#agony and ecstasy... mostly agony

[juspeczyk]

me planning how i'm going to put these blorbos through hell:

me when the blorbos reach hell and i actually have to write multiple chapters of angst and pain and struggle:

[gloomwitchwrites]

What If 141... "tell me you need me" and/or " I don't want you to stop"

Okay. Okay okay okay okay. When I first read this prompt, I genuinely thought I would write something really sweet and soft. But I also have free will. I am an independent individual. I make the choices here. Are they sweet? Yes. Are they soft? A bit. Is this mostly spice? Yes. Yes it is. I will not ask forgiveness.

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, non-descriptive sex, praise, fluff, established relationship, suggestive themes

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Say it, love. I want to hear you say it.”

Everything in you is buzzing. It is loud, as if a hive of bees dwells beneath your skin. Each touch John gives you is electric. A zing of pleasure that rockets outward until the tips of your fingers and toes tingle.

“You don’t play fair,” you whine, sinking against him, surrendering to his touch.

“Never do,” he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe.

You reach up to touch him, to hook your arm around the back of his neck. You need to anchor yourself before you fall over the edge. His fingers are expert things, moving in little circles between your legs. It is agony. And so very sweet.

John seizes your wrist. Brings your arm back to your side.

“No,” he says. “You can’t have that yet.”

“Why not?”

John’s lips brush against your throat. “Tell me you need me. Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” He lightly bites. “Promise.”

You swallow hard. The words are forming, but they are only air. Slipping away with each stroke of his fingers.

John pauses. And that sets you off instantly.

“I need you, John,” you gasp.

“That’s my girl.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle’s fingers thread lightly through your hair. It’s a gentle touch. One that sends a shiver through you.

Your hands roam, touching everywhere. There is skin beneath your fingers. It is taut, slick with water from the shower. Kyle is warm too like a good blanket. You could wrap yourself up in him.

Kyle returns to your hair, working in the shampoo. You close your eyes and sink into the feeling. He has one arm around your waist as if you’ll run off.

“Don’t stop,” you moan. “That feels good.”

Kyle’s soft laugh comes from behind you, and then he guides you under the spray, washing away the shampoo.

“Need to get the rest of you,” he purrs, those strong hands of his grasping your waist, spinning you around to face him. “Where should I start first?”

He traces one finger along your jaw and down the side of your throat only to descend to collarbone and the curve of your breast. He goes lower. Lower still.

You grasp his wrist, arching into his touch.

“Here?” he asks with a smug smile.

You’re needy. And his hand between your legs is bliss.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you reply.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Oh. Fu—fuck, love. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Johnny groans loudly above you, his head tilted back in ecstasy. Behind you, the television is on but the sound is muted. It bathes the bedroom in a blueish glow. Johnny isn’t paying attention, and you’re not either.

You are settled between his legs, your mouth full of him.

This is a craving. A vice. Johnny is always the one giving. He loves to do it. Loves to shower you with affection and as much pleasure as you can handle. But you have the control now. You’re the one making him squirm. Making him writhe and whimper.

It’s lovely this feeling. The power is perfect.

No wonder Johnny loves doing this so much.

He groans again, the arm next to his side, fist clenched. His other hand rises, and tentatively brushes against your scalp. Johnny’s eyes are closed. You’re not sure if he even knows what he’s doing.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, almost absently, as if speaking to the air.

You continue. Tasting.

His hand against your scalp strengthens, fingers tangling in your hair. His grip is fierce.

“Don’t stop,” he repeats. “Don’t want you to stop.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“That’s not what you say. You know this, love.”

Simon grasps your chin between thumb and forefinger. He squeezes slightly, tipping upward. You are unable to look away. Unable to move. Those dark eyes with pale eyelashes drive a spear through your heart every time.

It’s maddening.

You lick your lips and Simon follows the movement. He examines your mouth, and then his thumb brushes against the underside of your bottom lip. It sends a little shiver through you. Simon is powerful. Strong. He could easily break you, and yet he can be so gentle.

“I’m not gonna ask again.” Simon draws you closer and leans forward as if to kiss you. He doesn’t though, simply holds there, awaiting an answer.

He won’t give you what you’re seeking just yet. Not until you say the magic words.

“Tell me you need me,” he murmurs.

