain

However, Mesmer Jr's own mental illnesses and susceptibility towards being overwhelmed by others emotions does really mean that she finds being around highly emotional people Taxing. She also finds that the unpredictable of life and other people Tiresome.

She was friends with Vertin in the rest when she was younger sure, but even then she did find arcanists overwhelming and "scary," even when she wasn't in the full thick of it, she saw them being treated and found it unpleasant and painful.

(Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien)

Mesmer Jr: But I'm not interested in arcanists. They are all mad people, and we had to treat them after all...They looked scary.

Now, usually, you grow out of this. She's not Born To Be Racist Forever.

In a better world she very much could have, I dunno-

Be able to actually internalize that arcanists aren't actually inherently a harmful thing, but that her needs sometimes conflict with the needs of others and grew up with the tools necessary to understand that this is a fixable problem that doesn't actually need a whole group of people including herself to die to be solved.

Or, something like that.

However, this isn't that world, this world thinks Mesmer Jr is a good therapist, and that her treatment is humane.

So she's seeks to create stability in the world as a result of that lack of support.

Mesmer Jr, Hobby: What you see is the alignment and tidiness. What I adore is this orderly state.

As much as she understands that it's a sign of her own "franticness" that she does this, it gives her comfort knowing that she has things that she Can Control. That her life isn't actually dictated fully by things out of her understanding. That she has the ability to direct her life in a small, maybe even insignificant way.

Cause, she really just doesn't have much control over her life.

Press the Button

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: ...Achieve the function.

A lot of Mesmer Jr's idolization of humanity comes from this idea of efficiency and simplicity. She talks so much about rationality and "tidiness," but as I've already established Reverse is full of so many instances of "human insanity" so it's plain ignorant to ascribe this trait to humans.

Which, well one she is ignorant, and also racism isn't rational and Mesmer Jr was taught human supremacy of course it's not going to be aligned with actual reality.

Which is true.

However, I do think it's interesting these traits that she idolizes are not from humans but from:

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: Humans are like machinery, simple and efficient. Arcanists are quite the opposite.

That's who she's actually idolizing here, isn't it? She's not really idolizing humans, that's just the framework she was given. She's idolizing machines and going "Wow humans are so cool."

Her Udimo is a machine.

Not just any machine, but a machine invented in part By Her Workplace, and even when she was 12 the narrator describes her as a "refined machine." Indifferent and rigid.

This is the beautiful controlled being that she is seeking! The beautiful tidy, orderly, calm being that just proceeds with whatever order is given to it. One that has...completely no control over it's life, and what to do with it.

Because, traditionally speaking, Machines do not have the ability to self-determine. They don't exist as people with conscious thought and emotion, but as Things and Tools that can Achieve Functions.

I noted way back in the start that Mesmer Jr is startlingly obedient. She does what she is told, and encourages others to do the same.

She's glad that Vertin:

Mesmer Jr, 100% Bond Conversation: ...Anyway, I'm glad you gave up on those insane plans.

Before saying that she doesn't want to be forced to Lobotomize Her, and that she doesn't actually want anyone to end up in Artificial Somnambulism.

But she doesn't say she won't do it. Just that she's happy Vertin did "give up" because it means that she probably won't have to. This seems to be her general approach. Even if she's not happy, she'll do it, her wants don't matter.

She assumes that she has no other option and that her only path forward is following orders from her boss. That the only path forward is the one set for her. There's no point in fighting it so she's just gonna continue on that path, and others should do the same or else they'll get Hurt. Learned Helplessness.

Sonetto is similar to her in this sense (Mesmer Jr says so herself,) and Sonetto is shown to hold quite a lot of repressed emotions, and to deviate from the rules or what is logical when she feels something is at stake.

After all: (Is ABA Really “Dog Training for Children”? A Professional Dog Trainer Weighs In.)

We all know that we can feel angry without expressing anger. That we can smile when inside we are crying. You can stop someone from expressing an emotion, but that doesn’t make the emotion go away. A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.” When you read about a dog attack that came “out of nowhere” and “without warning,” it is because this sort of method was used to handle “problem behaviours.” Studies show that dogs trained with these sorts of methods actually have an increased rate of aggression, because punishing aggressive behaviour doesn’t deal with the underlying fear and anxiety that caused the aggression in the first place.

But Mesmer Jr, in contrast to Sonetto, who has an interest in poetry and curiosity in the outside world and has the aforementioned repressed emotions. Has no real distinct personal identity. She does not own anything that shows her interests, unlike her other coworkers who usually have at least Something on them. All of her items are stuff made by Laplace and exist unaltered. Even her cute little headband is a EM amplifier is part of the uniform.

She holds no control, no identity, no agency. She exists as a machine that someone can press the buttons of and achieve whatever function she needs to achieve at the given moment.

This is her current state of existence, and it's not something that's exactly sustainable. The cracks in this machine-living have been showing since she was 12. How many more do you think have been created now that she's 16?

The Foundation

Now, this is really depressing, but that's because Mesmer Jr is just a bit of a depressing character. She can't really get away from her job. For one, her parents are horrible, two The Storm means that the world is always on the verge of ending. Where else will she go?

But, as said previously:

A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.”

Similarly, a girl trained to not develop any sort of identity will crack Someday.

I have no knowledge of what could happen next in her story, nor am I interested in theorizing about it. But I do find it interesting to think about.

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. ix: Protector

Chapter Summary: Riddled with regret, Aemond searches for Valeana after what had happened in the library.

Word Count: 3843

Sneak Peak: “Nonsense,” He shook his head and extended his hand, “Take my hand, and you’ll be fine.” “But what if I fall–” “You won't,” He gave her a reassuring smile, and flexed his fingers to encourage her to take his hand. “I won’t let you fall, ever.” 

Warnings: Active anxiety attack due to ptsd.

T H E  G R E E N S 

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Aegon never held a strong friendship with his sister, Helaena. They had nothing in common and having a conversation with her felt like navigating a labyrinth. A labyrinth full of riddles that he needed to solve in order to pass through doorways. His love for Helaena only ever extended as much as a brother’s love for his sister could in normal families. He was equally as protective of her as he was annoyed by her. 

He would get annoyed at her hyperfixation of insects and other vermin. He would get annoyed when she moved at her own pace, or flat out didn’t listen when being commanded to do something by him or literally anyone else. He’d get annoyed when she didn’t look at him when he talked to her, or derailed the conversation to talk about something unimportant. Most of all it annoyed him how much his mother ran to her and coddled her whenever Helaena was slightly uncomfortable. However, when Helaena was uncomfortable, even by small things by the standards of everyone else, it was like the world was ending. 

That was when Aegon’s protectiveness would come through. Helaena’s fits would be explosive, sometimes destructive. It had gotten better as she got older, but that only meant that if something was happening, it was much worse than rearranged furniture, or a stain on her sleeve that she was convinced was an omen of death. From the day they were betrothed, Aegon was forced to spend more time with her (to establish some sort of romantic bond with her. Really, his mother asked for the impossible), and over time he recognized the warning signs and learned through trial and error how to calm her down. These fits had started to become fewer over the years, and eventually the possibility of them being married dwindled with his father’s growing health and dislike of the match. Despite all that time wasted, Aegon was still the first to be summoned to calm his sister when she needed it. 

That night, Aegon returned from Flea Bottom from a failed quest to find a new platinum blonde to conquer in his usual preferred whore houses. He was drunk, blue balled, and a bit frustrated when they only offered brunettes that he’s had dozens of times. By the time he reached Maegor’s Holdfast, he was tired beyond belief. He silently cursed his ancestors for making the castle incredibly inconvenient to navigate, particularly for drunkards such as himself. 

Aegon rounded the corner, just in time to see her stumbling and groaning in pain, hands grasping at her leg. He quickly sobered and went over to her, hands reaching out to grasp her shoulders. Her eyes were glazed over by thick tears and a fog that reminded him of his sister. 

Something happened, something terrible had happened. But a quick glance of her form showed him no physical wounds. She wasn’t bleeding, but her leg seemed to pain her a great deal. Valeana was a disheveled, and the thought that someone raped her had immediately crossed his mind. 

“I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!”

Aemond? Would his brother actually be capable of such a thing?

Fear and doubt flushed out the alcohol from his veins. He wouldn’t get straight answers from her, not when she is in this mind set. Brushing her tears from her face, Aegon concluded that a distressed Valeana Celtigar was almost as bad as a distressed Helaena. Perhaps it was divine intervention that he happened upon her in this state before anyone else. 

The apartments he shared with his siblings weren’t that far from there, so he guided her to his quarters. When the guards posted at the doors looked at him curiously, veiled with concern and assumptions on their minds, Aegon gave them a pointed look.

“It is not what it looks like. Something’s happened, but I do not want you to alert a Maester until I figure out what it is. Swear to me your silence?”

The knights bowed their heads, then replied in unison, “I swear it, my Prince.” 

