#can just ride the agony without questioning it

[kirbyddd]

i lived bitch

[hanasnx]

ᯓ★ “ I WANNA FUCK WITH THE LIGHTS ON ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this movie isn’t out yet but i can’t wait that long to take advantage of my superman kick and fuck this man. unfortunately i don’t know much about his characterization other than the trailer content. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ size difference ノ dick riding ノ objectification ノ p in v ノ praise ノ clark has huge dick syndrome.

“Just… take it slow.” CLARK KENT encourages, but it’s said more so for himself than you. A large, flattened palm emphasizes his instruction, gesturing for you to relax without grabbing you to take over your actions. You stop, his eyes flickering to meet yours questioningly, until he takes a shot in the dark. “Please.” It’s delightfully endearing, and it loosens you up a little.

“It’s not that, Clark, I’m just—you’re just so… you know,” Big. You try to hint at it without blurting it out. Hovering over his lap too long, a tremor builds in your thighs, and you bite down onto your lip as you let it pass through you in a shudder.

His expression adjusts as the realization dawns on him, “Ah,” he exclaims thoughtfully, and he tests the waters, bringing his hands to your body to rest in comfortable places. Your waist seems appropriate, and your fingers fiddle with the muscle in his shoulders as you keep chewing your lip. “Do you want me to take over?” the question is punctuated with a shift of his hips, arranging himself in a better position to begin, but even the marginal movement has you whining with need. It alerts him, tensing up instantly as he freezes while your pretty face twists in pleasured agony. You’re still wrapped around his reddened tip, and it’s a burning kind of stretch that makes you wish you could just shove him in all the way—at the cost of ripping you in half.

Through your heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you manage to meet his gaze with darkened pupils that don’t want to cooperate. You hum a pitiful “uh-huh” while you nod your head, signaling to him that he’s right. His thumbs on your torso stroke at your skin comfortingly, big hands clamped around you as he raises you. The lip of his head catches on the rim of your pussy, and you suck in a breath as an emptiness replaces what used to be filled.

“We’re gonna take it nice and easy,” Clark talks you through it, but even his exhale hitches when cold air hits his slit. Carefully, he lowers you back on, feeding his dick back into your silken walls before taking it away again—all to introduce your hole to his size little by little. The method chips away at your tightness, and you try to follow his movements with yours even if you’re weak in the knees. “Wanna look at me, duchess? Let me see your eyes?” He tilts his head, his curls falling over his forehead as he chases your gaze. You do your best to peel your eyes open one-by-one, granting him his wish as you pant through your open mouth taking his cock one agonizing inch at a time. The sight of you barely holding on when he’s not even halfway in, stretches a smile onto his face, and if you were more coherent, you’d say it’s one of pride as well as endearment.

One hand cautiously releases your side, while the other takes your weight entirely, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a fleshlight. His other slides between you two to seek out your pretty bud, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at that clit. The new sensation slicks you up as quickly as it occurred, and you gasp at how elevated it all feels from a simple action like that. “That’s what you were missing. Right, baby? It’s hard to loosen up without it. You’re so tight…” You know he didn’t say it like it��s a compliment, but it makes your insides jump anyway. Your muscle contracts and suddenly he can fit a lot more in. “Does that feel good?” he asks, his thumb leisurely circling your bud as your pussy drools around him.

Desperately, you nod your head with a couple of “mm-hmm’s!” that lead him to speed up—introducing you to more of his length as he picks up the pace on petting your clit. Your hands abandon gripping his shoulders for stability and instead overlay his. Yours are dwarfed by him, but he takes your guidance, absorbing how you’re putting pressure on his knuckles and replicating it against your poor pearl, getting puffy from the stimulation and the lack of getting railed. It all lights a fire under your ass, and your body moves for you, bouncing in place to try and force more of his cock into you. You can’t overpower the Superman, but he does let you take it all down to the hilt—his strength making a sex toy out of you.

[robolvrr]

stars aligned. ☁️ ·̩͙✧

ultra magnus x reader drabble! warnings: nsfw. praise kink. mild bondage. slight voyeurism.

"you look stunning."

the titan near crumbles right then. you hear a noise you're certain none of the lost light, hell, galaxy even, has heard torn from his vocalizer, selfishly happy with the static edge that trembles with it.

he's a good listener, the loyal enforcer, because he doesn't even squirm no matter how loud his joints shift.

it's a divine miracle granted that rodimus didn't question your request of rooming with ultra magnus, under the premise of a work-related agreement. granted, some of the more rowdier crewmates suggested the obvious. efforts to keep your blossoming relationship under wraps were made long ago.

while there is little to pin rumors from in behavior - you'd share quiet looks across the hall, ultra magnus rarely raised his voice in your presence and never seemed to have issues with your data even with a spelling mistake (or four).. well. what good was a crew without gossip?

an unnamed engineer claims he's seen you nestled against ultra magnus's chassis. another chirps that his servos always glide along your back as if looking for something he had misplaced. whirl bets screws are loose and that you always have a limp to your gait - what else the source than the clear, animalistic fucking between you two?

no one listens to whirl. you shake the humor of accuracy before focusing back on your lover before he starts to twitch.

"say it, magnus." the mech whines. it should sound strange - it doesn't. you can tell when he resets his vocalizer, dizzy.

"i'm. i'm... i'm...!" large wrists twist, brief. you admire in silence, satin threatening to burst with his agony. this test of discipline the pair of you know he indulges, so the pristine bow stays in place - he groans under a roll of your hips, so much tinier than his, engines roaring to life.

"let it out, honey. you've been working so much lately."

magnus finally relents. "i'm. stunning." he could write pages and pages of how hypnotic your body looks, rocking against his rigid frame with expertise that'd put succubi to shame.

his faceplate is warm, biting back his shame because the lack of yours is just so nice to stare at. in fact, if he didn't know better, he'd say you were smug.

"say it again. you're stunning. you're beautiful. you're strong."

ultra takes the challenge in stride, noting his temperature inclines starting to ping him, adjusting cooling fans so as not to burn you.

he would never, never hurt you.

"i'm.. hagggh. please, my love, you're too-"

a wrong answer, for now. his pedes cannot spare the release of kicking. not when that same, titanium white silk is keeping the illusion of packaging.

"i don't want to hear anything, not even about me. tonight is all for you."

no human will ever share the strength to lift his tied servos, but he lets you anyways. gaze intense watching your lips drag to kiss the sides of them, tongue laving out to catch the ridges of a hefty digit.

"but i can't help it, darling. you squeeze me so much. you're so tight, hah. you're going to.. t-to-to.."

as much as his processors scream to undo his capture, it'd be a shame to ruin your pretty handiwork.

'pretty only because it's on you', previously moaned in his audials. before that cherry red grin goes to sipping your coffee and leaving him a joor just like this, to finish the analytic reports he had assigned you to finish.

"i'm stunning - frag. i'm stunning. i'm beautiful."

embarrassment collects thick at his core. he knows the underside of your legs must be painted pink by now. knows from the way you ride him faster that he's still being good, that you won't leave him high and dry and primus, he feels weak and -

"'m strong."

if weakness meant melting pitiful in you, under the addiction of flesh, he'll die and drift to the allspark blissful!

meanwhile, you're close to ecstasy. have been since he first introduced himself to the charming little analyst, simultaneously nervous and stiff. delighted to see even then he was trying not to wander, servos clenched.

on a first glance, annoyance. in reality? restraint.

"i love you."

ultra magnus curses. or it sounds so, a clutter of grinding gears and low vibrations you dazedly recognized as cybertronian. impish you isn't mean enough to ask for a translation.

"'m close. going to.. going to overload-"

"do so. fill me up, all of it, every drop. i want to walk with you dripping down my legs."

a laugh, sparkling and deep. "you're always so crude- ah!"

it's simply not realistic to hold all he offers. when you feel a familiar stretch and bulge your hips lift, still bucking the tip to ease him through the ferocious charge.

ultra magnus still can't believe how after the rumble of his frame ends you're still swift to tend to him. it's a nice feeling, watching you slowly undo his bondage, even rub your soft fingers along him as if they had caused any true damage.

a thick patch of fabric delicately dotes the seeping transfluid from his seams, sensitivity still gaining a groan or lilted sigh. determined as you are, he still scoops you up to glide closer to his dermas which you dutifully nip.

"stellar job as always, dear."

"mm. i will need.. a moment to recharge."

"just a moment?" a tittering laugh. "and here i thought you'd be ready for another round."

..

whirl eases from the habsuite hanger. if he had a jaw, or a face, or hell even a commlink that wasn't blocked by half the crew, he might have popped a circuit.

oh, he has a story to share and primus save whoever has to witness it.

robolvrr 2024

a/n: i am so helplessly in love with ultra magnus. take my offering. i feel like he needs a good roll in the bed and a bubble bath. whirl is not beating the humanfragger allegations.

[kiwanopie]

SOSBSSS I NEED MOAR CRIME LORD AU SAKUSA 🙏🏽

Stomach Pains/The Start of it All

CW: Some descriptors like the reader having a long hair, but that could be a weave or natural hair, Mentions of gunshot wounds and blood, references to human experimentation, crimelord! Sakusa and reader might have a lot more in common than you think. (Also a little more lore about the reader cause I rarely go into it.) have fun with the rules of my au lmao fluff

WC: 3k

“G-God…!”

The pain emitting from the hole in his stomach is enough to make a punch in the gut feel like a tickle. — His whole body feels set off like a live wire, every nerve cut at the lid. Between gasps and welling tears he just barely sees a figure standing above him through the haze; and despite his honor he hopes - he begs they’ll be so merciful as to just put him out of his misery.

But as it would seem, and as he very clearly deserves, karma has long since lost its patience with him, and a surge of hot white mind numbing pain washes over him as something presses firmly against his stomach, so unabashed as it does that it’s a wonder he doesn’t fall into pieces.

Sakusa’s vision clears somewhat in that agony, somewhere between prayer and hellfire. “P-Please. Just fucking get it over with-“

It’s you.

You didn’t… leave. Even when his misjudgments put this whole operation at risk. —- You could’ve. You should’ve. Six million dollar contract withstanding, it’s not really something worth dying meaninglessly for. I mean, you can all but turn into smoke. Be gone in half a second once bullets start to fly and turn up a quarter way across town in the other, as they say. Plus, what an ass he’s been since meeting you. Questioning your credibility, your efficiency, your position as an elite. Commenting on your clothes and your cadencey. Basically called you a bimbo riding on the coattails of your affluent sister, only viable if it meant being eye candy. It goes without saying that he hasn’t earned such loyalty.

And yet, here you are. Perfume wafting gentle smells of honey and lily, pretty dress stained in cerise. ~ Unlike the neutral dispositions expected of most scouts in your line of business, you’ve broken your usual cool with movements that can only be described as dire and frantic, pushing on his stomach with the kind of urgency undeserving of a jackass like him. - Your pretty blow out swings over your shoulders as you panickedly swivel your masked faced between him and the wound on his stomach, and his eyes are amessed with tears again at that foreign feeling of guilt.

“S-Stop.” Sakusa grits. “There’s no helping it, just stop. I’m already gone.”

You turn your head for a long look at his face for a deliberate second.

You reach for your mask.

The endorphins in his brain must already be going off because a woman this pretty has no right to exist than in daydreams or final throws. Kind doey eyes cottonized by worry, and a general visage that could turn any good man into goo.

And yet somehow your voice blows that out the water. “You’re here with me, Sakusa-sama. As long as I’m here, you are.”

Like the taste of miso soup. That’s what you sound like. Warm blankets, and fond touches, and the glossy feel of Devore. All of that while being regarded with such genuine concern nearly reverts him to something infantine. He hopes that this new slue of tears doesn't look too telling. “How’s your mouth taste?”

“M-My…?” He clears the knot out of his throat. “The same…”

“How about smell? Rotten eggs or garlic?”

Sakusa’s eyes squeeze shut at the pain. “N-… No. I don’t smell anything.”