That is all Simon wants. To be desired. To be needed. He loves to hear it from your lips, especially like now when the two of you are tangled in each other. Other times, it’s simple things like reaching something on the top shelf.

And you will tell him.

You always do.

“I need you, Simon.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@pearljamislife @ash-tarte @eternallyvenus @gingergirl06 @taysarchive

[arriansarchive]

Bottom!Dom!Carl Gallagher/Male!Top!Sub!Milkovich!Reader

This one's been in my mind for a while but I haven't acted upon my urges

Warnings since I forget to do them a lot: edging, pinching??? painplay????, other smut stuff, getting caught

Like season 10/11??? It doesn't really specify or anything but he's an adult

I've also decided to switch my name tag from y/n to m/n so yeah (i might forget in later stories so idk)

I used the word cock again be proud. im evolving

Summary: Porn

A simple day for junk food and TV programs. Well, that's what it was supposed to be before Carl got any bright ideas as usual.

Mickey had chaperoned you over to the Gallagher house after a job interview to help him with a few things, but you ended up just sitting with your boyfriend for a while. It wasn't the most productive thing you could be doing though nobody cared but Mickey.

By this time you both had gotten a few drinks down, and you were successfully quite tipsy. Not drunk to the point of delirium but not all there either.

You were barely paying attention to the TV until a rather heated, weirdly even, sex scene popped up. Carl laughed a little before leaning back in his seat.

A few minutes went past and in the corner of your eye you saw Carl stiffen, his mouth in a straight line. He seemed uncomfortable.

"You good?" You lolled your head over from the back of the couch to stare deeply at him.

He looked over at you, seemingly contemplating something before he lunged at you with full force. Carl pushed you back onto the couch vigorously with a elated look, straddling you.

"Don't tell me that shitty sex scene actually got to you." You rolled your eyes, but your breath automatically hitched whenever he grinded against you.

You tried to maneuver your way out from under him, but Carl held you down with such force that you didn't know where it even came from.

"I'm not going under today." He declares while shrugging off his jacket.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" You crossed your arms behind your head and yawned.

"You'll see." He muttered once he finally tugged his shirt over his head.

Carl started to unbutton the fancy shirt you had spent pretty much all your money on for your interview, but he decided to leave it on even after it was fully unbuttoned. Fucking in style or something like that.

He pressed his mouth up to yours needily. His hands were roaming your body and pinching you at random spots, making you flinch and groan into your boyfriend's mouth

You gasped lightly into Carl's mouth as his hands traveled down your dress pants, palming you roughly through your boxers. He had an evil smirk on his face.

"If you're this hard from me just doing that then you'd better prepare yourself." He whispered in your ear seductively.

You whimpered at the cold air whenever his hand left you, and your pants and boxers were pulled down.

Carl drug his hand up and down excruciatingly slowly for about a minute before teasing the tip with his thumb. The pad was circling the slit which was leaking steadily.

You were barely able to contain your noises of displeasure whenever he pulled away completely to take his own pants off but couldn't help to wonder what he was going to do next.

Suddenly he bent down from the couch and pulled out a few lube packets from one pocket of his pants.

"Were you planning this?" You managed to get out with a shakey voice.

He grinned. "Of course I was."

Carl was notorious for pain play with you. He loved doing it probably more than he loved normal sex without it, so no stretching wasn't a problem with him as he was usually the bottom.

He spread the lube over you, massaging around the base and tip mostly since he knew you were the most sensitive there.

You both groaned loudly in unison whenever he started to lower himself onto you. You were basically in agony from how slow he was going, and you could tell he was too.

You squeezed your eyes shut at the ecstasy that enveloped you at even the slight movement of his hips up and down on you. He had a maniacal look in his eyes.

He raised his legs up to where your tip was about to slip out and then slammed back down into you. Carl started a steady pace of this, not too fast but not too slow.

Both of your whimpers and groans were filling the silent, empty living room. Now that most of the Gallaghers were adults they weren't in the house a lot

Carl felt his wits end coming closer with each passing thrust, but yours was going even quicker. He had always noticed you were louder whenever you were about to finish.

Your hips spasmed as you came into Carl. He continued to bounce, chasing his orgasm while overstimulation engulfing your senses

Thick white ropes shot out of Carl rapidly with a loud scream of pleasure. You felt yourself start to harden once more and almost groaned in exhaustion.