With a stiff nod, Aegon helped Valeana enter the apartments and into his private solar. He would not be able to keep her there until dawn, he knew. If people saw her exiting in the morning, the gossip would be like wildfire and before he could even blink, they would be at the altar in front of a Septon, swearing their vows and exchanging cloaks. First, he needed to get her to calm down, then he would summon his sister.

They entered his bedchamber, and he nudged the door closed with his foot to give them privacy. Then, Aegon helped her onto the edge of his bed after he pried her arms from his neck. Her entire body was shaking; her trembling fingers grasped at her leg, as she gasped in pain. 

“Let me see,” he bent down, but when he tried to lift her robe and nightgown, she panicked and shrieked. Immediately Aegon lifted his hands and stepped back. 

Valeana folded into her body, her forehead nearly touching her knee, and both of her hands grasped at her calf as long groans emitted from deep in her chest. She was starting to gasp for breath, allerting Aegon immediately. Bending down to a knee, he grabbed her hands, forcing his fingers under her grip. 

“Valeana, look at me,” He craned his neck down to her knees to try to catch her eyes, “I need you to breathe.” With his free hand, he cupped her cheek and gently forced her to look up so he could anchor her stare to his. Her pupils were completely dilated, like how Helaena’s got when she had lost her grip on reality. Aegon’s grip on her cheek was firm as she tried to pull away from it. 

“Eh-eh, it’s just me, Egg. Just silly ol’ Aegon, remember? Darling, I need you to breathe, like this—” He took a deep inhale through his nose and exhaled through his lips. 

She blinked at him, which allowed a rogue tear fall over the apple of her cheek down to her dry lips. With shaky shoulders and a constricted throat, Valeana took in an uneven breath. When she exhaled it came out stuttering through pouted lips. 

“That’s it, that’s it, now again,” He inhaled the same time as she did, and then exhaled.

They stayed like that, breathing in and out for a few minutes until her body stopped shivering and her shoulders relaxed. Every few moments she would moan or groan from a wound that the prince still could not identify. Through the pain, he would gently encourage her with a soft, “That’s it, Val, keep going.” Eventually, Aegon felt his efforts working when the full weight of her head dropped in his hands, and the muscles in her limbs loosened.

He grinned, tapping his fingers gingerly on her cheeks, “There you go, Crab Cake. You know this isn’t what I had in mind when I imagined you in my bed. The breathing hard part, yes–” 

“Shut up, Egg,” her eyes fluttered closed, chest heaving heavily as she continued to level her breathing. 

He gave a soft laugh, “There’s my girl.” 

Valeana’s eyes gently opened, her mind still in a fog, but if she had to relate it to anything now, it was more like a dense humidity. The kind of humidity that makes every part of you exhausted. Her tongue ran over her dry bottom lip, “I’m sorry. It must be so late.” 

Aegon gave a shrug, “I should be thanking you. I’ve never felt more sober.” 

From a mixture of exhaustion and delirium, a chuckle shook her shoulders. She brought her hands to her face in an attempt to control her giggles. Aegon, still on his knees before her, remained silent, a small, kind smile upon his face as he watched her. He decided he quite liked her like that – laughing, that is. But then he was reminded of the distress she was in only ten minutes ago, and that smile fell. 

“Valeana,” his hand crept onto her right knee, palm facing up in an invitation for her to hold his hand. “What happened?” 

She stopped laughing to take in a sharp inhale, the butt of her palms reached up to press firmly in her eyes. When she finally pulled away, she blinked rapidly and looked down at his hand on her knee. Surprising herself, she dropped hers onto her thigh and allowed the tips of her fingers to curl around Aegon’s.

“He pushed me,” the words came out painfully. Her brows furrowed and her lips pursed, “In the library. I just-I just touched his arm and—” a stuttered sigh released through her lips. “It just felt–it just… everything all over again. I thought– fuck, I’m sorry, I cant–” Her hands were back on her face, fingers digging into her skin before combing through her hairline. 

“No, no, shh, it is fine,” Aegon took her wrists and pulled them away from her face. “It’s fine…. Are you hurt? Do you need a Maester? What about your leg…” He looked down at the one she was holding earlier. 

She shook her head vigorously, “No, no, please… don’t call the Maester. I don’t want my dad to know. He’ll make it worse, please, just… I’m just so tired.” 

“Are you sure? You looked like you were in a lot of pain.”

Valeana shook her head again, a little softer this time, “I’m fine, really – it does that sometimes… It feels like something is there, but there isn't.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a clear hesitation. Her eyes didn’t meet his curious gaze, but eventually her hands moved down to the length of her robe as she pulled up the fabric and then her nightgown underneath. Aegon watched intently in slow anticipation, until he realized what he was looking at. There was polished oak wood where her calf and foot should have been and a sophisticated and complex ball joint for an ankle. His eyes roamed higher, where he could see the wood cutting off at the knee, before continuing around her thigh where it was secured by various straps and buckles. 

This was beyond surprising for multiple reasons. He had no idea that she had lost her leg – he had clear memories of the Maesters at the time righting it properly, and putting her in a split. Clearly, it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know anything about infections or anatomy, but there had to be a reason for it to be amputated. The other surprising reason was that he had not seen this the other day when he was hiding under her dress. Then again, she was wearing very tall, thick red stockings. Now that he thought about it longer, he did see a strap around her thigh, but he had assumed it was a garter that was holding up her stocking.

Valeana put her skirts back down and wrapped her arms around her legs, “Sometimes I feel things there… But there is nothing, because there is nothing. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Aegon nodded stiffly, eyes still on her left leg, now hidden under the curtains of her robe. Finally he pulled his gaze away and returned it to her, “I’m going to get Helaena.” 

T H E  P A S T

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“We’re lost, Aemond!”

“We’re not lost, we’re just…” Aemond stopped walking as he craned his neck up to look at the leafy ceiling of the Godswood. “A little off track.” 

A simple picnic in the woods had gone amiss when Aemond insisted on going deeper into the thicket, away from the judging eyes of his brother and nephews. They were aware of his friendship with Valeana, but not the extent of how close they were. And while Aemond did not want to give up his companion, he did not want to give his brother more arrows for his quiver. 

Aemond also simply wanted a peaceful moment between him and his friend… quite frankly, his only friend if he thought too closely on it. No interruptions, no curious or amused stares by the kingsguard or other adults. Typically they remained around the fringes of the forest, near the Heart Tree, since Valeana wasn’t good with steep hills and long treks. But, he had a plan; there was a clearing near the bubbling brook that would only take them twenty minutes to get to. There was a large weeping mulberry tree that he wanted her to see. Valeana loved the berries, but he also thought a picnic underneath its protective canopy would be the perfect setting for… 

And he blushed at the thought. 

His first kiss…

Unfortunately, it did not go as planned, and he had no one else but himself to blame. Valeana sat on a rock, breathing heavy, face flushed and hair slightly wet from the sweat building up on her brow and upper lip. He could tell she was self conscious about it, the way she kept on dabbing a handkerchief on her face and looking away from him. Valeana was always hot, always sweating. He remembered she used to wear lighter colours, but her stepsister would scold her for having sweat stains under her pits. Then, Valeana started to wear darker colours, which did not help with the glare of the sun. 

Still, he always found her flushed appearance enduring. She looked like a porcelain doll with a red button nose, and peridot gems for eyes. 

They conversed, like they usually did. All the while Aemond tried to inch his way closer to her, but always found something in the way. A twig holding his tunic, or a rock prodding his backside. Val was blissfully unaware, too busy gazing up at the natural umbrella of the mulberry tree and the light that peaked through. 

Once he managed to worm his way to her side as subtly as possible, he found himself fidgeting with his hands nervously, barely listening to a thing she was saying. Something about how a specific berry looked like a mole on Floris’ back. Aemond turned to her just as she was munching on a particularly large one, with her tongue flicking out and licking up the juices that stained her lips. Subconsciously he mimicked the movement. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked when she noticed him zoning out. 

He chickened out. Once he realized he was staring, Aemond flushed and moved away from her.  

Now they were lost in the Godswood, and they were losing daylight. The bright blue sky was now becoming duller and grey as the clouds gathered for a possible light rain for the evening. 

“A little off track?” She repeated his words as she looked down at a steep hill they were expected to climb down. Valeana turned to him, face wholly unamused, “Aemond, my prince, my friend. We are practically in the Vale.”

Aemond couldn’t help but laugh, at both the overstatement and the look on her face. “We are still in the Red Keep, Val. We can walk in any direction, and eventually we will find a castle wall.” 

“And what will we do when we find the wall, Aem? Grow wings and fly over it? Will you launch me over it like a scorpion or katapult?” 

It was difficult to wipe the smile from his face, but he managed to suppress the chuckle. Instead, he started to scale down the hill, then waved for her to follow, “C’mon, if we go down here, it will save us time…” 

When he didn’t feel her presence next to him, he turned sharply to see her looking down the hill with a visible frown and worry in her eyes. 