“Good. Means the shot missed your liver,” You pull a hand away again till a medical bag is seemingly forming in your hand. “O.K.-“

You pull a syringe pen out for him to see. “This is Benzedrine. — It’ll feel like a kick in the balls but it’ll keep you from going into shock.”

Like a kick-? He doesn’t even get a chance to brace himself before you’re pressing it against his thigh.

And then he’s gasping into the air.

“Jesus fucking-!” His tensed muscles smear the electric chines of such an unexpected surge of pain. He very nearly bites off his own tongue. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Yeah, sorry I lied. It’s actually so much worse than I described, wasn’t it? — But you got through it, yeah? We’re almost home free.”

Sakusa nods at the encouragement. Though when he swallows it goes down sticky. “How close is ‘almost?”

“If it’s a through-and-through we’re right at the finish line, if not-… Well, I might be insisting on a bonus.”

Your fingers pull away from where they’d been idlily pressing pressure points against his lower sides — Belatedly he realizes your testing the feeling in his legs. “Lift on my mark.”

Just the feeling of bending his legs feels like ripping into his stomach lining. The fact that he won’t be passing out from this is much less comforting than expected.

“Okay. Lift.”

This is gonna hurt like a bitch.

“F-…! Oh, fuck!” His voice is shrill enough to cut ridges in the floor under his chin. A pained wail of a groan that only increases as it tapers. Not even the sound of you gently shushing him makes this feel any less excruciating as it does. Every twitch knocks the breath out of him.

Sakusa hears you sigh. “Oh, thank god. It went clean through. No bigger than a few centimeters.”

“There you go,” You help him lay back flat again. “There you go. You did such a good job, Sakusa-sama. We’re almost finished.”

As fuzzy as the praise turns him, he breathes out through a pained quiver. “That bag. Do you have anything for pain?”

“Anything I have could counteract with the adrenaline and throw your heart out of rhythm,” You frown. “I’m really sorry, I-…”

And then you pause.

For so long he’s nearly compelled to lift his neck and check if you’re still in motion. “…I can stop the pain. But you’re gonna have to… trust me.”

Well, seeing as he’s quite literally at your mercy. In just the few minutes since this whole thing went tits up (totally his fault by the way) you’ve given him kindness unlike anything he’s ever felt in his life. Unwarranted. With such genuine earnesty he could almost forget you’re known as one of the most ruthless elites on the map. “Please, just make it stop.”

You nod.

It’s a moment of quiet anticipation till his vision is obscured by the softness in your cheeks. By straightened tresses and buttery skin, faint beauty marks and the pretty slope of your nose.

By the feeling on your lips on his.

And it’s… it’s too much and not enough all at once. Soft, pillowy, sugary - the feeling of his heart beating out of his chest. Aching pains that tie his muscles in knots - sweet mint laden on your tongue. You make a quiet noise in his mouth that covers him in a flurry of goosebumps. He only notices how cold he’s gotten when his ears turn ten degrees over the regular. And if he were a less restrained man he’d be leaning into the kiss, even a shot in the gut wouldn’t stop a man from fawning over his dream girl.

Especially when he realizes you’ve taken his pain away.

You’re licking his spit from your bottom lip when you pull back, the air is infinitely sweeter. “W-What…? How did you do that?”

Ah, it’s terribly cute the way your lips dip when you’re flustered. “Gethsemane experimentation. All their Elites are… “Enhanced,” upon qualification, so... I just displaced your pain receptors. I had to make direct contact to be sure I wasn’t disrupting anything vital.”

“Oh.” That hurts his heart so suddenly that he actually recoils. He knew by the way Gethsemane were so quickly moving up the ranks that they were doing something shady, but this? To her. But even so, his question isn’t exactly asked with purely sympathetic intentions in mind. “Have you ever done it that way before?”

“Not like that, no. But I figured it would work.” Oh man, he hopes he didn’t exhale too loudly.

It goes without saying that Sakusa’s sigh of relief is layered. “Well-… Thank you. Thank fuck, actually.”

Your breathless titter draws visible hearts in the air. “Don’t thank me just yet. Things are about to get a little weirder.”

He watches you reposition yourself on your knees. “There’s a hole in your stomach about as wide as a number two pencil, so I can’t see the damage done to your insides. — It’s a through-and-through with no sign of blow out, and your liver and spine still seem to be in working condition so your survival rate is high. But you’re down about twenty G’s, and given your height, you can’t afford twenty more,”

“I’m gonna stick my finger in your wound as deep as I can reach so I can use my mutation to create fictional stitches. It’s gonna feel.. unsettling.” You show him your hand, and a sizzle of vapor wipes it clean. “Are you ready?”

He nods.

In you go.

Wow, that is… a very unsettling feeling, alright. He can feel your finger moving around in his stomach, grazing against tendons that in no way should be making contact with a human hand. — Whatever base this is, he feels he should be allotted at least a plate of dinner.

He can feel his internal wounds pulling securely back together as you carefully retract from his stomach, the sigh of relief you let out once you’re finally free is expectedly mutual.

“Now, for the easy part,”

You cleans his blood away with another pinch of smoke as you bend for the medical bag again, medical tape and a thin tube emerging in one hand and a band and scalpel in the other. He watches a hilariously cutesy stress ball materialize between your fingers, and breathes in the smell of rubbing alcohol as you tear a packet over him.

You rub it over a small spot on his inner forearm. “I’m ‘O’ negative. My mutation burns through disease and most injuries so, even if I wasn’t already disturbingly careful a transfusion should be seamless,”

“Only problem,” You cut a slit in his arm that he doesn’t feel. “You’re nearly a foot taller than I am and in the hour it’ll take for rescue to come, I could be out like a light,”

You must see him getting ready to protest because you say surely. “It won’t kill me. But when I pass out, I need you to put this mask on me again before anyone sees. — This has to be our secret.”

Your mask reappears on his side. That signature clay and ink, stained in speckles of blood and impersonal as ever, it’s almost unnerving how stark the contrast is between you and this mantle that’s made you so infamous in the first place. Voidish fox like eyes and an empty space where the mouth should be, — the way your eyebrows sinch in concentration as you slip the little tube in your arm. — A woman like you, as beautiful as you are, as understanding; being the face behind the boogeyman that the Scout “Lovely,” has been rumored to be, it just doesn’t seem possible.

Though, that’s before noticing you’ve both been undisturbed this whole time in what was just essentially a red zone. “Where is everyone?”

You notice him glance at the blood soaked into your cocktail dress. “I took care of it. The files are with me as well.”

“By yourself?” Sakusa doesn’t bother masking the disbelief in his voice. “Even his scouts?”

“It was the only way I could get to you undisturbed.”

Talk about dispensing doubt. Not only does he feel like an ass but now he kind of looks like an idiot. Gethsemane does not take the term “elite,” lightly.

But now that terrible, awful, unfamiliar feeling of guilt is back. Especially with your blood now coursing through his veins. “Why did you come back for me? All of this is my fault, and it could’ve gotten you killed.”

“It would take a lot to kill me, Sakusa-sama,” You assure him. “You contracted me. Regardless of what happens it’s my job to follow the orders of my temporary director.”

He frowns. “But to this extent? After I said those awful things to you?”

You give him a look of thoughtful pause.

“Can I speak freely then, Sakusa-sama?”

“Just Sakusa is fine.” He nods. “Please speak however you like.”

The little smile you give him could make a slab of stone blush.

“…I know how it is, being made to be something because it’s… “your birthright,” or whatever. How resentment can build for the world around you because it feels like things just don’t move and everything’s underwhelming, and when things just feel the same all the time… You become a version of yourself that feels inevitable,”

And as doey as they already are, your eyes soften when they skirt over him. Butterflies brushing against his wounds. “Putting humanity into people is like the very opposite of what I should be doing while on the clock but, there’s not a lot of people like me that I see in this business, and when it’s your own family that puts a burden like this on you… Your ability to be so exceptional despite that betrayal is something I admire a lot.— And anyway, what you said earlier is just Tuesday for me. I’m not gonna be offended by things that aren’t true.”

Sakusa visibly blushes. Today’s been an onslaught of unfamiliar feelings and newer perspectives, he’s sure it isn’t just the blood loss that’s making him kinda want to put a ring on this girl. “Well, I… I owe you my life. And I’m sorry about what I said earlier, you didn’t deserve any of that.”

Another smile, his heart skips. “I really appreciate that. Thank you.”

There’s a moment of pregnant silence that he unfortunately has to break since it’s practically her job not to.

“Uh,” Sakusa starts. “You look… not as I expected under your mask.”

You tilt your head. “Like younger or ugly?”

“Don’t piss me off,” And even though he’s speaking coarsely, the absolute indignation in his voice invokes a little pretty giggle on your end. Nearly gives him shivers. “I just- I figured you were young. I didn’t think the name “Lovely,” Would be so on the nose.”

“There’s not that big of a gap between us, Director-domo. And the name,” Seeing you get a little flustered at the admission feels like winning a Nobel prize. “I don’t know if you know them but, the other two Elites at Gethsemane, Honey, Playful, and I - We came up with our pseudonyms when we were kids. Honey thought it would fit because I was a pageant girl at the time.”

Pageant girl? That makes sense. “Must be used to excelling in all walks of life then.”

“Eh. It wasn’t meant for me, actually. — Some of the worst stuff I’ve heard as a scout is nowhere near as mean as what those catty girls and their moms have said during those competitions. Didn’t even make winning worth it anymore honestly,”

“You look,” You pause to comb him over with a look that gives him chills. “W-Well, I know you're the boss for a reason and all but you look… Athletic. As tall as you are you could probably clear a court in seconds.”

“I played volleyball in highschool. Outside hitter.” He says. “Being 6’3 at sixteen made me a default for ace.”

“Oooh! I can’t even imagine what you’re serves must’ve sounded like…” You giggle again, somehow even more sugary than the last. “Were you popular?”

“No.” The way you laugh makes him humor a small chuckle. “I was awkward as hell. I couldn’t even stand in a crowd without getting overwhelmed. - Plus, I was also… somehow ten times meaner back then.”

“Oh so, you were tall, athletic, handsome, and mean. — Yeah, I would’ve definitely stalked you as a high schooler. I had a bad record with guys like that at one time.”

“You-“ Are you… ‘You flirting with him? He’s gonna start breaking out in a sweat. “You like mean guys?”

You hum. “I did, at one point. Having the kind of admirers I did in grade school, any guy who so much as sneered at me would have me trippin’ over myself. But… as I got older, assholes were just... Assholes. And working a job like this, I’d rather go home to someone who actually likes me than some dick too high off of having a pretty girlfriend.”

Sakusa dips his toes in. “Do you… Have something like that at home?”

“No,” You exhale. “Too busy being Lovely to be anything else. And lying to a civilian about where I am and what I do for a living just sounds exhausting. — Tools for hire don’t get lonely anyway.”

That puts a sour pang in his chest. He’s about to open his mouth to speak again when you smooth out breathily. “Spendin’ this time with you though… even if through dire circumstances… It's been a wonderful feeling through and through. I don’t even know how to thank you...”

He blushes, and for the first time in god knows how long he simpers unabashedly. “It goes without saying that the feeling’s mutual, Lovely,”

“If… I mean, I understand loneliness. And after this, if it’s something you’re comfortable with,” Sakusa finds the nerve to detach his eyes from the ceiling to look at you directly.

And then he’s immediately lifting himself off his back.

You’re barely there. Leaning forward slightly like you’re doing your best to keep yourself upright as your glazed over eyes try their best to center on him, but even still you’re almost out of here. It’s all he can do not to rip the gauge out of his arm when you’re reaching for him in obvious worry, probably wasting what little energy you have left to trill at the distress on his face. “Sakusa, please be careful!”

“I-I’m fine. I feel fine,” He grabs your forearm. “We gotta get this out of-“

“No, no! This isn’t- It’s not enough!” You protest weakly. “Sakusa,”

He lets your softly palm guide his off of your forearm-

And onto your cheek.