He collapsed onto your chest, not bothering to take your cock out of him for the time being. It was silent until you both heard footsteps approach from the back door.

"Carl, what the hell are you doing?" A female voice yelped from the back of the couch.

"Tuning you out. What the hell does it look like?" He opened one eye passively and shrugged.

"Well, it looks like your fucking Mickey Milkovich's brother."

"That part is true too."

Your face flushed in embarrassment as Debbie and Carl argued back and forth about Franny's wellbeing and other concerns about fucking on the Gallagher house's couch. The words vomit and piss were used too much for your liking.

Ian's cackle became apparent from the kitchen along with Mickey's heavy footfalls.

"You fuckin' my brother, Gallagher?" He called.

You both decided to take your second round down to the basement. It's safe to say you got teased about it for a while after that.

[ladystormcrow]

Fanfiction Author Interview Game

Thank you so much for the tag, @les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques, and I'm so sorry that it's taken me this long to answer it! I've been in a writing slump for the last few months (for both personal and external reasons), but I've started writing again recently (trying to get back into my old groove of at least 500 words a day), so I feel like I can answer this in good conscience.

How many works do you have on AO3?

Nine at the moment, plus four others on FFN that I still haven't transferred over.

What's your total AO3 word count?

208,006

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Katabasis

Trio Sonata

Mine

I'll Keep You

Imprints In Time

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do try to, though sometimes I fall behind or choke on what to say; I feel bad when I find myself struggling to respond to a long, thoughtful comment with anything better than "thank you, glad you enjoyed!". I realize it's never too late, though, so I'm hopeful I'll be able to catch up on responses in the future!

(The only time I've ever deliberately not responded to comments is when I was aware that the person who sent them was a piece of shit who I didn't want to engage with, but thankfully that's only happened once or twice. Very much a "your approval fills me with shame" moment for me.)

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Probably Imprints In Time. It's a backstory fic for Madame Giry that ends with her estranged from her family and culture, recently widowed, and on the verge of being forced to retire from the ballet career she's worked so hard for, and thus deciding to help Erik make his start as the Opera Ghost (which we the audience know is going to end in more tragedy).

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

It's technically not finished yet (there's still an epilogue chapter to come), but I'd say Katabasis has a quite a happy ending: the dead have been sent to a peaceful rest, the exiled urSkeks have saved their planet and will be able to change their society for the better (and keep other urSkeks from harming Thra in the future), and Jen and Kira have gone from being the last of their kind to the adoptive parents of several dozen Gelfling children who will be a new beginning for their species.

Do you write crossovers?

I'm very much open to doing so, but so far I haven't, mostly because the fandoms I currently write for don't lend themselves well to combining universes. The closest I've come is the Les Miserables reference I included in Chapter 5 of Trio Sonata (or the SWAT Kats/Redwall fic I started but never finished when I was 15, but the less said about that, the better!)

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really, no. The closest I've come is someone who complained they were disappointed that Agony and Ecstasy featured skekSa as the one topping during sex; I simply added a tag that made that clear and left it at that.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I didn't used to, but I've gotten more confident about both writing it and sharing it publically over the years (my experiences in the Tumblr RP scene helped a lot with that). The first fic I ever posted where sex was explicit rather than implied was Mine, which was a pretty standard wedding night consummation story (well, except for the part where one of the pair is an elderly hermaphroditic bird alien), but after that, I branched out quite a bit with Agony and Ecstasy (I'm pretty vanilla in my own sex life, so writing about characters having a BDSM session with cutting, bloodplay, and other kinks that I'm not personally into while still making it appealing to an audience was an interesting challenge).

Currently, Trio Sonata is my first experience of trying to weave sex into the plot of a longer story, rather than just a standalone smut fic, and I'm really trying to make sure that the smut is in character and serves to move the plot forward and develop the characters (not that I've got anything against smut for smut's sake, it's just not what I want to write for this story).

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, not that I'm aware of.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven't, though I've helped other writers with brainstorming and suggestions before (and they've helped me in return). I'm open to it, though.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Oh man, don't make me choose! I'm pretty flexible when it comes to shipping as long as it's written well, so there are a lot that I like, even multiple ones with the same character. But if I have to narrow it down, I will say that I still love Megamind/Roxanne Ritchi after 14 years since the movie, and I also don't forsee my love for Erik/Christine/Raoul fading any time soon.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I started my own fanficverse for Megamind in 2011 with Life Is What Happens, and got partway through the sequel, The Storm and the Stars, before I stopped writing.