“Aemond, that’s too steep, I’ll … I’ll go around. I’ll meet you there.”

“Nonsense,” He shook his head and extended his hand, “Take my hand, and you’ll be fine.”

“But what if I fall–”

“You won't,” He gave her a reassuring smile, and flexed his fingers to encourage her to take his hand. “I won’t let you fall, ever.” 

She looked at him skeptically, “Well, you can’t say ever–”

“Valeana!” 

With a huff, she took his hand, “Fine.” 

It took time, but the two managed to scale the steep hill with only a few close calls. When they made it to the bottom, Valeana heaved a long sigh of exhaustion and victory. 

“See? It was not so bad,” Aemond watched in mild amusement as she bent, hand on her knee – the other still in his – as she tried to catch her breath. 

She sent him a withering glare, “Oh, yes, string bean. Piece of pigeon pie.” Valeana straightened up, brushing the wrinkles of her dress – of all the good that’ll do – and looked about where they ended up. She could vaguely see the white spidery branches of the Heart Tree and its blood red leaves in the distance. 

“We’re almost there,” he confirmed her speculation, but there is still a great distance, even if they could see their destination from there.

“Uh huh,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Now we just need to survive an impending storm, and wolves and bears and hellhounds–”

“Hellhounds?” He snorted, “What do you think we keep in here, Valeana?”

“My imagination is wild,” She replied with a sigh. They started to walk onward, towards the direction of the weirwood tree. “It is especially vivid when I’m afraid.”

Aemond still had her hand in his. With her confession, he gave it a little squeeze, “I’ll protect you, Val. From whatever beasts that lurk around us.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, “And what of the beasts that lurk in my mind? Would you protect me from those as well, Aemond?”

His grip on her hand tightened, “Even those. Especially those.”

T H E  G R E E N S 

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Another regrettable, regrettable mistake. 

But Aemond doesn’t make mistakes. Not anymore. And yet there he was, staring at his hand like it was a foreign appendage; like it had moved on its own accord. 

When he entered the library, he was tightly wound up after the bath. It had the complete opposite desired effect, and he blamed his cock for that. He was no better than Aegon in that regard, allowing depraved fantasies to weaken his will of mind. He wagered the celibate Cole didn’t have any words of wisdom for him to keep his loins protected from his own sinful thoughts, did he? 

Aemond convinced himself that in the throes of lust, his mind simply grasped at the first faces that came to mind. Much like the dreams of his own mother and step sister he used to have – those, he was sure, meant absolutely nothing. And what happened in the bath was exactly the same. It meant nothing.

Aside from the comfort of his own bedchamber, or on the back of Vhagar amidst clouds and sky, the library was his place of peace. In the dead of night, no one was there, not even the overseeing Maester. However, when he entered and saw that his sanctuary had already been breached by none other than the object of his ire, Aemond bristled like an overstimulated cat.

He didn’t realize how tightly strung up he was until it became hindsight. 

The heat of her hand, even through the fabric of his tunic, felt like hot iron. His body reacted impulsively, instinctually, and out of survival, like she was an enemy approaching from behind. Aemond immediately realized his mistake when his hands felt soft skin, familiar to him like a forgotten memory. 

He froze, embarrassingly. Standing, staring at his hand as if it was not his, and before he finally registered what he had done, it was too late. 

“Valeana–”

Aemond barely saw her in his panicked tunnelled vision. He saw the flurry of her robes and nightgown fall over her knees as she got to her feet, and a glimpse of the furrow on her brow just before she turned away and fled the library. He found himself taking strides toward her, but he stopped midway. 

This is for the best, a voice of reason told him. It sounded a lot like Ser Criston. Was this his mind protecting his heart? If it was, then why did it feel like he had stabbed it himself? 

He turned back to the book of his ancestors propped on the pedestal, and then back to the door. Remaining here would be easy, and probably the smartest thing he could do. But then came a second voice, more nagging the first, and it came to him in the form of his mother. 

She is a lady in distress, Aemond. It is not safe.

He shut his eye and sighed heavily through his flared nose. If Alicent learned of what he had done, and then allowed Valeana to run out of the Library during the hour of the owl, she would whip him herself. 

In the end, and as always, his mother won his eternal struggles. With stiff strides, he left the comfort of the library and stepped into the corridor, only to find it void of life. Looking left and right, and then ahead of him, he could hear nor see a living soul. Hedging his bets, he decided to walk ahead, and after a few strides he saw something on the ground: a woman’s red slipper. 

Aemond bent to snatch it up and examine it. He didn’t get a good look at her feet when she had pushed herself off the ground, but he doubted many women would leave their footwear behind unless they were running away. At least he knew now that he was on the right track. 

His steps became a little faster, though as he continued on for another minute or two, he realized he was getting closer to the apartments. When he reached the grand door that led to the wing he shared with his siblings, he paused to face the two knights guarding it. 

“Have you seen the Celtigar girl in these halls?”

The two men exchanged a look, one Aemond immediately caught with suspicion. He gritted his jaw and took a step towards them, “Where is she?”

The knight bit his bottom lip before speaking, “We were told–”

Aemond pushed passed through them into the doors. The vestibule between each private quarters was grand, giving room for a dining table, and a lounge in the balcony that faced the small courtyard. Aegon’s quarters were on the far left, to which he confidently strode to, sweeping through his solar until he got to his brother’s bedchamber door. That is when he stopped himself. 

He could hear heavy breathing through the wood, coupled by soft moaning and groaning. Then he heard his damnable brother’s voice: 

“That’s it, Val, keep going.”

That was it.

That was when winter claimed Aemond’s heart, and turned his blood into rivers of ice.

Note: I know you're wondering.... "Celt... this looks like an Aegon x ofc in disguise." I promise you it isn't. I am a slow burn novella writer. SIT TIGHT, BESTIES, IT'S GONNA BE A BUMPY RIDE.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[finniestoncrane]

Hello Finnie...

Curious...how do you think the rougues would talk to someone who is facing having to move back in with their parents at age 30 due to financial/personal reasons after years of living independently and their self esteem is taking a mahoosive hit 🙃🙃🙃

(I know it's becoming increasingly common nowadays due to cost of living but still...😣)

Asking for a friend...👀

Rogues Headcanons aw anon i feel you, there's nothing like a perceived setback to knock your self-confidence HOWEVER i think you're just being a little harsh on yourself, since you know that it's super common!! but you still deserve comfort and encouragement, and i apologise for how completely sappy i was with this lol 💜 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff, and sickeningly sweet sentiments i hope!!

two face

i think every rogue can say they've suffered setbacks, but none like harvey

by all accounts he was living the perfect life, doing exactly what he wanted to

and then everything kind of crumbled, and he lost it all

but he built himself back up (albeit... maybe on the wrong side of morality depending on the coin flip)

so he considers himself a figure of encouragement to you!!

and he's also gruffly reminding you that self-esteem can be rebuilt

little by little, piece by piece

whether you feel like you're moving "back" or not

you can start fresh and new

scarecrow

his suggestion is a little less than helpful

mostly because his solution to his own financial issues were to... rob people while wearing a costume

and if you want to go down that route he is MORE than happy to help

but if you want to be sensible about it, he can offer support

someone to listen to you while you talk it all out

and he promises he won't psychoanalyse you too much

or talk in his therapist voice

but if after all that you're still lost, he has extra straw and fabric

poison ivy

is your parent's home like a garden? is it nurturing and safe, with a balanced ph level? do you feel comfortable and familiar?

is your parent's home like an unattended back patio made of slabs? cracks with grass? minimal space to thrive?

either way, plants will grow and plants will live

nature pushes on!! and little flowers take pride in pushing their heads up, their stems stretched

to see everything that's good beyond the things that seem so close and current

and with a little help from her, anyone can grow and become their best self, even if they've been uprooted

mad hatter

nothing in this world is perfect, and nothing goes according to plan

trust him, he knows that. he has experience in that. plenty of it

but you have to believe that it's an integral part to your story

what good would alice in wonderland have been if there had been no conflict

if she hadn't been forced to learn about herself, to undergo traumas and difficulties

all in order to get home, which she did

and you will too! he knows you have a happy ending waiting, your own wonderland to get to as a reward

bane

he's never really known a home, so to him it's actually a nice idea

you've got a backup, a safety net

and yeah, you might never have wanted to use it

but it's never a bad thing to know there's another option

and it takes strength to ask for help, and even more to accept it

and while he's pretty sure he's strong enough physically to do most things

even he has to admire the emotional strength it takes to do what you're doing

so he's giving you a pat on the back and reminding you that things could always be worse

(and that pat on the back might cause bruising)

penguin

what do you need? you need money? you need a place to stay?