He knows you’re barely cognizant right now, but seeing your pretty face, sickly as it is, nuzzle into his hand like an obedient cat; makes him feel like his only purpose in the world is to keep you safe or die trying. “You’re here with me,”

Your skin is soft as it hisses against his palm, he’d give you the world if you asked for it. “As long as I’m here, you are.”

Sakusa breathes out a quiet breath as he nods.

As expected he doesn’t protest when you move to lay into his side for support, even as the blood on your dress further stains the blood in his suit jacket. He’s surprisingly forthright as he supports the little cuddle, free arm securing you to his side. And if you weren’t literally dying of blood loss you’d notice the way his heart is beating out of his chest.

You seriously have no idea what you just got yourself into.

[londonfog-chan]

Emperor Caracalla x Fem!Reader: Hermâs

A/N: The little lad dances once again.

I got this idea from listening to the soundtrack for Spirit. I’m a fucking horse girl at heart.

I also wanted to write about the true “quirky girl” experience. The majority of the time, the quirky girl isn’t beloved by all. In fact, many find her quite annoying.

I wanted to write about a sheltered, immature girl whose main character syndrome fucks her over when she finds someone that can match her delulu. I wanted to write a story where the reader is genuinely as stupid and naive, as well as childish, as the moron twins are.

Sometimes, we need a stupid reader.

Summary: Was this truly happening? Have the gods at last acknowledged your existence as the main character of your childhood narrative?

Warnings: Caracalla being a creep, period accurate misogyny, mentions of marrying off daughters to old men, Geta plotting evil, slight smutty elements

Credits: massive shoutout to @writhingg and @rxqueenotd for beta reading my clown shoes writing, as well as dealing with me screaming about my Shayla.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive

You found yourself groaning awake in your bed the morning after your sojourn in the stables.

Despite the consistent treatments of echinacea salve and rendered animal fat, the large bruise on your thigh still stung and bled through the linens— your father’s new war stallion was not one to be trifled with. Whereas you had intended to capture the hearts of the handsome stable hands by taming the horse, your poor planning and recklessness had almost killed you.

The stallion had been a gift— war spoil— from a distant land far to the east. The animal was a beautiful golden buckskin with singed brown legs and dark mane; for a moment, you mistook him for one of the golden horses that pulled Sol’s chariot across the sky. One could imagine the distinct markings as telling a story of his divine origin.

Perhaps the fiery rays of the sun singed his legs, mane and tail, and maybe the light bleached his hide— just as it tended to wash out the dyed colors of forgotten laundry hanging on a line.

He was beautiful.

So different from the broken ones you had been able to ride bareback as a small child, you naively thought all this poor creature needed to be tamed was a tender hand. Someone who understood his divine origin, and respected him for it. Only heroes in your childhood fairytales could tame such a beast, and you fancied yourself to be of their rank.

Unfortunately, your status as a chosen one was called into question. The animal was still half possessed by the wilds, and the scent of the working mares around him drove him into a lovesick madness. You jumped without thinking onto his back, and the animal had tried everything in his power to throw you. Both of you went down when he reared, and landed on your sides when the horse lost footing in the arena.

Instead of a potential stable hand suitor rushing to your side to help, your father corralled the stallion, and it was Mother Lucilla who appeared with her maid Leta when she heard your cries of agony. Leta scolded you with a clicking of her tongue as she hauled you up, and your mother’s deep contralto barked out as she gave you a verbal lashing.

“What were you thinking?! Moronic child! Preposterous piss-ant! Behaving as though I’ve never taught you sense! You could have broken your neck, you could have been killed! Foolishness!”

While you were carted back to the house in a lectus, you could hear the young stable hands laughing at your idiocy. Doubled over, they slapped at their bare knees and mimicked your cries and moans of pain in high pitched voices. Baiting, ugly, almost sexual sounding cries, they laughed and hooted until chastised back into their duties by your father’s hard gaze.

The old stable master had yet again approached your father, begging Acacius to do something about these repeated infractions.

“General! With all due respect, your daughter is a nuisance, a menace to my animals and to society! The horse may be ruined because of her stupidity.”

“She is only a child…”

“Does she not count nineteen years, General?! She is more than old enough to be wed, certainly old enough to know better. Perhaps it would do her some good to marry a man of advanced age and wisdom, surely he would straighten out her insolence with a sound beating!”

Even though the war horses were your favorite creatures in all the land, never again would you enter your father’s stables. Far too much embarrassment had cowed you, and you feared that if you made just one more misstep with his animals, that this time your father really would punish you rather than make excuses. Acacius had been cross this time, inflexible with your punishment. Under threat of a good thrashing by your mother, you were not to leave the domus, nor were you allowed to breach even the threshold of the atrium for any excuse. Never in your life had you seen your father so angry…

For a moment you were afraid. Afraid that this time, he would listen to the advice of those he trusted, and ship you off to some shriveled old man who would break your spirit.

You stayed put in your bed as your mother and her maid bathed your wounds and stood by as you recovered. When you began to grow restless, your impotent begging for mercy from hateful Mother Lucilla earned you a few moments alone in the hortus.

You loved the hortus. It was a grand design of your late mother’s creation, consisting entirely of things which were either medicinal or able to be used in various dishes. This time of the year it would be awash with a rainbow of perfumed shrubbery; the marigolds and roses would be in bloom with the purple lavender, interspersed liberally with chamomile and pansy, and you could preoccupy yourself with endlessly plucking blossoms to savor the taste. The peppery marigolds and aromatic rose petals were the taste of summer, a comfort whenever you were distressed.

This task could be accomplished alone, leaving you to ruminate on your embarrassment. Settling against a marble bench near the laurel tree, you lay reclined, with legs splayed on either side of the seat as you chewed the petals on a marigold blossom.

There was no one to stop you. Lucilla’s impatience and eye for meticulous detail were soon distracted by matters of the home. With strict instruction to stay put until she came to fetch you, she departed to attend her responsibilities among the servants in preparation for Acacius’s departure. There was food to be purchased and stored beforehand, monetary affairs to settle, as well as a thousand different things to consider for the duration of the General’s campaign. Certainly no time to devote fully to a rambunctious youth who paced the length of the gardens, limping the entire way.

You could hardly imagine it. In a week’s time, your father would be gone for nearly half a year…

The thought was almost frightening and would have put you in your sickbed, had not you already gone to great lengths to harden your heart. This was nothing at all new. Acacius had left often before when you were young, hence why he’d married Lucilla. The marriage was one of mutual benefit: you would have someone to care for you besides your late mother’s selected wet nurse, and Lucilla would have a child of her own to love and raise, a comfor to her heart for the one she’d lost.

You loved Lucilla. But the thought of losing your father, your last biological connection, and being left alone in the world still frightened you. There was always a chance that this would be the one time Acacius wouldn’t come back— and you wished that the emperors would stop sending your father away.

When Acacius left the domus, the mood of the home became sullen. Prayer was ceaselessly carried out in the lararium. Tithes, incense, and blood libations offered to the gods were overseen by your mother, and she could be gone for hours at a time at temple while you stayed behind in your cubiculum.

When at last you tired of eating flowers, you began carelessly scattering blood red rose petals into your mother’s font filled with carp while asking questions of Venus. You were imagining her responses, looking for her answers taking shape in the patterns the petals made in the water, when you heard mad giggling from behind a pillar towards the domus’ portico.

Whipping around, you looked for the source, eyes widening at the unfamiliar sound.

The giggle increased, and you could see wine colored silken damask dart behind a marble column.

What in the name of the gods was that?!

Nymph? Genius loci? One of the marble gods from the lararium— a statuette— come to life to play with you? You weren’t sure, but your heart was racing, breathing staccato as you crept closer to find out.

The scraping of leather sandals against marble could be heard when you approached. Heavy footed and a little clumsy: the perpetrator moved opposite you. You veered to the left, he to the right.

You saw a flash of hair the color of sunset. As well as the smallest glimpse of blue-gray eyes.

Grinning at the game, you decided to go for a feint. The two of you circled the pillar for a time, the high pitched giggling increasing. The giggle drowned out the sound your footsteps made when you doubled back around the pillar, laying hands on the shoulders of the intruder.

“Caught you!” You sing-songed.

He screeched, his ringed hands covering his face, and you both toppled out of the portico into the grass.

“I caught you!” You cried out again, as you leaned down to pull his hands away from his flushed face.

“You did not! Liar! I was hunting you for sport.” Exclaimed the intruder.

“You aren’t supposed to giggle when chasing your quarry.” You smiled, finally yanking his wrists apart and holding them.

“Liar! You lie! No you didn’t!”

You loved the way the man’s face turned rose pink across pock marked cheeks, his aquiline nose scrunching in anger.

“The laughter was a tactoc… um… A tac… it was an idea of my own design to catch you unawares!”

“Fool!” You smiled, keeping his wrists in a secured hold.

Quickly you rolled off of the interloper when he attempted to knee you between your legs, not knowing who he was or what he was doing snooping in the hortus. He must have been some sort of benevolent spirit sent by the gods. Perhaps even one in disguise, for he was certainly dressed in such opulent finery. Wine colored damask silk with golden zardozi embroidery made his toga picta, with gems of all size and color sewn into the fabric. They caught the sunlight, and the pinpricks of color reflected against your skin.

“You look as if the gods laid your gold and jewels across your neck themselves.” You whistled.

The intruder’s movements were feminine, almost demure. So unlike the more burly movements of generals, or the confident strides of the stable hands. As he sat cross legged, the sound made by the cuffs at his wrists clattering against the gems was captivating. Golden discs the size of libum hung from his ears and chimed with his movements as well.

“You dress like a nymph.” He murmured.

Pert, pink lips parted to allow his tongue to lick across, his smile revealing a single shimmering gold incisor. Surely he must be something otherworldly… you’d never seen someone with a golden tooth before.

“Tell me, nymph, have I stumbled into your secret grove?” He asked.

“No.” You were tickled at the insinuation, “I am no nymph. This is my father’s garden.”

“Your father? That’s not so, this is General Acacius’s garden!”

“General Acacius is my father.”

The intruder shook his head in vehement denial.

“Liar! Lady Lucilla counts forty nine years, and I would have known if she had birthed a child!”

“She is not my blood mother. I counted only three years when my father married her.” You responded, flicking off a half chewed petal from your chin.

Although you knew stories of wicked stepmothers, Lucilla had managed to break the molded stereotype. The first time your father left you alone with her, you bawled like an infant. The good lady had not punished you for your insolence, instead she swept you into her arms and showered your forehead with a thousand kisses.

She was a doting mother, your true mother, the one not of womb but of the heart; who held you and cared for you even when you were insolent.

“And your mother allows you to romp wild in your father’s garden?! To dress like a brothel whore, entertaining strange men?”

The stranger let forth a high pitched giggle, one that made you laugh with him. It was easy to feel inadequate, particularly in the face of such opulence and finery as he wore. The privacy of the garden allowed for leniency in your dress. You had wandered out of your cubiculum in a shrunken, thin, faded green stola that gave a clear view of your bandaged thigh and leg. A mismatched pale pink palla was slung carelessly around your shoulders, and you had long since abandoned your worn out calfskin sandals somewhere in the shrubbery.

“No! I dress like this because I should do as I wish in my own domus. And besides, what would a strange man be doing in my father’s garden to begin with?” You asked, “We were not told of visitors coming.”

“Not all visitors have to announce themselves.” He said haughtily, “Certainly not one as important as myself!”

A fist pounded against his chest in an intimidating boom, the sound reminiscent of a drum.

“Important?” You asked, cocking your head to the side, “Are you a messenger of some sort?”

Your nursemaid and her chatterbox daughter often told you stories of such divine messengers. Half asleep with daydreaming, you would sit at your window as your nurse embroidered crisp linens with geometric patterns, telling stories about Mercury— Hermâs she called him, in the language of the Hellenes— and his wily ways of bestowing divine fortunes and boons upon unsuspecting persons.

“Perhaps I am— a god’s messenger— in my divine disguise…!” exclaimed your stranger.

Your eyes were sparkling. Innocent and sweet.

“Truly?” You asked, crawling to him on all fours. Blissfully unaware of the sensuality in such a movement.