I always had meant to come back to that ficverse, but I now realize that's probably never going to happen, for two reasons. The first is that my own political and social views have changed enough since then that I'd have to completely rewrite parts of the story (for example, one of the main OCs is a former police officer, and I wasn't a believer in ACAB back then). The second is that the Megamind Rules TV series exists now, and both fills in the timeline when my fics took place and includes a number of the same key story elements, so I feel like there isn't really room for my fics in the fandom sandbox anymore (especially since most of my friends are fans of the TV show, and I really am happy that they enjoy it, even if it's not to my taste).

What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I'm pretty good at descriptions, especially giving a strong sense of characters and places in just a few lines, and coming up with interesting plots.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not so good at character introspection, especially angst and romance. I worry about bogging down the flow of the story and falling into telling rather than showing, and that it won't be interesting or believable to the audience.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think it can be effective if it's just one or two lines, especially if it helps convey character or setting, but it should be used sparingly and only if you're sure of the translation.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I've toyed with the idea of writing an AU for Imprints In Time where Erik doesn't leave France after his fight with Antoinette, and they repair their friendship and eventually become a couple, which changes a lot of events that would otherwise have happened in canon (no Persia, for starters, unless it's under very different circumstances). I've also pondered an alternate OT3 involving Pharoga plus Madame Giry, but that's probably never going past pondering.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

At this point, it's a tie between Katabasis and Trio Sonata. I've mentioned it before, but they have a lot of the same basic story elements (hero and villain have to team up against an outside threat, which leads to them bonding and the villain becoming a better person), and since those are some of my favorite tropes, it's probably inevitable they'd be my favorite fics.

I shall tag: @cornistasiathecoblinking, @chaifootsteps, @locksnek, @musicalhell, and @flagbridge, plus anyone else who'd like to answer!

[seraphimaa]

I can’t stop thinking about weird demonic sex with Haarlep. Maybe it’s just the monster fucker in me but let him be my creepy, weird little sex fiend bf.

Actually not nearly as dark as usual, just plain ol hornyposting, mostly.

- I want him to be holding me down, curling his hips into mine and hissing abyssal, like a snake in my ear. As our minds meld and his entire being consumes mine, I’m aware of my own mouth following his, hissing back. I want to stay locked under him, speaking in tongues and driven mindlessly manic by his cock

- I want to feel my heart bursting with fear and excitement as he chases me through the dark, shrieking as he yanks me towards him and crawls on top. I want him to claim me as both his prey and reward.

- I want to feel his mind tugging at mine as I sleep, and hear as he does - the strange and unsettling chorus of souls in agony and so many voices whispering through his mind. I want to feel in awe of this alien being who comes whispering in the night like a ghost, to touch body and mind.

- I want to feel something ancient and primal lurking beneath the beautiful mask. Something that could tear my kind apart with ease but was so tame and playful for me. It would stay its teeth as long as I was kind to it.

- I want to perch on top of him, trying to keep up, but forced to simply dig my nails in and try to hold on through the unnatural pace. I want get locked in his penetrating gaze and feel his voice reaching to me without words. Good girl. All his. Tight. His angel of little deaths. I want to know that he means it because the words he is sharing pass all boundaries of mortal language.

- I want to feel him at all times, a little part of him living within me. I want to feel him seeing what I see. Feeling what I feel. I want him to trickle into the back of my mind, so constant in its presence that I can no longer recognise what is him and what is me. I want his love to be a possession. This hungry being lived inside of me too, now. He would be the voice guiding me towards all of my deepest desires and tempting me to give myself to my needs, no matter how debased.

- I want to look at him wearing my form. I want it to weird and unsettling. I want to feel disgusted. I want to see the shallowness of his act and lack of mortal inside of him, now at its most transparent. I want to fucking love it. I want to obsess over this ethereal being wearing my skin. To see my flaws worn in such perfection and not recognise myself. I want to know that his use of this form was his show of love. He chose me as I chose him. For no other reason than he wanted to. We will live through each others worlds and share our own forevermore.