he'd be offering it all up to you immediately

what good is money if he can't throw it at his favourite people

keeps them under his thumb, yknow? if they own him one

so yeah it might be a favour he'll call you out on eventually

but rest assured he's not thinking of anything else but "how can i help" and "what do you need/want"

far before he'd make any judgements

it's hard to get where you want in life, he knows that very well

zsasz

have you thought about straight up just murdering everyone?

he's kiding, he's kidding!!

besides, that's his thing. don't steal his thing, or you'll end up as a little tally mark on his skin

HOWEVER his advice would be to find something to focus on that takes your mind off of the perceived negatives

it doesn't have to be wiping out humanity in a nihilistic rampage

it can be anything!! and saving some money on rent and having the comfort of home might be all you need to find something new to become skilled at

just as long as it's not murder!!

mr freeze

it might feel like you're losing something, but there's always something to be gained too

and you never really lose what you had, because it lives on in memories and hopes

it stays with you in your plans for the future, in your dreams of what you want when you get back on your feet

or in his case, frozen in time in a glass tube

not lost, just temporarily out of reach

but he's a vehement believer in perseverance and never losing hope!!

you'll both have what you want soon enough, whether that's something new or gaining what you had

riddler

i won't lie i think he's the most likely to turn his nose up at you

like what do you mean there were unforeseen events that you weren't prepared for?

you didn't have 1588729 backup plans, one of which was for that exact chain of events!?

foolish of you really, though he will concede that not everyone has the brain power to strategise like that

in fact, it really is only him who can... so maybe he should lay off

and offer you some comfort instead, since the thought of having to move in with his parents...

well, it literally terrifies him

harley quinn

listen, she's no stranger to "set backs" in your plans

she's had everything taken from her!!

freedom, lovers, career plans (both respectable and criminal)

but she bounces back! and not just because she's a gymnast

(and also deeply out of touch with the trauma it all caused her)

but she manages it because she believes it'll all get better

and it'll all work out

and she believes that for you too!!

[elysiaheaven]

𝗕𝗮𝗯𝘆𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴..?-𝟮𝟭-(The Fox's Wedding)

Words:2676

The conversation continued, a lively argument broke out between Yanqing and Yunli.

"First, you didn't kick my butt!" Yanqing declared, his voice filled with youthful defiance. "Second, you'll never kick my butt! Third, how about we settle this right now and see who kicks whose butt?"

Yunli grinned, accepting the challenge with gusto. "Yeah, I'm up for that! And if I kick your butt, you'll drop out of the Wardance. Deal?"

March 7th, looking puzzled, interjected, "Why are you two arguing again? I thought things had been improving between you lately..."

Jiaoqiu, observing the commotion with mild interest, explained, "There was talk that the leading disciples of the Luofu and Zhuming generals were supposed to face off in the Wardance, but for some reason, they suddenly teamed up to train an apprentice of their own. Turns out the rumors are true."

"Tomorrow is the big day of the Wardance," Jiaoqiu continued, his tone taking on a slightly more serious edge. "Shouldn't you two be focusing on honing your skills instead of teaching swordplay here?"

Yunli looked at Jiaoqiu, recognition dawning in her eyes. "Ah, you're... um, you're... That's right! You're the pink-haired fox from the Yaoqing!"

March 7th chuckled, adding, "This is Mr. Jiaoqiu."

"Pink-haired fox..." Jiaoqiu mused, a faint smile playing on his lips. "What are you laughing at? You've got pink hair, too!"

"Well, this is Mr. Jiaoqiu, the healer working for the General of the Xianzhou Yaoqing," March 7th clarified.

Yunli, catching on, asked, "So, you're the participant attending the Wardance on behalf of the Yaoqing, and you were trying to sneak a peek at our training?"

Jiaoqiu shook his head with a light-hearted chuckle. "Sorry for the misunderstanding. I don't know anything about martial arts. I'm just here on the general's orders to take care of some official business. I didn't mean to interrupt your training. I'll be on my way."

Yunli raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "If you know nothing about martial arts, why were you smirking earlier?"

Jiaoqiu shrugged, his smile widening. "Well, my curiosity got the better of me, I suppose. When I heard Miss March's pondering about what to learn, I couldn't help but wander over."

From behind you, you offered a soft, almost ethereal laugh. "It's true, isn't it? Sometimes even the sweetest of us can get caught up in the chaos. But don't worry, you two are doing great."

Jiaoqiu, now focused on the conversation, continued, "From my professional experience, cleavers, slicers, chopping knives, and carving knives are all just tools, kind of like frying, sautéing, boiling, and deep-frying in cooking. They're just ways for people to show off their skills. How you use them really depends on the ingredients you're working with."

Yunli's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Are you saying our swordplay is like cooking?"

Jiaoqiu nodded, his tone more animated. "Exactly! It's like your sword teaching methods. If you align your 'ingredient' — in other words, your apprentice's natural tendencies — with the right 'cooking method' — that is, the teaching method that best suits her — she'll make double the progress in half the time!"

You took the opportunity to interject with a kind smile. "Just remember, it's not just about technique. It's about how you nurture and support each other."

Jiaoqiu added, "For example, Golden Eggplant tastes best when fried, Cloud Peppers when stir-fried, and Yellow Boulder Beef when simmered. It's all about discovering the nature of the ingredients... uh, I mean, apprentice."

March 7th, already feeling a pang of hunger, laughed. "All this talk about food is making me hungry."

Yunli, confused, asked, "Aren't you a healer? Why are you talking about food?"

Jiaoqiu shrugged. "Well, it's just a metaphor. The medicinal school I follow on the Xianzhou Yaoqing is called the Ranzhi School, which specializes in food therapy, so it's only natural that I know a thing or two about cooking."

Yunli raised an eyebrow. "So... you're the general's cook?"

Jiaoqiu chuckled. "I'm a healer! But anyway, a cook who isn't interested in health doesn't make for a good advisor. Fine, call me a cook if you want."

The conversation shifted, you approached Yunli and Yanqing with a warm, genuine smile. "I hope you both find your way and enjoy the Wardance. Remember, it's not just about the fight, but about the camaraderie and the connections you make along the way."

Jiaoqiu, however, seemed to get more serious. "Picture this: Two individuals, the one standing is full of malice, the other lying down is honorable and righteous. How can the one who's lying down label the one standing as 'sinister?' In the throes of combat, where life and death hinge on a singular moment, every idea fades into nothingness. The only thing that matters is 'staying alive.' Surviving the battlefield reshapes all notions of worth. Be it integrity or treachery, in my eyes, their significance is negligible."

Yanqing, feeling the weight of Jiaoqiu's words, responded, "Perhaps you've underestimated Yunli and me, Mr. Jiaoqiu. We may be young, but we've seen our fair share of war."

Jiaoqiu acknowledged their point with a nod. "Well, well, then you should know that the Wardance is nothing more than a contest. So, why are you so focused on it?"

Yanqing explained, "When I was appointed as the ringmaster for the Wardance, I asked the general: 'We Cloud Knights are supposed to charge into the fray and slay enemies. Why do we have to swing swords in a ring just to please an audience?' And this is how the general replied: 'To unsheathe your sword in a ring is no different than on the battlefield, as your sword reveals the might of all Cloud Knights.'"

Yanqing's voice held a note of pride. "The Wardance is the perfect chance to showcase martial virtue and forge alliances from all over the cosmos. When we unsheathe the sword without drawing blood, we not only display our might but also the martial virtue of the Cloud Knights."

Jiaoqiu, now intrigued, said, "That's quite an insightful statement, Yanqing. Well, my apologies for being so short-sighted. I've been on the Luofu for quite some time, but I haven't had the chance to see the ceremony venue for myself yet. Hearing you speak so highly of it has piqued my curiosity. Would you mind showing me around?"

Yanqing's eyes lit up. "You want to see the Skysplitter ship where the Wardance will be held? Let's go! I bet Yunli and Miss March haven't seen it either, right? Well then, I'll give you all a tour."

Jiaoqiu: "Surviving the battlefield reshapes all notions of worth. Be it integrity or treachery, in my eyes, their significance is negligible."

Yunli, curious, looked at Jiaoqiu with a hint of concern but decided to keep her thoughts to herself. She turned to you, her cat-like form now back to its original state after a brief transformation, and asked, "Can you believe it? March 7th has actually become a pretty decent swordmaster in such a short time. Now I understand why grandpa always had a grin on his face while training me."

You responded with a soft chuckle, "It's amazing what a bit of dedication and the right guidance can achieve. March 7th certainly has talent, and it seems like her training has paid off."

Yanqing, eager to move on, looked at the group and said, "Let's go. I'll give you a tour of the Skysplitter."

With a quick teleport, the group arrived at Stargazer Navalia.

Jiaoqiu, taking in the surroundings, remarked, "Looks like a lot of other visitors have also come to catch a glimpse of the Skysplitter."