“Indeed. I am a bearer, a messenger, sent by Jupiter himself.” He said, his eyes trained lower on your body, “And I come bearing a secret, strictly for the young flower that hides in her father’s garden.”

“What message have you come to give me?” You asked.

“This divine message is for your ear alone.” He said, his voice lowering to a conspirator’s whisper, “Keep it secret, keep it safe. The gods have deemed you worthy of a special gift, but should you spoil the secret, they will take it away and rain down lighting from the west upon your house!”

“How wonderful!” You exclaimed, your excitement masking the fear of the stranger’s thinly veiled curse, “I’ve never had a message of my very own before!”

“Well then, prepare to be blessed, sweet one. For this message is for your ears alone… Come to my knee, let me whisper it to you.”

You sat upon his lap as he beckoned, nodding enthusiastically and sighing, holding both hands to your cheeks. The stranger leaned closer, cupping his hands over your ear as his lips grazed the shell.

“The gods have great plans for you.” He breathed.

A gasp of delight escaped you, enjoying the fact that your mystery messenger was so close. Whispering sweetness into your ear.

“The gods have told me you are to be given everything your heart desires, my beautiful nymph.” He said, “You will be the envy of all: walking marbled halls while draped in damask silks, vibrant jewels, and gossamer. Your name whispered in reverent prayer upon the tongue of the thousands who will see you in the imperator’s box at the colosseum-…”

“How would this be possible?” You interrupted softly, “I’ve never been outside of these walls, let alone in the palace.”

“You dare to question your divine messenger?! Do not underestimate the might of the gods, nymph. They can make anything so.”

He held your chin in his hand, the softness of his fingertips contrasting the tight grip he maintained, as if expecting you to try and get away.

“They can elevate you to a princess— no! To an empress, if they so desire. The gods wish to use you as their instrument, and they desire to give you everything you could ever want. Money, luxury, power, wine, sexual pleasure…”

“And… and how soon would this happen?” You asked softly.

“Very soon, my sweet one. Your time will come on the first day of the month of Juno, matter of fact.”

It felt so impossibly far away. Too far to even consider. But the fact that such an exciting blessing was to be bestowed during the month of weddings eluded you.

You bounced in excitement on his lap, his hands immediately reaching out to hold your hips steady. Hissing at the pain as he pressed your bruise, you attempted to re-adjust yourself when you felt something press against your inner thigh.

“What in the name of the gods is that?! It… it feels as though you’ve a dagger strapped to your leg.” You said, grinding your thigh against the protrusion.

The messenger froze, and his cheeks turned crimson. A large, impish grin spread from ear to ear, catlike, as if he was preparing to steal a morsel.

“Undo the belt at my tunic, and find out what it may be.” He said, breathless, a perverse look in his eye.

With an impatient huff, you almost rent the damask fabric of his robes in two, demanding that your messenger help you…

But the calling of your mother interrupted the overwhelming need to see what he had strapped to his leg.

“Oh…!” You sighed, a puff of breath escaping past your lips, “I have to go. I’m sorry, but thank you! Thank you for bringing me this message! Tell the gods I will accept this blessing and that I am most thankful to them, and to the messenger who told this to me!”

Before the messenger could protest, you quickly kissed both of his cheeks, scrambling to your feet as you ran off towards the house. As you approached your mother, running breathlessly up to her, you noticed something odd. It appeared as though her heart was racing, almost as if Lucilla was agitated

“What is it, mother?” You asked, out of breath.

Servants were darting every which way, making preparations to feed their guests and make the house presentable. Leta— your mother’s servant— was ordering the others to set the domus to rights, and you were shocked when Lucilla glowered at your unkempt visage.

“What have you been doing?!” Lucilla exclaimed, brushing leaves and petals off your stola, “I allowed you to take a walk, not roll in the shrubbery— is this a stain?!”

“What is this fuss mother…?” You attempted, but your words were stopped by Leta turning your head to look at you.

“My lady, shall I clean your daughter and dress her in the damask?” Asked the handmaiden.

“Yes, quickly! Make sure she is presentable.”

“What’s going on?!” You squeaked, both women taking you by an arm and leading you away like a prisoner to your cubiculum.

“We have been… graced, by the presence of the twin imperators—…”

“THE EMPERORS?!”

“Hush! Yes, the imperators, my darling. You will not speak out of turn again. You will smile and say little more than a polite greeting, after which we shall keep you in your cubiculum, and pray to the gods that you are spared from the lechery of men…”

Lucilla gave you no room to fret, nor to protest. She instead lead you away, to dress you in her armor of modest silk layers and a thick palla.

All the while, you could not stop thinking of the messenger’s promises.

Luxury…

Wine…

Sexual pleasure…

Unannounced guests and the multitude of problems they brought with them hardly made an impression upon your mind, not when there were such wonderful boons coming your way. All divinely ordained, draped like a zardozi embroidered sheet over the hidden evils of the machinations at hand.

In your ignorance, you believed in the lies of the powerful. Blindly trusting in your place as the chosen of the gods, and feeling the least bit better than at last, your worthiness was recognized.

“Caracalla, what in the name of the gods are you doing…?”

The stern tone of his brother, Geta, interrupted his moment of thoughtfulness as Caracalla watched his nymph run back to the house. His brother was scheming, his giggling increasing to a fever pitch, and Geta raised an eyebrow as Caracalla pointed to the home.

“Enjoying the touch and warmth of a beautiful nymph.” Caracalla beamed.

“… a nymph…” Geta deadpanned.

“Indeed. Simple and pure, with a supple breast-…”

“There are no nymphs in a general’s garden.”

“There are!” Caracalla argued.

“You are mistaken. For I only saw a pauper run from you. What have I told you of infecting the inferiors of other men’s houses? You will deplete Rome of slaves with your appetites.” Geta groused.

“This one was no slave! She is Lucilla’s daughter.” Caracalla snapped.

“The general and Lucilla have no daughters.” Geta said.

“Oh but they do, brother! Acacius hides this charming rose in his garden, away from the eyes of men.”

“Is not Lucilla past the age of childbearing?”

“His seed must have overcome that obstacle.” Cackled Caracalla, “For he has quite the lovely young spawn. Very innocent, and eager to believe every word from my lips.”

“What schemes do you invent in that empty head of yours…?” Geta asked, although he knew the answer already. He could see Caracalla’s maddened mind already concocting the most convoluted, outrageous ideas; the grey blue of his iris overtaken by dilating black pupils.

“Do not tell me…” Geta grinned wickedly.

“You know me so well.” Caracalla smiled, “It is a simple thing, really. Turning nymphs into empresses…”

Geta laughed out loud at his brother’s plotting.

“And how much would you ask for her?”

“Two million denarii!”

“Charity, brother, charity...” Geta laughed, “Acacius is a general after all, not a nobleman. Keep your dowry request under one hundred thousand denarii, or you shall never have her.”

“Only one hundred thousand?!”

“Yes, brother. To be paid in coin, land, or flesh, in the customary three years time-… Well… No, no. We may extend the dowry installments to five. After all, we are sending him away to fight your campaign in Numidia. He will need some time. You’ll want to wed her and bed her before he leaves as well.”

“I would have preferred the two million…” pouted Caracalla.

“Whatever for? The money is of little consequence. You would only piss away two million on whores, and her father would sooner give her away to someone else. This conquest will be far more simple, exercise your power and will it so. I shall give my blessing as the arrangement is not without benefits.”

When Caracalla’s feverish mind could not connect the dots, Geta prompted him.

“She is Lucilla’s legitimate heir. Marry her daughter, and you secure not only the title, but a closer position to the good lady herself… Slake your thirst for flesh with both this nubile creature’s affections, and with the attentions of her comely mother as well.”

[tagzpite]

When Poseidon uses Horse-Ody to go somewhere what kind of places does he usually go to?

Are there any particular moments when he takes off the covering over his eyes?

And how do he generally takes care of it? I mean does this poor stud even have a place to rest? Or does Poseidon give him food every now and then?

Also was there ever a time when Odysseus cried over his situation (unable to return home or be a man again) and Poseidon saw it?

Yeah sorry for the many question but I'm really interested about this AU!

Hello!!! I am very happy to answer!!! :D

He generally uses him to get anywhere he wants. Odysseus is one hell of a fast stallion. Able to easily cross the seas even through storms and waves. Breaking through them even without Poseidon. He would even bring him on Olympus. Just to brag about his new horse and how he broke him in. This also goes to the next questions!

Poseidon does take the whole bridle off of him, whenever he’s done riding. Being a beast stuck on the sea is a punishment enough in his eyes. He allows Odysseus to roam the sea as he pleases so he can graze on sea grass and whatever land plants are near the waters. Generally he would rest in the shallows. Or — if Poseidon takes him with him on land he would at the very least be kind enough to let the animal sleep for a little while.

And Poseidon certainly witnessed his grief often. Odysseus is angry with it- the months he spent attempting to buck the god off were ones of sheer agony and turmoil.

However Poseidon is not there to witness his worst breakdown since. When he realised his life has been turned eternal and it’s been a long while since all those he loved passed of old age.

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hello! You have a problem. You were cursed by a witch to only be able to communicate in second person. This is annoying, but manageable. However, the curse turned out a bit strong, and anyone who tries to talk to you will ALSO only be able to communicate in second person while communicating with you.

You will be honest, you kind of totally deserved the curse. You were rude to the witch on your date and acted VERY self-centered and didn't ask her about herself, very bad etiquette, etcetera. You're honestly fine with just riding the curse out at least for a while longer, it's a good reminder that you aren't perfect and growth is a constant process.

But you're pretty sure that the extra-strength whammy is probably very disconcerting for anyone you're trying to talk to, especially if they're not expecting it, and it's making your job as a call center tech support advisor VERY confusing for everyone involved. And you'd just text the witch to go, hey, you understand that curses are meant to be inconvenient and this is all part of the lesson and whatnot, but you don't think it's fair to strangers who need help with their iPhones, so could you maybe adjust that a bit? But he blocked you on Grindr and you don't know how to get in contact with him elsewise, so you're making a hail mary by trying to call into TNN.

You're pretty sure you don't actually need advice but you'd appreciate it if maybe you could get the word out that if anyone knows a witch in Southpoole with a rocking body, GREAT tongue, bit of a lisp, and mottled brown scales, PLEASE have him contact you about this and also you're sorry--no, sorry, YOU'RE sorry--agh, whatever, you get what you mean.

You can certainly see how- Ah. Yes, you see the problem. You had been somewhat optimistic the curse might not extend to this more removed form of communication, but it seems you were mistaken.

You can certainly get the word out on your platforms – if any of your other followers recognise the individual in question based on that rather… enthusiastic description, please do encourage them to get in touch with the author of this letter at their earliest convenience.

.You say you're willing to ride out the curse until its natural end. That is entirely up to you, of course. However, you would like to note that mild to moderate curses can often be lifted by other practitioners without too much trouble.

If the curse grows overly wearisome or hasn't lifted by itself in, say, two months time, you recommend seeking out a local practitioner and having the curse ended that way. As always, do make sure any practitioner you hire for such work has a proper license, and steer clear of anyone making overblown claims about their abilities.

Finally, while you are generally of the opinion that curses are a rather tasteless way of handling interpersonal conflicts, you must allow, they can be rather effective.

You hope you have learnt your lesson as well as you claim, and that you will be more considerate in the future – or at the very least, save your rudeness for dates who can't call on dark powers to inflict weird suffering upon you in retaliation.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

why does it comfort some people or bring them joy/excitement to imagine their favorite characters in terrible situations and being hurt physically or mentally? wouldn’t you want your favorite characters to be happy and safe?