- I want the shattering and incomprehensible ecstasy that would come with him using it when we’re together. I want even the smallest spark of pleasure to echo and amplify as it reverberates between our beings. I want it to feel dangerous, like it would go forever and this would be eternity - locked inside this increasingly unbearable echo chamber until it ended me. I want to feel happy to go in the constant peak, but to always know that this strange being would pull me back down to them, every time.

- I want to lick every groove of his scaled, reptilian skin. I want to dig my nails into his arms and feel them slide and catch on each one. I want to watch his wings flap and twitch as I pleasure him with pure adoration and curiosity. I wanna tug on his dexterous little tail and giggle as he hisses like an animal. I want to feel it curl around me possessively as he forces me down to the mattress, cock drunk and drooling. I want to feel the tiny dull barbs and texturing on his leathery cock. I want to feel the tapered, inhuman tip push its way inside.

- I want to revel in how powerful it would feel to share pleasure with this little god of hedonism. This unknowable being, so much greater that me. To make him moan, and whine, and squirm, and cum and give him life through my acts of devotion. As I breathe life into him with body or soul, he as a reward, he lets me revel in that power, sharing it with me.

I SWEAR TO GOD IF I POST ONE MORE HAARLEP THING PLEASE CALL THE VATICAN BECAUSE I NEED AN EXORCISM. HE WONT LEAVE ME BE. IM LIKE HIS LITTLE SMUT PUPPET AND I NEED TO SLEEP.

[longhardtransitionreturns]

Intro Post

This is an 18+ fetish blog. I am 37, cis queer woman. I was on old birth kink Tumblr before the purge and am back now after a few years.

I mostly write short birth stories on reblogs and sometimes some original longer fiction. I don't RP. You can send story prompts, if you like, but no guarantee I'd ever get to them.

Likes:

Long, very painful labors

Long pushing and crowning

Hospital births (stirrups, IV's, catheters, being monitored)

Medical intervention when the patient is struggling (forceps, vacuum, episiotomy)

Painful birth injuries (broken pelvis, broken tailbone, serious tears, ruptured uterus)

Surgical intervention (either a c-section after a very difficult vaginal attempt or repair of birth injuries, up to and including hysterectomy)

Post birth pain (crying while delivering the placenta, whining while tears are stitched up, in a lot of pain going in to or being wheeled out of surgery, being really sore after birth)

Nursing struggles (engorged breasts, pain while nursing, being milked with a breast pump while tears are sewn up or the patient is waking up from surgery)

Not birth related, necessarily, but I also love gynecological and abdominal surgery fantasies, especially around the patient being intubated and then waking up in a lot of pain.

Dislikes:

Children in the room while the person is birthing

Water births

Sensual births (I'd rather their face be screwed up in pure agony, not ecstasy)

[cidnangarlond]

GLORY THE TIEFLING BARD -> The Nautiloid / The Beach

"That's the creative process for you. Agony and ecstasy. Mostly agony."

[guywrestlingaddiction]

That Wrestling Moment: Crafting Kayden or Kayden Keller v Scrapper (bgeast.com)

I love to see a gay wrestler come into their own as part of their journey.  Now part of that experience is also seeing said performer before they found their way.  Seeing them as a rookie, I can dissect and spot some of the subtle differences that would one day lead to gay wrestling legends.  Take for example: Kayden Keller v Scrapper.  

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

The Backstory

It's hard to imagine but Kayden wasn't always the top dog at bgeast.  Yes I know that the studio doesn't have a recognized champion or belt, but it is hard to picture anyone else having that honor other than Kayden (maybe for a while anyway).  All that to say, everyone needs to start somewhere and watching Kayden just starting out - the man, the myth, the legend - is a rare thing indeed.  

The Action

The mat wrestling takes on a furious and vicious pace.  Scrapper does not hold back in his assault, easily crumbling whatever "formal" mat wrestling techniques Kayden had in place.  Sorry bud, but any training you received before bgeast is for naught.  

The back and forth is intense between our two fighters as Kayden is eager to show he can take the punishment while Scrapper takes on the task to break him in.  What a self-less guy he is 😉.

Kayden: Tap for me, just once.  Let me hear you say it.

The Moment 

At some point Kayden stopped fighting against the erotic abuse and finally embraced it. 