Yanqing noticed Jiaoqiu's contemplative expression and asked, "What's up, Mr. Jiaoqiu?"

Jiaoqiu hesitated before replying, "No... it's nothing."

Yanqing pointed towards the airship in the distance. "Do you see that airship? That's the Skysplitter, the venue for the Wardance ceremony."

You glanced at the airship with a thoughtful expression and added, "It doesn't look all that impressive from this distance, but I'm sure it's something special up close."

Jiaoqiu's eyes followed the direction Yanqing pointed, and he nodded slightly. "Indeed. It may not seem like much now, but appearances can be deceiving."

Yanqing smiled, ready to lead the way. "Come on, let's get closer and see what all the fuss is about. You'll get a better view soon enough."

Jiaoqiu observed Yanqing with a thoughtful expression and remarked, "Oh, Yanqing, so young, yet so grown-up... By the way, how old are you exactly?"

Yanqing, not missing a beat, replied, "Age doesn't really matter. All swordmasters will understand how I feel."

Jiaoqiu nodded, taking in Yanqing's response. "Hmm... I get it. Looks like all the kids on the Luofu live tough lives. So, how about you, Miss Yunli?"

Yunli, slightly taken aback, responded with a touch of humor, "It's not polite to ask a girl her age, no matter which Xianzhou ship you're on."

You, who had been quietly observing the conversation, interjected softly, "Sometimes the journey is more important than the number of years, wouldn't you agree?"

Jiaoqiu, slightly amused, said, "I'm not asking your age! I'm asking if you have a dream like Yanqing has?"

Yunli, with a hint of playfulness, retorted, "You don't talk like a cook; you sound more like a TV host or something."

Jiaoqiu, slightly exasperated, clarified, "...Need I repeat myself again? I'm a healer."

Yunli sighed and shared her thoughts. "Well, I... I don't have a dream like Yanqing does. The only reason I'm participating in the Ringmaster's Challenge is because I made a promise to my grandfather that I'd win the precious sword he's contributed to the Wardance."

Yanqing smirked, "Sounds like that mind of yours is just filled with swords."

Yunli, with a serious tone, continued, "My... father... was a craftsman on the Xianzhou Zhuming. Because of his foolishness, many innocent people fell victim to the cursed swords he forged."

You, sensing Yunli's pain, reached out with a comforting presence. "It sounds like you've been through a lot, Yunli. Your resolve to protect others from harm is admirable."

Yunli looked at you with a soft smile. "Thank you. Since I was a kid, it's been clear to me that not everyone deserves to have a weapon in their hands. Giving them a sword is no different than being cruel to the innocent."

Jiaoqiu nodded thoughtfully. "So, whenever I come across someone unworthy of a sword, I can't help but want to take it away from them. Given that Yanqing is the Wardance ringmaster, I'm stepping up to challenge him, to ensure the precious sword doesn't fall into the hands of an unworthy master."

Yanqing, a bit defensive, asked, "Hey! What do you mean by 'an unworthy master'?"

Jiaoqiu glanced at you and then back at Yanqing. "I see. It's not easy for kids on the Zhuming either. Well, it's better to have a reason for wielding a sword than to be lost and confused. I've saved countless Cloud Knights in my life, and there are plenty of exceptional warriors just like the two... of you..."

Yanqing noticed Jiaoqiu's sudden shift in demeanor and asked, "What happened, Mr. Jiaoqiu?"

Jiaoqiu shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "...Oh, nothing. I was just reminded of some old friends and old tales."

Turning his attention back to Yanqing and Yunli, Jiaoqiu continued, "Judging from my professional perspective as a healer, both of you possess remarkable vitality; your energies flow like raging fires and mighty gales. The upcoming fight... will definitely be impressive."

You smiled gently, adding, "I'm sure both of you will give an incredible performance. I look forward to seeing it."

Jiaoqiu glanced around at the Skysplitter and Stargazer Navalia. "Well, we've seen the Skysplitter and toured the Stargazer Navalia. I guess it's time to say goodbye for now."

March 7th, joining the conversation, said with a touch of disappointment, "What, you're leaving already? But you haven't asked me about my dreams! I've been working hard too, you know!"

Jiaoqiu, with a chuckle, replied, "It's getting late, Miss March. Unlike you lot, I'm a grown-up bound by responsibilities and duties. The tasks entrusted to me by the general won't complete themselves."

Jiaoqiu turned to Yanqing with a curious look. "By the way, Yanqing, is it normal to have so many people wandering around in an automated area like the Stargazer Navalia?"

Yanqing, with a knowing smile, answered, "...Actually, this is a restricted area, but since you're all guests, I made an exception so you could take a look around."

Jiaoqiu nodded, understanding. "I see. Well, I'll take my leave. I wish you both the best of luck in the ring tomorrow."

Jiaoqiu prepared to leave, you stood there, bowing with a quiet grace, your eyes betraying an emptiness that seemed to stretch endlessly. Each step you took felt heavier, like the weight of countless regrets was pulling you further into the abyss of despair. The world around you seemed to blur, the bustling Skysplitter and Stargazer Navalia fading into a distant haze.

You found yourself questioning, once again, why you should even continue. The internal struggle was consuming, gnawing at the edges of your sanity with every unanswered query. You walked alongside Jiaoqiu, your movements slow and deliberate, but the darkness within was encroaching, turning each step into a battle against overwhelming sorrow.

Suddenly, you felt a gentle touch on your arm. Startled, you looked up to see Jiaoqiu's hand resting there. His eyes, usually so calculating and reserved, were now filled with a deep, unexpected concern. For a moment, the world seemed to pause as you met his gaze, the anguish and helplessness reflected in your own.

In that brief silence, the walls you had so carefully constructed around your heart began to crumble. You felt a wave of vulnerability crashing over you. It was as if Jiaoqiu's touch had opened a floodgate of emotions that you had kept tightly controlled. Without thinking, you found yourself speaking, your voice trembling with the weight of your sorrow.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry for everything... for ruining your life. I never meant for any of this to happen. I'm sorry for the pain I've caused."

The scene shifts to Jing Yuan in his private quarters, the flickering light of the lantern casting shadows on the walls. He sits at his desk, staring at a letter that has just been delivered. His usually composed demeanor is shattered as he reads, his hands trembling slightly. The contents of the letter unravel the painful truth he had been missing, connecting the dots between recent events and the anguish you have endured.

A single tear escapes his eye as he clenches his jaw, trying to hold back the wave of emotion. The realization hits him hard—he now understands the gravity of what you've been through and the mistakes that led to it. His heart aches with regret as he realizes how much he has misjudged the situation. Without uttering a word, he rises from his chair, determination and sorrow etched across his face. He knows he must see you again to offer his heartfelt apology.

Cut to the ancient seaside shore, where Feixiao stands with an air of quiet anticipation. Her eyes are sharp, but there's a subtle softness in her gaze as she awaits her guests. The scene shifts as Jing Yuan approaches, looking troubled but resolute.

Feixiao "I am glad to finally meet you in person. Guests from the Luofu, I presume?"

Jing Yuan"You're here about the Ambrosial Arbor's resurrection, no?"

Feixiao "Straight to the point. I like it."

Jing Yuan, barely able to mask his distress, takes a deep breath and asks: "One of the messengers... was his name Jiaoqiu? Did he marry the woman named Y/n? No need to worry, I know of her past. and why he might have married her.."

Feixiao's eyes widen with realization. She nods solemnly, understanding now that the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place. Her expression hardens slightly as she contemplates the gravity of the situation.

Feixiao "Yes, Jiaoqiu. He... accidentally married her to save Moze from dying."

Jing Yuan's face reflects a profound sadness as he absorbs this new information. He pulls out a letter from his coat and hands it to Feixiao. It's a letter that provides a detailed account of what ahppened

Jing Yuan: "We understood the history of her past wrong...then, She had every right to be rude towards me."

Feixiao looks down at the letter..

What!? Is Jiaoqiu planning ?!

Is that why..you acted so....mean..? To....Make feel a little better to kill you..?

Your soul has the power to heal...... 

He must have known about it...You also seemed to be aware...

yet

What is.....? Why are you so..? Kind...?

[queenlua]

hey. hey. what mtg deck would naesala play?

Naesala doesn’t play Magic: the Gathering.  what do you think he is, some kind of nerd?