I’m sure I’ve seen this exact ask being sent to another writing blog before, so seeing one in my own inbox was a little surprising. but anyway, I’ve said this before, but I don’t mind saying it again because lots of people seem to still be confused about this; the enjoyment of imagining or seeing fictional characters in terrible situations in which they are hurt and/or scared is called whump. people who enjoy whump tend to express their interest through art, such as drawings, writings, etc. whump has a community on several online platforms, as well as here on Tumblr. we are simply known as “whump community”.

moving on to your question, “why does it comfort us to imagine our favorite characters in agony?” — there is no definitive answer to the question, because different people enjoy whump for various, different reasons, and all of these reasons are valid. however, what I can give you is some examples of the reasons why people enjoy whump

reasons why people like whump:

some people use whump as a reflection of what they’ve been through, and they let their trauma out by channeling the trauma through fictional characters. to make it as simple as I can, some people use whump as a coping mechanism to help them heal from any traumatic events in their lives.

while whump is indeed about pain, it can also be about the comfort (the healing process) that comes after the pain. I personally known several people who heal by writing whump stories in which their favorite characters went through and survived terrible things that happened to them. the comfort part of the whump was used as a symbol of hope for these people, in the sense that they hold on to the idea that if these fictional characters can survive horrible things that happened to them, they (the writers) can survive and heal too.

some people use whump as a way to let out their frustration, trauma or pain. an abuse victim may fantasize about hurting their abuser back by creating a fantasy world in which their favorite character was hurt, but later healed and/or get their revenge.

it’s also worth mentioning that one doesn’t have go through their own trauma in order to be able to enjoy whump. 

some people like whump where their favorite character is hurt because they just Want to Hurt These Little Guys. 

some people like whump where their favorite character is hurt because they like the part where their favorite character gets comforted and is nursed back to health after they are rescued.

whump that’s followed by comfort (whump with a happy ending) is valid.

whump that has no comfort (whump without a happy ending) is also valid.

because whump is a genre, just like how lots of people like horror movies just for the sake of liking them. 

the term whumperflies is used to describe the euphoric feeling a person experiences while watching, drawing, writing or reading a whump scenario that hits right in the feels. for lack of better comparison, some people experience whumperflies that come close to an orgasm, whether or not whump is a sexual thing to them (some may enjoy whump as a form of kink, while some may enjoy whump for reasons that aren’t sexual at all). for some, whumperflies are these tingling sensation in the chest and/or the stomach, for someone else, whumperflies is like when you ride a rollercoaster and the ride is going down from its highest stop. there's no wrong way to experience whumperflies, as different people describe and experience them differently.

so, yes, some people may enjoy whump just for the euphoria whumperflies bring. and some people — myself included — can’t get whumperflies unless the character that’s going through pain is their most favorite character; it’s like… because you love this character so much, you’re so connected to them, you're so emotionally invested in them that you can only get whumperflies if it’s them going through the torture, meanwhile other characters just don’t make you feel half as strongly.

and that’s explain why people in the whump community prefer their favorite characters to be the ones going through hell.

and again, just like how movies have different genres, whump is a genre — people who like whump aren’t “freaks” or “red flags” in real life, even if they like whump for reasons that aren’t about coping mechanism. whump is a genre and a form of art, and most importantly, whump is fiction. it’s not real.

I do understand why people who aren’t into whump tend to be confused by the concept of whump, and I do understand why these people think being a fan of a fictional character only means wanting said fictional character to be safe and happy, which is why whump is not for everybody, and that’s okay too.

the thing is there is no wrong way to be a fan of something that’s fictional, you can like this fictional character so much you want to see them cry and covered in blood for whatever reasons, and that’s okay. as long as you’re not hurting anybody in real life.

there’s nothing wrong or abnormal about people who enjoy whump, just like how there’s nothing wrong or abnormal about people who like horror movies. it’s fiction and it’s a form of art. and I believe everybody is allowed to express and enjoy their interests through art in whichever way they want, as long as they’re not harming anybody in real life.

[vixen7243]

Delusional/Depressed!John Price X AFAB!Reader

CW: Death, Suicide, Alcohol, Neglect (if I’m missing anything else let me know)

John Price was a respected, strong and honest captain, rookies always looked up to him and his team. Even if at times morally challenging decisions had to be made they knew he would have everyone’s back, he was a ride and die kinda guy. That’s what you loved about him, cherished, with more and more people working with the team the responsibility out weighed him and you were always more than welcoming when he would come to your bed late in the night. Your arms and warmth melting away his stress, anxiety and loneliness. “I’ll always be here for you my love.” You would whisper into his ear, rubbing his muscles, and combing your fingers through his hair.

As the last few months dragged on, you could see the toll of work on your lover, the death of rookies from missions were piling up and slowly killing him. Having to write and sign KIA forms for families you would sit near by as he chain smoked through his cigars and chugged any alcohol he could get his hands on.

Laying a gentle hand on his shoulder you would try to pull him back, “My love, please, come back to me?” Looking up as the door would open, Simon, John’s best, his lieutenant, his friend, walked in sighing.

“Aie, come on captain.” His voice is low and soft as can be, movements slow as if he was approaching a bomb that could go off at the slightest vibration.

“Leave us be.”

“Sir-“

John turned fully wrapping his arms around your waist trying to breathe you in, trying to hide the tears that ran down and soaked his beard. Looking to Simon mournfully you waited as he made his way around the desk prying John out of his chair, catching the fists that tried to push him away. “Damnit, leave us alone.”

“You need to get to bed.” Simon stated, hardening up a bit, man handling his captain all the way to his room. “Just need to sleep it off, ya?” Once near the bed John roughly pushed Simon to the door.

“Fucking hell , fine just get out.” Simon watched as John tucked into bed curling around you like a ball, shielding himself and you from the world. Closing the door Simon could hear the broken sobs, John saying your name and why, why couldn’t he be better.

As the days dragged so did John’s mind, quick checks over his shoulders had you and the rest of the team worried. Unknown to the rest of you, the long nights and alcohol worked his nerves, he swears he was seeing the rookies, clothes blood soaked, hoarse voices asking if their work was done. He felt lost, every corner more and more blocked him, even the living, asking, requesting to join him on the next mission.

Closing himself in your room, which for a while he’s used as his own and no one questions. Always tucking you into himself before his hands slowly wondered around your body, taking in every in, mind blanking as you turn and remove your clothes straddling him kissing his cheeks, nose, lips and neck trailing down. Lifting his hips as you pulled his pants off, he groaned looking down, your sweet smile making his stomach twist into knots. As the two of you got lost in each other, John couldn't stop the swell of pain and agony in his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut he huffed as he felt a few rogue tears streak down his cheeks, "My love, what's wrong?" His fingers tighten around your waist, grip bruising, "Talk to me honey."

"Don't leave me." Looking up at you, your heart would break. It's not the first time he's broken down, scared of you disappearing, begging you to stay with him. "I can't live without you, your the air that inflates my lungs, blood in my veins, every thought that passes through my brain." Cupping your cheek as you used your thumbs to swipe at tears that continued to fall, "You're the light that makes my soul shine, vibrate and feel complete. There's nothing but you. Please. Don't leave me."

"I will always be here, there's no where I would go without you, my love." You whispered, grinding down, "I'm yours, always and forever." Both of you breathed into the other, "I'll never leave you."

Your room and arms will always be his safe place, so he would hide for as long as he could till the next job showed its unforgiving face. At one point brought some relief to just do something now brought anxiety and fear. Who was he going to loose this time, what family was going to read his name and curse him 1,000’s of miles away. What face was going to be added to his daily delusions in the halls and his office.

Setting out, John grew irritable and anxious as the team and a few unlucky rookies approached drop off. Your hand never left his, fingers tight intertwined in his lap, leg bouncing, and eyes darting. He could already feel the cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as he refused to look at or answer any of the rookies, Johnny and Kyle taking the lead on directing the new blood, advising them what to expect.

Simon watched John intently, checking where John would look to, also seeing but nothing being there. Mostly his eyes stayed on you, the soothing circular motion of your thumb on the pulse of his wrist kept his breathing under control.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

“Stay low, they’ve got us surrounded.” John repeated over the walkies glaring at a rookie that Johnny just had to pull back as a round was shot at where they were just standing. Cursing under his breath he looked around, wondering where you had gone before his heart nearly stopped as he saw you get shot in the leg as you moved spots. Panicking he bolted for you dragging you behind some cargo, “Damnit Y/N what were you thinking?!”

“What?”

“I can’t loose you.” He said frantically looking around spotting Simon. “Get Y/N out of here, she’s shot!” Simon kneeled down looking between the two eyes saying everything, confusion and worry. “Now lieutenant!”

“But-“ before anything could be said Simon had picked them up and with John making cover, made sure everyone got out and to the Ronda Vue point. The whole way everyone was quiet, except for John cursing under his breath for Y/N and why she would put herself in harms way.

Before he could get too carried away Kyle bumped shoulders with him, "Sir, everyone's okay, relax." Jaw clenching, John glared forward at Simon's back.

"They're saying he was referring to private Williams as Y/n, even talking to himself." An officer said looking over to John who stared blankly away from everyone.

"He's fine." Simon's gruff voice waver, also looking to his captain he was trying to help him save face but the way he looked truly wasn't backing his statement.

"There's reports him always drinking, always talking to himself. Yet you say he's fine lieutenant?"

"John?" He looked slowly to you.

"We know it's been 2 years sinc-"

"So then cut him some slack." Kyle said trying to step in front of his captain.

"My love." Your voice was a broken hoarse whisper.

"There was a lot of doubt a year and half ago when he came back on if he should, we only looked the other way out of respect but this is far enough."

John felt his heart sinking, looking over you, he wanted to throw up, your shirt was darkening quickly with your blood, skin paling in comparison. "John."

He couldn't think, there was too much gun fire to think of a safe escape. 3 privates were already gunned down, bodies left behind in order to save themselves, their faces burned to his brain for later hauntings. Frantically he looked around for you, unable to even catch a glimpse of you he tried sneaking around to find you, an unsettling feeling pitting in his stomach. "No." he whispered, no longer staying low rather rushing in every direction that he can think of to find you.

"JOHN!"

Before he could see you, he was pushed to the ground when after 4 shots, all firing stopped. A pin could drop and it would echo in the building. Looking up his blood ran cold as you turned, eyes just as wide looking down at him, blood was starting to spread on your chest, "John?" Taking one step to him, you collapsed, making John scramble to you, ears ringing as his vision blurred.

"No, no, no." Pressing his hands into your chest he panicked, eyes unable to focus on one part of you, looking into your eyes, he broke down, "Don't you fucking die." Tears fell, splashing onto your cheek.

Reaching your hand up to his cheek you wiped a few tears, "I'm sorry my love."

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Looking up as footsteps approached, he looked at the team. "Give me your damn bags!"

"Honey, look at me." Your voice was breaking.

"Just save your energy, stop trying to fucking talk." He said snatching the bandages from Kyle pushing where ever blood would pool.

"I love you John."

"Stop."

"Don't...D-" Gasping your eyes teared up, hand reaching for his wrist, "Don't....I don't want to leave."

"Then don't." He whispered looking down at you, your scared face burned now into his brain.

"John." Gasping out one last time, your grip loosened on his wrist before you frantically looked to the guys and then.......

"Y/N?" ..... "Dear?" .... "Don't leave me.... please?" Pulling you up and hugging you tightly against his chest he started panting, grabbing your wrist, "I can't live without you." He whispered into your hair. He cried, sitting there with you, the guys silent around him, Kyle wiping a few tears as well as Johnny as Simon tried to blink away the few that tried to escape.

---

When your body was shipped back home, Simon, Kyle and Johnny went with John to his house, where they finally saw your shared home and land. You were buried under your guys favorite tree. Where you guys first kissed, confessed your feelings, made plans for your future, wedding, family, retirement. Now, it's where you would lay, John was frozen and numb as you were lowered into the ground, it was just him, Simon, Johnny, Kyle, Nikolai, Alex, Alejandro, Rudy, Kate and her wife. They all stayed as dirt was poured over your casket, quiet and unmoving as John quietly cried, before turning his back after glaring at your tomb stone.

In smaller print in the corner of your tomb stone, was written of the baby that was inside you. When he was told that you had been pregnant, the guys had never seen him lose control like he had in the morgue, flipping things, throwing an breaking anything he could. Simon ordered the mortician to leave and give them a moment, Kyle and Johnny tried to grab and stop John but he pushed them away, knocking Johnny flat on his ass as he screamed.