And now, at the end of the match, we finally have our moment.  Ladies and gentlemen, this is what we've been waiting for - that time when Kayden began to embrace the heel within or how He learned to stop worrying and love the domination.  

I know I made this post mostly about Kayden but Scrapper deserves credit for coaxing the erotic heel out of the guy.  Scrapper's formula for pleasure and pain is surely a factor in his rebirth.  Now spoiler alert, Kayden doesn't exactly triumph in this match; Instead we the audience are the winners because we get to witness the beginnings of a tenacious heel, the tension between agony and ecstasy, the alpha energy, all that would eventually result in Kayden being the star he is today.  

[liminal-zone]

why did they keep her alive

fic link: dissolved girl

fandom: the matrix | ship: trinity/neo

rated: M | tagged: body horror, cyborgs, bittersweet

summary: What if Trinity came back wrong? A post-Matrix Resurrections fic about what happens if the body was rebuilt again, and again, and again, and in the remaking, became something new.

Written as a Yuletide 2023 treat for Thene

excerpt:

*

Neo helps her learn this new body of hers. Trying exercise after exercise, incremental ways of understanding the flesh married to metal.

His body is strange too, of course, having been rebuilt in the same tank. But he can eat the same, and he can sleep the same, and he can fuck the same.

They try fucking, of course they do, but she’s different and unsure of herself. Doesn’t want to break the remaining living flesh, and doesn’t want to break him.

“I’m barely human,” she says.

“You’re Trinity,” is his response. His eyes so wide and trusting. “That’s all that matters.”

*

Sex in the Matrix, of course, is spectacular. There, she finds new desires to meet and higher pleasures to reach in his arms, from his tongue and fingers and dick, and in the wilds of their twinned imaginations met by impossible power.

She can make him come just by fussing with his code, and he can spend a year between her legs until there are only fragments of her left to coax back together. She can edge him till his sobs cause earthquakes, and he can bring her to such ecstasy that the entire Matrix blinks out for a nanosecond.

Their passion is strange and dangerous for they are strange and dangerous.

They have a mission, of course, but it’s been decades and she is a woman starved for him.

*

She does not remember dying for him. It’s the added horror that her memory is up to her last visit to the Matrix before they left to end Smith. She does not remember Bane, nor fleeing the sentinel army, nor being the only living human in centuries to see the real sun, nor dying. Pinned to the Logos floor like a precious butterfly, her agony masked to keep Neo focused.

“It was grief beyond imagining,” he tells her. “You died and there was nothing I could do. I had nothing to live for. It was all over.”

She holds him, and listens to him speak, listens to the remaining sobs that have been caught inside him for decades. She wonders at this Trinity she never was, the one who bled out in the machine city. The one who was pried out of there by someone, or someones, to use as future leverage.

She loves her too, that little slice of her that was true and was her. She feels such fond affection for her, the woman who was Trinity in the last few hours that her body was mostly human.

She doesn’t know, for Neo doesn’t think to tell her, that Trinity’s last words were a demand.

“Kiss me,” she had said. “Once more. Kiss me.”

[echthr0s]

It is true that I am an entity of connection and communion who repeatedly incarnates into existences where connection and communion are severely diminished in some way or another -- self-created challenge modes, perhaps. But it feels like this existence is particularly challenging. In other incarnations where some measure of success is found, the solutions to returning to Myself are always pretty left-field but still within the realm of possibility for those universes: for example, in being Zenos I find a way to imbue myself with the Echo (which is that universe's primary avenue of deep communion and resonance). The fact that the Echo exists at all makes it clear what I have to do. This universe has no such thing, not even a ghost of a similar function. I think, in this universe, the best one can do is… be an artist. To communicate the deepest truths of oneself, to see the world in ways beyond that of consensus reality, one must make and interact with art. But even then, there is no guarantee of reciprocity -- there is no joining of souls, no intimate sharing of minds. There are simply too many barriers. This, to an entity like me, is beyond vexing.