…that’s what he says, at least. except, at some point, Leanne gets her hands on some cards & omigosh there are ANGELS on here and they’re so pretty!!! & so now she has an ANGELS DECK & she wants Naesala to play, so he’s like “fine i guess”

(this is when they’re all still young and precious and adorable.  also: Ice Age is the hot new set of cards in town.  no one is actually good at Magic yet, the only way you learn the rules is via exciting rumors on the playground, the metagame advances at the pace of a monthly Scrye magazine subscription, etc)

ANYWAY.  Naesala starts out just playing whatever pile of cards Leanne hands to him & is perfectly happy getting rolled by her; he’s really treating it as a social hanging-out kinda thing, kinda like pinochle or whatever

except then Reyson makes a whole THING of it, y’know.  he shows up with his own aggressively handcrafted green/white deck and he’s going to BEAT Naesala and that’s going to make him stop bugging LEANNE.  (i mean, it won’t, but insert whatever adolescent boy logic you like here)

Naesala doesn’t care that much about winning either way, but he *is* a horrible troll and enjoys rankling Reyson

so that’s when he bothers walking into an Actual Hobby Shop for the first time (taking care not to touch anything more than he has to) (when is the last time anyone dusted this place or wiped down a counter, gross) & he asks if they have a copy of The Official Rules & he then proceeds to read them cover-to-cover

and thus, the following week, he’s the one that breaks the news to Reyson, mid-game, that regeneration can’t save your creatures from Wrath of God & Reyson is PISSED.  “that’s not fair” “it’s the rules” “you hafta SAY that first” “sorry Reyson but your river boa is dead” etc etc insert childish squabbling here

anyway.  fast-forward a bunch of years + one genocide later, and, dang, it’s been a while since Naesala and Reyson talked, huh?

Naesala hasn’t touched the game much in the interim.  i mean, he’s played some, because he’s got this one annoying underling who’s really into it, and part of being a good leader is very occasionally letting your hair down & letting everyone dunk on you in some goofy multiplayer MtG game in the mess hall.  so he has a couple gimmicky decks he’s thrown together for casual play.  he’s got a Relentless Rats + Thrumming Stone deck.  he’s got a goofy Tinker deck—he put it together when he was REALLY out of the loop, and thought he’d discovered this great new combo no one else had noticed—he was pissed when he learned that card had been banned, like, two years ago, dude.

but his main deck is this black/white weenie deck that he’s cobbled together over the years—it’s charmingly old school but still holds up reasonably well.  it’s got Hypnotic Specter and Order of the Ebon Hand and Order of the White Shield and Hymn to Tourach, and he’s thrown in a Stromgald Crusader and a Damnation and such over time, it doesn’t exactly adhere to good modern deck design principles but it generally puts in a respectable showing.

meanwhile, Reyson has gotten *way* too into MtG—like, uncomfortably into it. have you ever had a friend who got Way Into A Particular Hobby Because They Were Clearly Desperately Unhappy About Something Else In Their Life? And They’re Trying To Tell You About All This Insane Hobby Drama That They’re WAY Too Invested In And You’re Trying To Find A Subtle Way To Tell Them Bro Get A Little Bit Of A Life Please?  yeah, that.

i mean, it’s understandable!!!  he can’t possibly compete with the hawks in all their reindeer games, dude just literally does not have the muscle, but there is a decent contingent of hawks that are pretty into MtG so he is determined to dominate there.

Reyson is not a natural talent at the game, but he’s a total grind, so he is in fact the most dominant MtG player on all of Phoenicis.  so when Naesala shows up in Phoenicis for the first time in years and years, and Reyson's got all these Unresolved Feelings about that whole deal, of course he challenges Naesala to a game of MtG, yugioh frenemy style, to test his friendship mettle or something

Reyson’s playing a ridiculously aggro red/black deck.  i’m thinking some good filthy gargadon rakdos.  just on and on and on the attack

so Naesala gets out his charmingly old school black/white weenie deck, kinda rolling his eyes, but sure he’ll give Reyson a game if he wants a game, no Reyson he doesn’t know if it’s a standard legal deck or not but it’s the deck he’s got, will you shut up and just play—

and Reyson’s mostly dominating, but Naesala’s doing his level best to hang in there, and the match comes to a rather dramatic climax when Naesala manages to stabilize during one of the games & he taps out to cast a 5-mana big boi—

and, yeah, of course Naesala’s janky old school black/white deck has a Serra’s Angel as a win condition & yeah it’s the exact same one Leanne gifted him years and years ago & they both know it.

they end the game pretty quickly & awkwardly after that & neither of them remembers who actually won.

(wow this Naesala guy is such a simp.  god this is such a fucking cheesy moment.  i hate this, hold on, i’m gonna go throw up in my mouth a little… OKAY i’m back.)

ANYWAY.  all that plays out, doot dee doo, fast forward to post-Radiant Dawn:

* Reyson’s a very happy red/white Boros player these days.  he has chilled out a little bit but is still pretty easy to bait into getting Mad And Competitive again.  (Tibarn frequently does this because it’s kind of cute when Reyson’s pissed about magical cards) ((Tibarn’s decks are absolute piles, oh my god.  just the most janky barely-functional Timmy stuff imaginable. someone explain the concept of a mana curve to this poor man))

* Leanne still likes ANGELS!!!! & also white weenie stuff & also cute stuff generally.  despite her benign appearance & her weakness for playing Cute Stuff over Good Stuff, she’s a more naturally talented player than Reyson & has just enough of a killer instinct to generally come out on top

* Naesala favors black, and mostly just tries to figure out whatever deck he can play to troll his local meta, but he’s still got that black/white deck in a sentimental drawer somewhere.

also: look, i don’t play Commander nearly enough to provide any substantive commentary on that front, but… my very first instinct, when i read this question, was: “this bitch would definitely run Braids, Cabal Minion as his commander.”  except i looked it up and apparently Braids is Very Banned In Commander.  boo.  does the format ban fun, too.  c’mon, let a dude ruin everyone’s game every once in a while!!!  i think Naesala is equally pissed about Braids being banned is what i’m saying

so yeah that is my complete theory of Naesala And Magic The Gathering lol

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 13: Maeglin (The 13 is a fitting number)

TW, CW, all kinds of warnings: Eol is in this part. And Maeglin. So, you know. All that stuff will be mentioned. And some discussion of what Maeglin's plans were.

Aredhel wants to leave, Turgon's reply is interesting. It's not "my heart", but "my reason objects" which a) is a rare phrasing (but makes sense here) b) it turns out that Turgon does have a functioning reason. Also, he says it will end badly for both of them. Huh. I have a feeling that turgon does not very well distinguish between foresight and reasoning.

Aredhel feels as if he was trying to command her and gets upset. I don't think he is. I think Turgon is more worried about his secrets, than sexist and trying to command her, because he is the brother. He says it, even. The problem is people knowing the city's location going out.

The only remotely patronizing thing he says is "there are dangers the princess doesn't know about". But I don't feel like his whole attitude towards Aredhel is patronizing.

Thingol hates the sons of Feanor so much he doesn't let their friends in, or at least people who are visiting them. Which… it's after he learned about Alqualonde, right? It makes a lot of sense.

So Aredhel goes through the spider-country. I knew it will appear somewhere. Her "bodyguards" are lost and have to run away, but she's fine and competent and goes to C&C's home but they're not home.

Also, only on this reread I realized, how far those journeys are. Also, elven timescales. C&C are chillin with the 3rd C on a vacation and it lasts over a year. Aredhel gets bored, wanders into Nan Elmoth and :(

So, Nan Elmoth. Enchanted by Melian long ago, but now dark, the darkest forest. I did talk about Melian being Melkor-aligned, haven't I? (Not as in: evil. As in "she was close to him conceptually by "birth" but did not join the rebellion.) This is just my hc, but I felt like mentioning it.

So, Eol. Eol is very dark too and kind of sus. He doesn't like Doriath, he fled when Melian did the Girdle (why?), he loved shadow. He is a goth and this is kind of sus. He's also pals with Dwarves (who were evil in the early Legendarium). This in itself is not evil, but feels like a foreshadowing nonetheless. Also, I think no matter his morality, in each case he would be much more likely to use poison than the Noldor were. (Maybe non-lethal poison, if he was a nicer person). Also, he invents cool black goth!mithril galvorn. And he made the two coolest swords in the Legendarium, but this will be said later.

Also, he blames the Noldor fot Morgoth's return (unjustly) and for some other things, as we see later (justly).

Also, the narrative feels the need to explicitely tell us that he is not a Dwarf, but a noble Elf. Also he is sad but handsome and has darkvision. Which is cool.

What is not cool starts here. He sees Aredhel being pretty and wants her so he magics her into not being able to leave the forest and into wandering into his house, where he invites her in.

And they get married. In circumstances not elaborated about, but even if she did fall in love, the gps-jamming trick was very not ok as a way to flirt. And yes, he explicitely did it because he wanted her.

"Nobody claims the marriage was non-consensual" says the narrative. which very much reads as Pengolodh going "I will not claim it for lack of proof, but I think it". Anyway, ok, let's take it at face value, she fell in love, ok, fine, he was handsome and had cool swords, I get it.

Aaaand as her husband he ordered Aredhel to not go in sunlight, and to not meet the sons of Feanor or even any other Noldor. this guy really needs a course on relationships. (To be honest to Eol, his parents are never mentioned and such stuff often is generational, so his fault might have been less that it feels. But still. I want to punch him.)