"That's supposed to be me god damnit! ME! I should be fucking laying there! FuCk!!!" Tears streamed down his face, he choked as he turned and looked at you, why'd you have to look so peaceful? Grabbing tightly onto your hand he fell hard onto his knees, the pain numbed as he rested his hand on your stomach, "I should be laying here, not you. Why the fuck couldn't you just let me take those bullets? You could have our baby, could've had a small part of me to stay with you.....You left me nothing." His knuckles turned white from his grip, the coldness of your hand a contrast from the heat of his.

Feeling a few hands grab onto his shoulders he tensed, the silence deafening but appreciated, he didn't want their pity words. They all stayed that night, sitting outside with him, few old stories told of you. How they met you, what they thought, their favorite memories, all just a muffled sound to John as he glared at the tree. Part of him wanted to burn the thing to the ground along with the house and himself, but knew how sad you would be, the knowledge of your pain of him doing that out weighing his self hating desire. The next day every but Simon, Johnny and Kyle left, telling John if he needed anything to call them. The following few days John was quiet, mostly kind of drinking here and there but not saying a word even when the others would talk to him.

"I don't need to be babysat." He grumbled, sitting in the living room in his chair looking at yours. Kyle had made the small mistake the day that the other left to sit there, John had gone absolutely ballistic like he had in the morgue but on Kyle, since then, no one went near it except for John to adjust your favorite blanket and flush your pillow. "You lot can go home."

"If you want us to go, we will." Kyle said knocking one knuckle against the wall lightly, not really trusting to leave him alone but everyone needs to mourn in their own way and he can only pray that his captain won't do anything stupid.

"Then go." Cut short and simple, he felt suffocated and wanted to shoot them all if they didn't leave him be. As they got into their own collective vehicles, John went back into the house, doing a slow walk through before he grabbed every last bottle of liquor in the house and sat in your chair and drank everything. Finally, finishing everything in a day and half drunk off his ass he drove half hazardously to the market, bought more as if he was through a ragger of a party, pulling up to the house he hauled everything in, his last trip in he froze at the threshold of the kitchen.

It's the alcohol, he's shit faced, that's the only explanation, because other wise he wouldn't be seeing you standing in the kitchen clear as day humming. "Hi honey, took you long enough."

---

John was discharged, sent into retirement with respect, and the guys took their leave, moving themselves in with John, the drinking had gotten worse. They did everything they could to keep an eye on him, but John fought them, made it hard, the first 2 months, he said some hard, hurtful things to them, drunk and stayed in his room.

Eventually, John came down, showered and hung over but calmer, he sat in his chair joining the guys. “I’m sorry.” He sighed digging into his pocket pulling out your engagement and wedding ring setting them on the coffee table. The tv was muted as they looked at the rings quietly before looking up at him as he spoke. “I was going to propose to her after we got home from the mission, was going to do it under the tree, set it up like when we first confessed our love for each other.” He laughed to himself, "Never was one for I one for romantic gestures, she always made the big moves. I was always content to just take care of her and provide for her." Rubbing your blanket between his fingers he looked up and saw you, a sad smile on your lightly glowing skin. "That's all I ever wanted to do for her, she had a shitty family and I wanted to give her everything she dreamed of. We were stupidly already trying for a family, she wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world and I wanted to give her that. Should've retired when we set out to try in hind sight but she was as stubborn as I am." Taking a deep breathe he picked the rings up looking at them, "She wanted you guys to always come by but selfishly I was enjoying our solitude, our world out here. I should've listened to her and invited you guys sooner, I'm sorry."

From then on, John worked on being more involved in the house and work the guys were doing, Kyle had taken up your garden with the help of Johnny, Simon kept up on anything that needed fixing around the house, Johnny mostly cut the grass and watered your plants inside the house. All of them took turns cooking meals, very quickly with John now included in the motion of everything settled. He still saw you around the house, but now he welcomed it, it was always a break in the emotionless auto pilot he found himself in.

A year went by, Johnny and Simon came out about their relationship and John was more than willing to push them into the small mother in law house that was in the back also close to the house and tree.John encouraged Kyle to date the sweet girl he was fancy with at the town's little diner which was blossoming and the two grew close quickly. John spent his time making a bench most of the time, now not having touched an ounce of liquor in a year.

Finishing the bench on your anniversary, he brought it to the tree by your tombstone, he had kept up the area, keeping the grass cut and every morning laying fresh flowers down with your tea. Sitting down on the bench, he grabbed his full bottle of antidepressants, and then benadryl, downing both and sipping on tea, the breeze cool against his skin as the sun beat down on him. Looking beside him he smile, "HI baby."

"Hi."

"Don't look so sad honey."

"You know I don't want you to do this."

"But I want to do this." He said wiping a tear from your cheek. "The lads will be taken care of, everything is left to them."

"So they're going to find you here? Dead?"

"In peace, free and with you. Where I belong."

Settling in, tucked into his side you both were quiet as his heart started beating a little slower, eye lids slowly falling shut as he could feel a faint phantom feeling of your lips touching his cheek.

The guys all made their way to your grave, something they all did with John most evenings to say good night. Coming around the tree they froze seeing John sitting on the bench, unmoving, head leaned back with moist cheeks from tears. Within days John was buried beside you, his will was read, and they officially moved to the houses, Johnny and Simon stayed in the 'mother in law' house and Kyle and his girlfriend moved into the main house, but they set John and you chair on Johnny and Simon's porch preserved and safe, Just like John promised you, they were taken care of, always visiting your guys graves on holldays and anniversary's.

——-

😭😭😭😭😭😭When I tell you guys that I cried thinking about this plot yesterday and then a little broken up while writing it today I mean it! Hopefully you guys... Enjoyed??🤷‍♀️It plagued me and now it will plague you all...Sorry.🙏

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

I've been living in Japan, just outside of Tokyo, for a year and a half. It has been a lifelong dream of mine to live in Japan for about a year and a half, but I will be going home to America in short order.

Japan is a unique and wonderful place, however, I get tired of seeing leftist Americans touting it as some kind of socialist utopia. If one can support oneself without having to join the Japanese workforce, it's probably bearable, but the truth is, being part of Japanese society can be weighty business.

Having been here only a short time, I can't pretend to be an expert. I've only scratched the surface of a complex and nuanced society. Even as a student, though, the tireless bureaucracy, relentless work schedule, and comparatively introverted (and conservative, I might add) way of life is taxing. Albeit, I'm a rather undisciplined, artistic type. This is to say nothing of strict, upstairs/downstairs class etiquette, and of course, language barrier.

All of this is liveable, with the right mindset, but what Americans don't understand is how very fortunate we are for our freedoms and the services we often take for granted. Namely, the way our health care system operates.

Recently, I had the misfortune of getting a kidney stone, which is, of course, excruciatingly painful.

I have never had kidney stones before, and I'm alone in a foreign country; I thought I might be dying, so I called an ambulance. I thought, it's free, right? Why not? Even if I were in America, I might have called an ambulance, but then again, possibly not, because the great thing about the US is that most people have a car, and anyone with family or friends can get a ride to the hospital, if they need one. I'm also fortunate in that my older brother is a paramedic. In Japan, though, calling the ambulance seemed like my only recourse. And, indeed, it is free.

The ambulance came. I speak enough Japanese to talk with the paramedics. I got into the ambulance without my eyeglasses or my coat, and I was certain I would soon be given drugs to at least take the edge off. That's how it works in the US.

No such thing occurred. The paramedics took my blood pressure, and maybe listened to my heart. They asked me questions, and they drove me to the nearby hospital, which is less than five minutes from my apartment.

For almost an hour I was in the back of that ambulance, genuinely suffering, in pain, vomiting. We sat and sat. The paramedics kept saying, just a little longer. I found out later they have to have authorization from a doctor to administer any drugs, so they either decided for themselves that I didn't need any, or the doctor they contacted did. I suppose the level of my suffering was weighed according to outward appearance, and I will admit I pride myself on a high tolerance for pain; it was determined I most likely wasn't going to die and didn't need immediate relief from my pain.

Eventually, I was taken into the ER. They put me on the EKG and took my blood pressure, and then they left me alone with a little bucket to vomit in. A couple of nurses showed me compassion, but they were very busy. The old man on the other side of the curtain was in bad shape. I thought to myself, at least I'm not him. He kept complaining that he was cold and asking where he was. They kept telling him he was in the hospital and that his wife had been called.

For an hour, I lay in the ER with no medical attention and no drugs to stave off my agony. Eventually, I was submitted for a CT scan. After the scan, I was wheeled away into a corner where I received minimal attention and no drugs. In time, the doctor came to tell me I had kidney stones, and he prescribed me some glorified ibuprofen. The only nurse there who spoke any English asked me if I felt better, and, obviously, I didn't, but she told me it was time to go.

I managed to navigate the process of picking up my medication, paying my bill, and getting a taxi to take me home, but it was almost four hours after I called the ambulance that I was finally able to take the medication that at least somewhat dulled the pain, and I can tell you this: if I had known that I had a kidney stone, I would have stayed in the comfort of my own bed and taken Tylenol and suffered with some dignity.

In America, it's true we pay a lot to ride in the ambulance, and we pay a lot for health care. I have many times been subject to outrageous ER and miscellaneous medical bills.

However, the fact that we pay for these services does ensure that we will receive decent care unless something goes very wrong. American paramedics are authorized to administer drugs and do whatever is required to comfort and soothe the patients they've taken charge of.

And I can tell you this: I would much rather deal with the headache of insurance and trying to find a way to pay my medical bills than be left in seemingly endless agony for hours on end.

There are many wonderful things about Japan, but contrary to popular belief, health care is not one of them, and even though our system is not perfect, I will never again sit by and abide people who piss on it.

This is a great read and I would highly suggest you submit this somewhere for publication. It's also super interesting to me, because I had a kidney stone about a year and a half ago that I went to the hospital for, so I can directly compare our experiences.

I didn't take an ambulance. I live pretty close to a really good hospital, so I had my husband drive me. When I got there, I went to the receptionist and told her that I had a kidney stone and was in a lot of pain. She had me fill out my information and within 5 minutes I was being taken into the ER. A nurse came in very quickly, set up an IV, took vitals, and left. Very soon she came back with some pain medication. After about 20 minutes or so, I was taken to get a body scan, and that took maybe 5 minutes and I was back in my room. Another 5-10 minutes and a doctor came in, said my scans showed a kidney stone, and asked how I was feeling. I told him I was still in a lot of pain, and soon after he left another nurse came in and gave me morphine. During all this, they found out that I had a serious blood pressure problem. Like, I was two points away from where it would have been considered immediately life threatening. So they gave me a prescription for blood pressure meds, along with heavy duty opioids for the pain, and scheduled follow up appointments for me for the blood pressure and with a urologist to make sure I didn't have any kidney damage. I think I was there for a total of 2-2/12 hours, and they still offered me a hospital room outside the ER if I wanted because the pain hadn't completely stopped, but I'd much rather go home, so that's what I did.

The whole thing cost me nothing, by the way. I didn't have insurance, but I qualified for the hospital's own internal insurance for low income ER patients, which got me 90 days of free medical care, and after that was up, they extended it for another 90 days, and after that was up, they helped me get onto a real insurance plan. One that I'm still on now, though I'm probably going to get moved over to the plan my husband's new job gives him when the renewal period comes up. And while I'm not suggesting my experience is the norm, it does present an interesting contrast to yours.

[countrymusiclover]

19 - Targaryen Sisters Finally Clash

Part 20

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

Flying over the green land I ended up hiding us behind one of the tall hills still with a good view of the army. Squinting my eyes tightly I could see some form of people on horseback charging at the army. But they seemed crazier than the one we had knowing that we were in trouble. “Mommy, what are we going to do out here?” My son asked me while he slid down her dragon tail helping his sister down.

“You two are going to stay right here. While I do what I can to protect our home.” I told him with a very stern voice.

Luciya pointed her index finger out towards the distance gaining my attention to the battlefield. “Daddy’s on a white horse.” She was in fact right because I saw the single horse galloping across the field.