Maeglin. He is really good at reading people's minds, and at commanding people. Also, he's tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, pale and Noldor-shaped. Tl;dr: he is really handsome.

Dad takes him to visit the Dwarves and Maeglin learns stuff. Mom tells him about the Noldor and Maeglin wants to meet Turgon and the Feanorians. Eol rants at him, partially reasonable (they mourdered our close kin and stole are lands), partially not (you are my son, so you will do as I say or I will bind you).

Ugh. his idea of a family. I'm pretty sure he had some orcs in the line, or at least some escaped thralls with a lot of emotional damage. This sounds like Angband logic.

Maeglin doesn't seem to love his father either: he wants to leave with Aredhel, because he learned all that he could from Eol (and the Dwarves), so what use in staying. I don't blame him. So they leave.

C&C don't like Eol (not surprising with his attitude towards the Noldor) and Curufin is said to be hasty (before it was Caranthir. I guess they both are?)

OK, I don't get it. Curufin disses Eol, but still he does tell him all he needs to know to find Aredhel (who is his friend, the book said, or at least Celegorm's). I guess this is the hasty personality at work.

Please, do not be like Curufin. when a suspicious / unknown person asks you about your friend's wherabouts, shut up, and check with your friend first. (Curufin did not have a phone, but still, he could have shut up.)

Also, Curufin, out of all people, gives Eol a sort-of-prophecy! With all the "my heart is telling me". Which checks out later.

"I can't kill you because the laws of the Eldar" — well, it is before Doriath, so maybe he still cares? Or maybe it's just "Maedhros would be mad at me".

Eol is good at sneaking, I suppose, but the guards of Gondolin are better at guarding. They catch him and, because he says that he's Aredhel's husband, they do not kill him against the king's explicit orders on what to do with tresspassers. I have no idea what to make of this whole situation (not logically, logically it makes sense. But narratively, thematically.)

Eol sees the city and is amazed, and gets even angrier and more hateful at the Noldor. It reminds me of something. "you have a lot of cool stuff, I hate you even more" is rthe exact same reaction as (canonically) Melkor has after his release from Mandos. and Turgon, just like Manwe, is clueless not reading people's minds and it wouldn't be posiible in this case anyway. And is kind and gives him the benefit of doubt.

Eol refuses to shake his hand, like an upset preschooler, and disses Turgon. He starts very reasonably (this is our land, you are proud and did a lot wring, also I don't care about your city's secrets), but then he gets on the sexism again. And heavily.

His argument is "I will take my son, but if you as the brother claim Aredhel, I am ok with this". Seriously. What. Where did you learn it? Dwarves? Are Dwarves this awful? Angband thralls? Orcs?

Also, he tries to kill Maeglin on the logic of "you can't keep what is mine", which (I am sorry to everyone who will feel offended on part of their blorbo) sounds like Feanor's attitude about the Silmarils. Or worse, depending how you read Feanor. Would Feanor rather see the Silmarils destroyed and noone getting them, or see them going to the Valar? This may need a poll. ;)

Aaand he curses Maeglin too. Idril has some kind of foresight and this curse makes Maeglin sus in her eyes.

Maeglin is going strainght to the top, he's important in the city, widely respected and appreciated by Turgon. He's got a circle of friends: people like metalworking gravitate towards him. He is in the city council, and does well and wisely. He is also a brave warrior and fights in the Unnumbered tears. And does very well. He is by far not a loser.

But. He is in love with Idril (happens, especially when you have emotional trauma falling in love is random and weird and not always with the best people for you). And he never talks to anyone about it. Which is understandable with his background, but also very unhealthy. It kills him from the inside.

Idril (who is apparently also really good at osanwe) notices his love for her and is freaked out. Which is fine on both sides. Not "fine" as "pleasant" but as "no blame here". Emotional issues often lead to someone's emotions "leaking out" and being uncomfortable to be around without any actual bounduary-crossing. Just the vibe. And Elves have this much more, they have semi-telepathy! Also, Idril is under no obligation to love him back, and she does treat him politely, so no blame here either.

It will get worse, of course. On his side. But now I think it's not. also, I need English quotes.

"he loved the beauty of Idril and desired her, without hope" — this sounds as if he accepted the fact that she won't love him. Which is the appropriate reaction. Probably the only Tolkien quote, where "without hope" is a positive. Well, semi-positive. If he had some hope (or at least'; was open to the possibility) of finding another love or learning to live single, things would maybe go better. Still, this sounds like acceptance to me.

BUT

"But as the years passed still Maeglin watched Idril, and waited, and his love turned to darkness in his heart." — waited for what???

The interpratations I can think of:

Pro-Maeglin:

waited for this feeling to pass

just generally waited, as in: "he grew and stuff happenned"

waited for something to happen even though it was not possible — it worked for Indis after all, and I'm sure he knew this story — but fully passively and with no plan to do anything creepy (which I think would be an ok reaction, maybe unwise but not bounduary-crossing)

Mixed:

this sentence and the "without hope" sentence came from two different sources (both in-world and when Cristopher Tolkien complied the silm) with different characterizations of pre-capture Maeglin

Negative:

he regained "hope" (inquotes because it's a very nasty kind of amdir in this case and doesn't deserve the word) and flirted with her despite her protests, he was a creep

was even worse a creep and waited for the opportunity to "wed" Idril his father's way or worse (not only deceit but force)

had no hope for wedding but waited for revenge "if I can't have her, I will kill her" AKA his father's way again

I have no idea what the intended meaning is in here.

The "darkness" may be anything from trauma (more unprocessed emotions), through hopelessness (if I can't have Idril, I can't have anything good and y life is meaningless) to outright premeditation for rape.

Meaglin is a very ambiguous character in the text. He will get worse, but he will get worse after close contact with Morgoth, so it isn't necessarily a good measure of his personality at this stage. But there isn't one clear reading of him, at least in the text itself.

(eol is …. not ambiguous, but very ambivalent. He's got a lot of common sense! His political opinions about the Noldor are not all correct, but many of them are very on-point and better said than Thingol's. But also he's awfully sexist and violent.)

Also, no mention of Anguirel. :(

And I would love to see a connection between his unrequited love, "darkness" and the sword. This needs some HCs one day. The feelings resonating with the black blade, making it more deadly and precise. The metal cooling the feelings, making them a dark, icy thing that cannot be talked about. definitely needs a hc or fic.

[nail-art-no-jutsu]

🎶🌹 Rojuro 'Rose' Otoribashi headcanons 🌹🎶

Soundtrack: Alexis Ffrench - A Time of Wonder

Y'all I'm back on the bleachwagon and I can't stop thinking about this man, I especially love to imagine how he got to where he is, and finally I'm putting all my ideas in one place. So without further ado:

I don't think he grew up in Soul Society, but I definitely think he died at the worst possible time, when he was young and life was good and easy, and he had time to indulge in his hobbies, music in particular

like Toshiro, Rose heard the calling of Kinshara before he knew what it was, he just thought it was just something that happens to artists after they die

but unlike Toshiro, I imagine Rose told everyone, cause he just talks a lot in general lmao, and someone or other must have told him that what he's describing is called a zanpakuto

otherwise he wouldn't have gone and become a Shinigami at all

he was only interested in the training he needed in order to understand this creative force inside of him that he absolutely must express outwardly, and no instrument seems to be good enough

... except for a sword ...

he absolutely hated the Academy though, not enough room for creative freedom, too much structure, no composing daydreaming in class allowed, not to mention how he always got the best ideas for songs he wanted to write while he was in the middle of a training session

the only good thing about the Academy was meeting many of the people he would call friends for way over a hundred years

Rose didn't acquire shikai or even bankai in order to advance in his career or to become more powerful, he did so because it would have been impossible not to

Kinshara is very insistent and when it has something to show him, he has no choice, not that he doesn't absolutely love the experience, it's so magnificent that it moves him to tears of joy, it's ecstatic, it's sensory heaven

Rose: look at this thing I just learned to do, isn't this wonderful? Any of his friends: my dude, that's called a shikai, go apply for the position of Lieutenant. right now!!!!

he goes through a phase where he's uncomfortable with the fact that Kinshara doesn't just entertain, it kills

he'd be a lover not a fighter if it wasn't for how much farther he got artistically after learning to use his love for music for fighting

he overcomes this dilemma by telling himself that it's fine actually because he's one of the good guys, and promising that he'll only blur the line between creation and destruction against opponents who really deserve it

how do you identify that? he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it. don't worry about it