Resting a hand to my ring necklace for comfort I knew Jaime could handle them until a familiar shriek came from the skies making me curse under my breath. “Seven hells. Please don’t be all three of them.”

Amethyst made a noise seeing the same creature I do. Shifting my gaze down to the ground I had her shoot up into the sky seconds before my Targaryen sister set them on fire. Flying through the clouds I saw our army had brought the giant crossbows. Men were screaming before I lifted my head up seeing Dany riding her dragon burning a section of wagons turning everything into a bloodbath underneath us. She nearly hit Jaime until I had my dragon bolt in her direction shouting in Valyrian. “Draycrays!”

My sister swung her dragon out of the way avoiding my attack. She flew up higher seeing me and Amethyst before she blew fire at us. Gripping her scales, my dragon does a flip in a barrel roll and accidentally sets fire to some of the lion soldiers. “Land - land - ugh! That’s a good girl.” ” I gripped her, tugging her in the opposite direction, getting her to land a few feet away, seeing most of the stuff on fire.

My eyes were forced to remain focused on everything on fire with people screaming in agony taking me back to the years my father was alive. “Vaella, what are you doing out here?” Tyrion’s voice rang in my ears.

“Coming to rescue my husband and stop my sister from taking siege of Casterly Rock. What the hell are you doing here?”

My dwarf friend responded, seeing me scowl at his words. “I am following the Queen I support in taking back the Iron Throne. She’s doing what she thinks is right.”

“Will she kill Jaime if she gets her hands on him? Will she kill me?”

He lowered his gaze. “Both are possible. I tried to talk her out of it but-“

“Shut your mouth! I will not let anyone hurt the people I love. I’ve lost too much in my life already ... .my brother was right I should’ve disappeared better like he attempted with Lyanna.” I felt tears welling in my eyes thinking back on the night I got to hear his plan to flee the city for good and had his sights set on Dorne.

Rhaegar dragged me through one of the passageways of the Red Keep until I could see that we were sneaking into the streets of Kings Landing. It was common for him, but not for me. “What are we doing out here? I’ve never been - where are we going?” I was what some would whisper a tower princess.

“I needed somewhere beside the castle to tell you something important without fear of fathers spies hearing our conversations.” My brother finally explained by the time we had snuck up onto one of the old tavern rooftops where no one would find us unless we talked rather loud.

Holding the hood of my black cloak over my head I questioned him. “What do you need to tell me, brother?”

“I am going to be leaving soon. I intend to run away with Lyanna Stark, the woman I truly love.”

“Rhaegar!” I raised my voice clasping my hands over my mouth terrified someone had heard me. I slowly lowered my hands changing my tone to a whisper. “Have you lost your mind? You’re already wed and she is promised to Robert Baratheon.”

He put his hands on my shoulders trying to calm my nerves down. “I know the risks. But I can’t stay married to a woman I don’t love.”

“What about the throne? You’re our fathers heir. Viserys is only seven years old. He can’t run an entire realm if father dies.” I pushed his hands away, running my fingers through my hair.

Rhaegar raised his hands up. “I’m sorry, Vae. I don’t want to be a prince anymore. I want real love and a family in the countryside with her.”

“Is there any way I can talk you out of this?” I asked with very little hope.

He shakes his head no sending me a half smile where I knew he would never push the love for Lyanna away from that day on. “I’m sorry but no, dear sister. If you want a simple life like me you should run with me. You should do whatever it takes to keep you and your loved one safe.”

I got drawn away from my memory hearing a spear bolt fly up and strike Dany’s dragon causing it to let out a wounded cry in agony. Shifting my gaze out onto the fiery field I noticed it was Bronn who had fired the hit. Men around us along with horses were burning from fire. Wagons were destroyed and I suddenly realized that this would be a nightmare for Jaime. He may not see the same danger from me but he definitely sees it in the Dragon Queen. "Tyrion, we have to stop her. She'll kill everyone in the Lannister army."

"She wants to be a different queen. She wants to stop the wheel." He looked up at me before Amethyst released a call out to me. Turning my head in her direction I could see Jaime and his white horse focused on the dragon and its queen who had now crashed onto the ground.

Slowly walking towards Amethyst I prayed he didn't do something stupid. Only another dragon could beat another dragon. "Jaime, in the name of the gods, don't do anything."

"Flee you idiot." His little brother mumbled beside me watching the dragon girl attempting to pull the bolt out of her dragon's side. The creature made some loud noises but she couldn't get it out on her own. I felt sorry for the creature as I climbed on Amethyst’s back. "Vaella, if you charge at her. Her dragon will kill you."

Resting my hands on her scales I felt the baby kick inside my belly. "If I do nothing and he charges, she will kill him." I hated to think that someone who shared my blood would kill people, similar to our father.

Focusing my eyes back onto Jaime I cursed under my breath seeing him start running forward on horseback grabbing a spear on the way charging at her. "You idiot. You fucking idiot!" Tyrion mumbled before I kicked her in the side and she shrieked shooting up into the sky.

Flying as fast as we could, I still wasn't close enough to him when the dragon turned its head. The dragon queen saw him moving out of the way before hers breathed fire. "Jaime!" I shouted at the top of my lungs seeing someone tackled him off his horse and into the water.

“Daddy!” Rhaegar and Luciya cried out as they ran on the ground from their hiding place that I had left them at, running to the spot that Jaime had been at with Danny’s about to open its mouth at them.

Amethyst dove down towards the ground blocking her body in front of my twins and Daenerys. Sliding down the dragon wing I stand in front of the three of them where I clutched my hands into fists at my sides shouting her name. “Daenerys! I will kill you if you lay a hand on my children.”

“How dare you threaten me. State your name so I may know the woman so bold to challenge me. I wasn’t even aware another dragon lived in Westeros.” My sister raised a brow standing a few steps before me.

Keeping my gaze locked onto the gaze of my sister. “My name is Vaella Lannister, formerly the daughter of Kings Aerys II and Rhaella Targaryen. I am your older sister. This is my dragon Amethyst and my children Luciya and Rhaegar.”

“When you say Lannister do you mean Jaime Lannister?” She asked me in a very cold tone.

Nodding my head slowly in agreement I never pictured this would be how I would finally be meeting my sister who I believed was dead. “Yes I do. What are you going to do to me now?”

“I Daenerys of House Targaryen, breaker of chains and mother of Dragons, seize you and the rest of your family as my prisoners.” My sister declared while I saw some of her army rushing over and drawing their weapons, aiming them around the four of us in a circle. Amethyst lowered her head when I sent her a look to not kill her, it was safer for all of our lives if we just cooperated with her commands.

[sugurouge]

HI MY SWEETNESS MY WIFE MY DUO-TO-BE AND QUEEN OF DARK WINTERS AND BLOOD ROSE PETALS

happy valentine's day lovely, put on your sexiest outfit because im taking you out on a date<3

but our date might get sabotaged if a certain crow or a tragic man who was once a skilled craftsman appears- which reminds me...

what are your plans with sylus today? is he keeping it a surprise or will it be a chill day for the two of you? is it more wine and dine or will there still be some steam afterwards;) is he the type of guy who takes you to a store and surprises you afterwards by buying everything you touchede/showed interest in? he looks like he does... do you guys ever do a ferriswheel date on vday maybe? it could be romantic, just the two of you in the air:3

and while i'm at it- in a modern setting, does blade play as duos with you? and if so how is he... have the two of you ever streamed your games together? i bet the audience was in love with you and you could hear a thousand people groan in agony when you addressed blade with a term of endearment... cant blame them though, i too would be devastated if the cute and talented gamer girl i was crushng on big time wasnt single...

anwyays, sending u lots of lots of love! happy v day again, take care and spoil yourself <3

WHAT DANYL I WILL ONLY INTRODUCE ME WITH THAT TITLE FROM NOW ON

pspsps: i'm wearing my sexiest outfit and i'm ready to welcome you with a heart-shaped pizza and flowers! narumi is awaiting you as well, we both really want to take you out in the best date ever 🖤

i'm grinning at the questions! 🤭 honestly speaking, sylus takes any chance he can find to spoil me regardless of holidays or birthday. so i kind of managed to make him agree that we'll keep valentine's day simple. i make it my mission to make him feel extra loved that day but it's so horribly difficult to it that way because he turns the switch so quick and suddenly he's the one complimenting me again, looking after me again and it really is infuriating *sighs dreamily* so infuriating . . . really . . . no fancy presents for a full day, but that doesn't stop him from getting flowers for me, of course the most impressive bouquet since anything else isn't his style. at least he doesn't interfere with the plans i made for us, quality time is always welcomed by sylus. yes, he could buy the prettiest bracelets in the world, but we will go join a workshop for matching bracelets and he will treasure it more than he lets on. going for super spicy hot pot is a must for us, a chill long bike ride where i can feel him up all i want and then a steaming hot shower to warm up and . . . hold each other close

the next day is inevitably filled with him deciding on short notice that we will go shopping, swiping his black card for anything i glance at even if i tell him to stop. he frowns at the jewellery in shops while proudly showing off our bracelet as if that looks better than designer products 😭 definitely wine and dine like he knows i love, a bar specialised in appetisers and fine wine and a long night spend without sleep

istg you can't give without him trying to top your gifts

and with blade... well at first he refused to game. said it was a waste of time and went to read instead. then he got suspicious because "my giggles sound too happy" and "i was speaking too much nonsense with strangers" so he eventually started to read in the same room -> turns to him watching me game over my shoulder -> turns to him bending down to get a better look. but he's always quiet, focused on listening in my interactions with other men online

there's a frown on his face when they flirt with me, especially in valorant akdksk degen gamer base. but it's worse if i join in and flirt back with what? some stranger online? while blade stands beside me? yeah he will bark into the microphone eventually murmuring reminders like "baby, don't you think you've played enough with those little boys now?" with a husky tone that even turns the gamer boys on ajdksk

YAH sitting on blade's lap while playing and i'm trying to explain to him what's so fun about farming minions and why it's important to know how to manage waves but all he cares about is how to make me stop yapping about this masked character who keeps counting to four!? like?! he really wants to make out and not listen to jhin lore or defend his spot against some e-boys

[blackgoatredlamb]

CHATTING WITH THE FORMER DEATH

Characters: Mae Borowski, Redd Morris (Narinder) Setting: Roof of Gregg and Angus' Apartment Building, Late Afternoon Topic: The Dredge of Living and Dying, also Cult encounters

Words: 891

"So, do you like-" She pauses in thought- "mope on the roof a lot?"

"In a sense," says Morris.

"What does that even mean?" Mae Borowski asks, puzzled.

"…"

Two cats sit by the edge of an apartment building, gazing at nothing in particular. The sun had just set on Possum Springs, with the orange glow barely peeking from the hillside. Faint ghosts of stars coalesce in a dark fabric.

If they wait long enough, they could see the star sign of Mundy appear soon, Mae notes. Judging by how slow this conversation's going, it would be in no time at all.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she questions, "in Possum Springs I mean."

"Do you want a metaphorical answer, or literal?"

"Ok, can you like, stop with the vague shit you've got going on here?!" Her volume raises to the first floor. "Literal, I guess."

"Mhm. I came here because…" The pitch-black cat takes a while to answer. "Just because."

"Like, saving money and stuff?"

"Just because," he repeats, "or at least, Mallory had wanted to."

"The sheep?" She remembers Gregg mentioning that Morris had a partner who moved with him. She hasn't seen them yet, since they worked in mornings. Some short-stack like her, yeah.

"Yes, that pest of a lamb." Though monotone, it was spoken with an endearment she thought impossible from him. "They… had some work to do here in town. I was only along for the ride."

"Huh, I can't imagine moving just to work somewhere at all. Much less for someone else. The only places I've ever been were here and college. Also maybe that road trip with my parents that one time."

"Mmm." He breathes out a mist of cold. "And how is college faring for you?"

"Dropped out." She blurts out without thinking. Straight for the throat, goddamn it.

"I see."

God, this sucks.

Right now, all she wants is to leave this asshole be for the night, but this might be her ace-in-the-hole for her ghost investigation. Germ said he saw him lingering out by the chain-link fence every now and then, looking towards the trees. Just gazing for a few minutes before returning home.

Eyewitness. That's the word. She needs an eyewitness to confirm her encounter. She could prove that it wasn't some dream she had.

If only this fucker doesn't keep on refusing to answer her questions.

"So…" She taps rhythmically on the pavement. "You see any… ghosts?"

"I see them all the time." He takes out a cigarette and lighter from his pockets, filling the air with that cigar smell that Bea carries around with her all the time. He offers her a stick, which she refuses. "In life and in death."

"Uh." She waves away the smoke that's trying to enter her nose.

"Ghosts that have no business pestering the living world, always haunting some forgotten crevice of society. Never alive, nor really dead. Those kinds of ghosts."

He takes in the first breath of smoke. It dances, glittering in the dying sunlight.

"Um," she tries to interrupt.

"Though one dies, there's an imprint left in the dredges on the separating line. A true purgatory where the soul leaves, yet a body remains alive, operating as you would a machine. The world's grey area is dissolving, tainting the extremes with traces of one another."

His voice trembles slightly.

"It disgusts me, how they could never pass on with peace. Sure, they could return alive or dead, but it is in that middle ground, where agony could be your only drug for existence. Could you imagine that, living with a husk of your former self?"

He doesn't even notice her in his periphery, only looking towards the horizon where the stars faintly glow. His cigarette bends from his grip.

"Can I..?"

"Oh, sorry." He seems to snap out of his spiel, returning to the present. "What were you saying?"

"I mean, uh… I mean a literal ghost," she fiddles with her thumb before confirming, "like, 'phase through walls' type of ghost. Specters, or some shit."

He raises an eyebrow at that statement.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I mean, ghost!" She blurts out, "A, um, guy who can pass through walls, and kidnapped a kid or something?"

"Kidnapped?" His eyes open in alarm.

"Yeah, last Harfest."

"…" He takes a drag out of his stick. "So I was right."

"What do you mean, right?"

He lets the cigarette burn for a bit, before speaking once more.

"Thank you for telling me this, Miss Borowski." He snuffs the flame from under his boot. "But for your own safety, I suggest you sit this one out."

He turns to leave through the rooftop door.

"Wh- Hey!" She calls out from the edge, "At least give me an answer, asshole! Fuck you!"

He gives her the finger as he disappears into the apartment building, which she gives back in earnest. An old reliable insult.

She lies on the floor of the roof, despondent. Can't anyone tell her what the hell's going on?

"Raaagh!" She pulls her hair in frustration. "How does he even know my name!?"

The night sky looks cloudy and pale, with scattered rays of moonlight illuminating the sparsely populated streets. A handful of rats jump out of the window where Mallard P. Bloomingro rests in peace. A wonderful, not so scary night.

She should get back home.

[clay-cuttlefish]

Forging ahead with 52. #19 to #38. It's so much.

#19

The Evil Skeets plot is great. According to the omnibus it was a very late change away from a generic broken-time story, and I can kinda see that with how some of the earlier evil Skeets behavior doesn't seem super purposeful, but it all works for me.

#20

Mostly spaceguy plot that I don't care much about. The fight's cool at least.

I have no idea what fan speculation was like at the time but the idea of Supernova Jason Todd conspiracy theories is extremely funny so I support the intentional red herrings here.

#21

I keep changing my mind on which storylines I like more as I go. How could I not love Natasha?

#22

Dr. Magnus is back! I wish him being bipolar was handled more sensitively, the whole "oh the medicine keeps me from going ~crazy~" thing is :/, but I'm willing to read it charitably as his own perspective because I like him. He's a psychotic DC character who's heroic and not spooky or magical, just a guy who really doesn't want to have another depersonalization episode and has some internalized sanism about it, it could be so much worse.

#23

I like that Vic's more jaded to the horrors he can't stop than Renee is. He's had a lot of time to get used to the idea he can't save everyone - back in his own book he would've thrown himself in harm's way just like she wants to, but he's gotten better at not starting fights he can't win.

Hate to give Geoff Johns credit for anything but "What the hell are you doing?" "Seeing if it's contagious." is really good.

#24

"We were both guilty of ignoring Ted" Pretty sure Booster nearly died because he dropped everything to help but okay.

Osiris is just a kid...

Introducing a First Nations hero just to kill him off and give his stuff to a white dude sucks.

#25

Alan's out of the spaceguy zone and doing his own thing.

Almost halfway and the threads are still only starting to link up.

#26

I cannot get enough of Vic and Renee being friends with the Black Marvels. It's very sweet!

Tot my friend Tot :)

This is just a nice moment for them.

#27

I'm very into how Evil Skeets is drawn. He manages to be expressive despite having no moving features, it's a good trick.

Ohhh no it's now. I thought I had another issue, but no, this is the turning point.

#28

THE QUESTIONS!!! Love how they're heckling Kate together.

Kate is so cool.

Oh right, the spaceguys are still here.

#29

The way the mad science island handles mental illness generally sucks, but it's almost hitting at something interesting with Will being forced off his medication for the sake of "creativity".

#30

Get out of here Bruce.

I am going to cry!

#31

I don't even dislike the spaceguys really, but cmon, more of Ralph or Nat would've been better.

Ralph's still a detective even at his lowest! Strong foreshadowing.

#32

Uh oh, Ralph.

#33

Ohhh Charlie.

Him hallucinating Myra? Only able to admit he loved her at the very end?? It takes me out!

Almost all of his dialogue is straight from the O'Neil run. Rucka describes rereading the entire run just to write this issue because he had to get this right, and it shows.

There's a reason I consider O'Neil and Rucka the essential Question writers, and all the other takes to be interesting sidenotes.

#34

The kids aren't doing so well.

aaaaaaaa

#35

Hands you a picture of Nat. Hands you a picture of Nat. Hands you a picture of Nat.

Lex is the best villain in 52 and it isn't even close to a competition.

#36

AAAAAAA

Fuck dude! Nothing coherent to say here! Look at them!

#37

Wild emotional roller coaster for me as I go from Renee agony to cheering about Booster. My first read of this was a Time.

It's such a fun mystery. I can confirm it works if you know nothing about comics and are just along for the ride, and it comes together so well on the reread.

Mayor Ollie!

#38

AAAAAAA

"I'm afraid of who I'll become without you..." How am I meant to be normal about this!

I had to read this in two pieces because it made me need to get up and pace. It has done this every time I have read it. I am physically incapable of being normal about this.

Head in my hands. Comics are good and worth reading actually.

[gutterbrat]

Rotten,  yeah.  That is exactly the word she would use to describe the present circumstance  —not simply extended to Kerry's living situation,  but beyond.  Everything was rotten in the way that rotten things were wrong,  fucked,  repulsive.  The last few weeks were a particular brand of agonizing that Cee has not known before.  As if the walls,  windows and foundations of her enclosure were made of untampered glass.  The lines in the sand that were intersecting,  crossing.  The bridges that were on the precipice of being burned entirely.  She was not without her own grief,  but she thinks less and less of it recently.  

Difficult to think about her self-centered anguish when the world that she knew was bleeding.  No one was rightly okay.  Louisiana and Mexico both left an impossible mark on the tightly-woven caravan of creatures.  Presently,  Cee labored over this fantastic agony so distinctly out of her control.  She was starting to be under the false impression that she has no real control. 

Her denim is fastened by silver button,  but her gaze is all on Kerry.  She does hate asking that question.  How've you been?  It's such an inane,  normal question  —but it feels cruel,  outright,  when the evidence of how Kerry has been doing is collecting in disorganized piles around him.  But she has to ask it.  No matter how cruel it feels,  she wants to know  —needs to know.  Where everything is falling apart,  she worries about what she'll find in Kerry's apartment.  

Broad jaw tightens at his response,  a little glimmer of recognition in her pale eyes.  Peachy.  He says it with those blank glass eyes that make Cee's chest twist up strange.  He's been looking like that more lately.  High out of his mind and so he's severed,  in some sense,  from the tether of his body.  Never far enough,  though.  She knows how it goes.  You really can't ever get far enough,  but you can hurt yourself trying.

      "DJ night?"   Her attention is piqued at that.  She'd managed to land herself a job at a Thai-fusion restaurant just a short bike ride from her and Claire's apartment   —hosting,  which was shit,  and she was potentially going to get fired soon.  She'd been to Star Sign but a handful of times.  Lately she's been avoiding bars,  clubs,  the like.  Strangely enough,  despite the circumstance,  there was no part of her that reached for much else beyond a clumsily rolled joint and pack of cigarettes.  She seems to avoid her old vices like oil to water.   "Tell me when it is.  I'll bring Claire."   She means it in spite of her recent avoidance.  It wasn't too often she got to see Kerry without forcing the visit upon itself. 

At the other's question,  Cee goes still.  Her heart is too present in her chest.  She smiles,  a break across her expression  —crooked as she looks down,  turns to the sink.  A quick rinse of her hands and she's gathering the nasty takeaway rubbish into a used plastic bag.   "—Oh,  y'know."    She hesitates,  throws Kerry a quick glance.  He seems to be looking at her in a familiar way.  Like he's really paying attention.  Like he's interested in knowing more.

She swallows,  takes a breath.   

       "It's too crowded at my place.  Think I'm at my wit's end."   She says lowly,  looking back down to her current task.    "Haven't been able to take my morning piss in three days.  It's  —Christ.  It's much.  Had to get out of there."

Kerry watches the whole thing unfold like a scene from some beautifully depraved indie film—one of the good ones, the kind that never gets distribution, just passed around on VHS by the fucked-up and the faithful. Cee, wild-eyed and flushed, stomping through the debris of his barely-held-together flat like she belongs there. (And maybe she does. He doesn't exactly keep a guest list anymore.)

He leans forward, forearms on his knees, cigarette dangling from his fingers, watching her fumble with the sink like someone trying to diffuse a bomb. When she finally lets go—her face buried in her hands, that too-loud sigh of relief—Kerry just lets out a soft, strangled laugh.

Not mocking. Not even really amused. Just that strange little wheeze that comes when everything’s so bad it circles back around to funny again.

"Rotten, innit?" He says, ash flicking down into the already-overflowing tray on the coffee table. His voice is quieter now, mellowed out from the high heat of panic into the low simmer of shared chaos. “My whole place smells like I fuckin’ boiled anxiety in a pot.”

When she says both, answering his offer with the kind of honesty he doesn't hear often anymore, he lifts the cigarette to his lips and nods like it's the sanest response she could've given.

He leans back again, spine against the sunken couch, and finally—finally—really looks at her.

She’s there. Messy, flushed, half-rattled from the morning, but still there. Still herself. He’s grateful in that quiet, vicious way he doesn’t like naming. Grateful she barged in. Grateful she didn’t pretend everything was fine.

At her question, his expression shifts—something like a twitch in his mouth, a hitch in his breath. How’ve you been? That cursed, simple thing.

He exhales through his nose, cigarette trembling faintly. How was it possible that they've gone through such horrors and yet each new day still felt worse than the previous? He considers himself lucky that he's in one piece. But on plenty of occasions, he has nightmares. Madonna is the one to deal with them. Nightmares of that witch house and the damage they did to his skull. The way that Alo found him in that bathroom on Bourbon with a muzzle around his face. He still had that muzzle stashed in a drawer in his room for safe keeping.

“Peachy." He attempts. His eyes are vacant. And then he tries one more time.

"I'm trying to put a DJ night together. Thought that might be fun. Abra s' all in. Even Frankie. Wants to do something different for a change."

He flicks ash again. A long pause.

“And you?” He asks, eyes narrowed just slightly, voice dipping warmer now. “Besides pissin’ in my sink like a fuckin’ gremlin—what kind of shit morning makes you brave this place without warning?”

He’s teasing, yeah—but there’s a little something behind it. That tilt of his head. That subtle shift of weight, like he’s ready to listen. Like he wants her to tell him. He misses her. He still sees her. But it's different.