Rose didn't have a good time as a Lieutentant, again, too much structure, but he actually did apply for the position of Captain himself, at least that way he'd get to make the rules and he could take breaks whenever he wanted and procrastinate with his paperwork until he found the perfect background music for it and so on

this did not work out that great, because he had a very hard time working with Iba's mother as his Lieutenant, she had no patience for *gestures towards all of this*, and I also suspect she might have been resentful that someone so carefree ended up as her superior

and to fast forward just for a bit, Izuru is not like that at all, and it's one of the first things that Rose appreciates about him, Izuru does respect structure, but he's not above doing the work in all kinds of unusual ways as long as it gets done

a thing that Rose shares with Shinji is that he's always been interested in what's going on in the world of the living, especially when it comes to music, and then he branched out to literature, philosophy, pop culture, and other things that are referenced in lyrics, that's how he learns about things, even if after that he starts enjoying them for their own sake

I can see them both taking trips to music stores or to concerts on Earth, separately or together, especially when they were supposed to be doing something else

Rose just really needs a lot of enrichment in his enclosure or else he absolutely will wilt and perish, most gracefully, of course~

he is in fact not a snob when it comes to music, he knows the lyrics to songs you'd least expect, and he can appreciate the artistic value of artists or genres that he doesn't really listen to

you wanna rickroll him? nice try, he loves that song

and yeah, this is getting so long someone pls take my keyboard away from me

just kidding, this is way too much fun 💖

[shadowiie]

For the ask game, Cream the rabbit? (^-^)

One aspect of Cream that I enjoy is how unique she is as a playable character. I just finished watching the Advance 2 cutscenes for this as I realize I didn't know enough about her to talk about her, and one thing that always stood out to me was how different she was from the main cast.

She chooses to fight against capital E Eggman in order to save her mother (a parent - something most characters don't have, especially one thats alive and actually a good parental figure). She's polite and well mannered, a stark contrast to most characters' rude attitude. Furthermore, she never fights head-on, Cheese is the one fighting for her. That's very different!

As a little baby man, Cream was my go-to character when playing Ultimate Flash Sonic. She was cute and she wasn't all pink and girly like Amy and she was easier to play with while not being boring ol Tails (and Shadow had to be unlocked to play. Otherwise baby me knew what's up).

It's interesting how much she stands out amongst the rest of the cast. She has her own little niche to her, which I appreciate.

One thing i wish more people understood about her.... Hm. Maybe it's because i don't know her as well as some of the other cast, but Cream isn't really a character that's easily misinterpreted. If I had to pick one thing, I'd say her bravery.

Whether it's for her mother or Chocola, Cream has always been willing to step into harms way to get them back. She's quite the ass-kicker, too - while Cheese does most of the work it's Cream herself who gives the orders.

She can seem like she's your standard "little girl" character, but like with most Sonic characters once you take the time to look at them you notice their character is much more complex than at first glance.

As for a headcanon..... I headcanon that like she does for most chao, she gets along well with Chaos :)

Whenever she's allowed up on Angel Island, she plays hide-and-seek and makes flower crowns for them, as well as with all the other little chao. Knuckles appreciates it, though he'd never admit it.

One relationship that I really appreciate is Cream and Sonic. Cream tends to bring out Sonic's kinder side, as he'll go out of his way to do things for her in his own Sonic-ey way. God help you if you make Cream cry, as Sonic will zip into action to make things right. In Sonic Advance 2, when Vanilla is kidnapped during final story and Cream starts to cry, the very next action Sonic takes is to use the 7 chaos emeralds and become Super Sonic to chase after Eggman and rescue Vanilla once and for all.

It's very cute how Sonic acts like an older brother to her.

I also really like Cream's relationship with Vanilla and Amy.

One relationship I wish I could see is Cream and Knuckles. Knuckles is stubbornly kind when it comes to other people, but his inexperience and hot headedness leads him prone to misinterpretation and awkwardness.

I think it'd be cute to see Knuckles awkwardly trying to babysit Cream. Bonus points if he's a terrible babysitter, and Sonic gets to tease him when he accidentally makes Cream cry with his poor skills. Even still, he won't hesitate to smash anything that tries to hurt or tease her, including especially Sonic.

As for a headcanon with one other person, I think Amy often brings Cream along for "girl talks." Cream tends to just go along with whatever Amy's doing, and so I could totally see Amy, needing another girl to talk to about love who isn't Rouge or Blaze (Blaze lives in the Sol Dimension, and Rouge just gets on Amy's nerves), would drag Cream over to her house and then vent/gush about her love for Sonic. Cream doesn't really get it but she's too polite to refuse.

[worstloki]

AU where Loki doesn’t interfere with Thor’s banishment at all and it takes Thor years to prove himself worthy and when he returns to Asgard everything is just. The same. Nothing seems to have changed at all and everyone greets him like his absence was a minor obstacle that didn’t fundamentally change Thor and the worst part is Loki stepped down from the place as regent without any delay and Thor can’t help but feel there’s something underlaying the way his brother looks at him now and won’t let him touch him and Thor doesn’t know what he could have missed because he doesn’t think he would have found anything wrong with the things around him and how everyone behaves if he hadn’t spent time on Earth reflecting.

[ganondoodle]

back on my zelda thoughts

idk about you but i got sick of zelda running after people with big sorrowful puppy eyes begging them to listen to her(they wont) or to help link in totk pretty fast

[sidras-tak]

Accessibility takes too goddamn fucking long.

My brother was paralyzed in October 2023. We got him home from the hospital (in Texas, when we live in Iowa) in a clunky old hospital chair. He hated it. He was scared and angry and in pain and his life had just changed forever and he couldn’t do anything for himself in that wheelchair. His first goal (aside from learning how to transfer) was to get a wheelchair. My family was lucky enough to afford one so we thought it would be easy enough. Nope.

We couldn’t buy him a wheelchair. He needed a prescription. For a wheelchair. A doctor had to examine him and declare him in need of a wheelchair. It wasn’t good enough that he had scans and tests showing tumors cutting off his spinal cord. He needed his primary care doctor to examine him during a physical and write a prescription. He was making 2-4 transfers a day, tops. He had no energy to get to a doctor. Home health was in and out every day. He had no time to get to a doctor. He didn’t get a prescription for almost a month. Then it had to go through insurance.

We asked if we could skip insurance and just buy a wheelchair for him. Nope. They wouldn’t sell us one, not even at full sticker price. It needed to be approved by Medicare. We ordered a wheelchair, a nice one, a good shade of green, sporty, small. It would let him move around the house. He would be able to cook, to reach drawers and get stuff from the fridge and brush his teeth and put his contacts in at a sink. We were told it would take awhile, maybe two months. Silently we all hoped he would be around to see two more months.

He went on hospice care on a Saturday in March. On Monday, I was calling his friends to come see him before he died. I got a call on his phone. It was the wheelchair company. They were about to order his wheelchair, she said, but there was an issue with insurance— had he stopped being covered by Medicare? Well, yes. When he started hospice care, he got kicked off Medicare. The very nice woman I talked to told me to call her if he resumed Medicare coverage so she could order his wheelchair. He died less than 12 hours later.

We ordered that chair for him in early December. Medicare didn’t approve the order until March. He was dead before they got around to it. He wanted that fucking wheelchair so badly. The only reason he had any semblance of independence and any quality of life for the last five months of his life was because the wheelchair company lent him an old beater chair, a very used model of the chair he ordered. If I could go back and change one thing about his end-of-life, I would get him his dream wheelchair. He told me again and again he couldn’t wait to get it, so that he could feel like a person again. He made the best of what he had with that old beater chair, but it still makes me mad to this day. He was paralyzed. He needed a chair that afforded him dignity. We had the money for it. And yet, we were left waiting for five months, for a chair that wouldn’t even get ordered until the day he died.

[neverendingford]

.

[doublyamusing]

My hot take is that ASL should be mandatory from a young age in schools in the USA

[seventeendeer]

ppl are too quick to point to laios' disability as the reason his friends think he's a freak sometimes. so many instances of laios getting yelled at are, in my eyes, a case of "this guy had to emotionally mature very early in order to be there for his little sister" combined with "much older friends who never had to learn to manage their own emotions to the same degree"

a lot of the time he's right about needing to be more direct/deal with things in a way that may seem scary/needing to put your gut reaction aside. he tries not to make his friends uncomfortable and he puts up with a lot because he's trying to keep the peace, but he also pushes the others out of their comfort zones purposefully to try to get them to think more constructively. everyone else in the party is prone to acting on their gut instincts and avoiding uncomfortable situations even when facing them head-on is very much necessary. part of what makes laios such a great leader is the fact that he knows from experience how to put his own feelings aside to help someone else grow.

yes, he does make a lot of social blunders by accident and he does struggle to connect with others, but not all of his positive influence on others is accidental or "despite" making people uncomfortable. a lot of the time, I think it's clear he knows exactly what he's doing and he's trying to help the people around him process emotions in a healthy way as they all go through some truly harrowing shit. all the main characters support each other as well as they can with their unique emotional skillsets. laios' skillset just happens to be "gently talk child into eating her vegetables"

[dunmesh]

this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.

as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.

and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.

but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.

so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.

but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.

so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.