Words are a primary currency of connection in this universe. But I find it nearly impossible to communicate Myself in this fashion. There are too many paradoxes, too much of the arcane and esoteric, too many concepts that lack proper vocabulary. It is like trying to talk about dreams, when dream logic defies waking logic, when what is powerful and resonant about a dream just sounds confusing and incomplete in words. It is like trying to talk about psychedelic experience, or religious ecstasy. It is all of these things! My existence, my awareness of my existence, is best explained as a divine psychedelic dream. What words exist for such a thing, that will penetrate into the reader's mind directly, that will adequately alter their perception? How will I be known to anyone if I cannot communicate myself to anyone? And is there no more direct method of communion, of connection, of resonance? People in this world* fear enmeshment, interdependence, deep physical-spiritual bonding; it is often used abusively, like it is a crude weapon as opposed to the greatest of gifts. What am I to do in a world like this, except atrophy in alienation?

I've seen several writings about older alterhumans(etc) and why they stop being so present in online communities -- some grow into great and fulfilling meatspace lives, for example (gods, we wish!); some just find that this aspect of their being stops being so immediate and sort of fades into comfortable background noise. For us, we find that we become less and less able to be ourselves properly in these spaces, because we lack the words, we lack the ability to commune. We find ourselves growing into greater and greater complexity as time passes, not less, and this compounds the alienation. It was easier for previous body pilots -- Björn was mostly just a guy (Earth-born, just from a different time), for example. Grey was a (deposed? exiled? dead, as far as death applies to them? who knows) fae lord who took way too much delight in playing human so he decided to possess one. These are narratives easily understood: strange, certainly, but with great precedent in the right circles. I think perhaps divinity complicates things, especially that which originates elsewhere (to be an Earth-based entity would be much simpler!). We are simply So Much, at once, all the time. To extrude even the smallest fragment of Ourself into this brain, and then try to communicate even that tiny fragment into a rigid and separation-obsessed world… a nightmare. What are we to do?

Agony, despair, and no grace to be had. Only the embrace of the Configuration, which is certainly not nothing; it is keeping us alive. But is there not more? Is that all? Will we die to this world having known naught but this?

*obviously I am speaking from a certain cultural perspective, one which is almost violently individualist and worshipful of independence; this is the "world" that I know, and I cannot speak for any other, even speculatively

[princesssarisa]

Since I did this for Carmen and Don Giovanni's deaths, I might as well do it for Violetta.

Not that there's very much variety: in all performances, she suddenly feels restored to health and strength, rises up, and sings a final exclamation of joy, only to drop dead. But the slight variations directors and sopranos have found can be interesting.

I can see why some prefer to keep it simple: either follow the libretto and just have her briefly stand up, then fall back on the sofa, or not even have her stand up at all, but just rise onto her knees. She is dying of a debilitating disease that realistically should leave her barely able to move by the end.

But this last euphoric moment isn't realistic to begin with. The whole concept of spes phthisica, that TB causes feelings of euphoria even as it kills, might be just a romantic myth to begin with, but even if it's real, I'm sure it rarely, if ever causes an apparent complete return of health and strength in the last few seconds of life. With this in mind, why shouldn't some productions make it more dramatic? Opera directors always love a good stagger to center stage and dramatic slump to the floor. Or why not go crazier still: e.g. by having her stand up on her bed, or Richard Eyre's choice to have her run madly in a circle around the room?

The stagings where she dies in Alfredo's arms are good for the romantics among us, for giving her the ultimate final happiness, and for suiting pop cultural expectations the Camille story (e.g. memories of the 1936 MGM film's famous ending, with Greta Garbo in Robert Taylor's arms, or of the end of Moulin Rouge! for that matter).

Yet that one staging I found on YouTube where Giorgio Germont is the one to hold her at the end was very interesting too. After all, everyone agrees that Act II's lengthy Violetta/Germont scene is the heart of the opera, and while Alfredo is arguably just the same romantic, hot-blooded young fool from beginning to end, his father undergoes real growth and change thanks to Violetta.

Then there's the cruel twist from the Zeffirelli film and productions inspired by it, where at the very end it turns out that Violetta just hallucinated Alfredo and Germont's return and she dies alone. On the one hand, it is heartbreaking, and it's truer to the original novel, where Marguerite dies before she can reunite with Armand. But on the other hand, maybe it's too cruel. At any rate, it wasn't Verdi or Piave's intent, it denies Giorgio Germont his redemption by turning it into Violetta's fantasy, and it only works if the other characters' final exclamations of horror and grief are cut.

The last option, from another video I found on YouTube, is also an interesting choice: where she doesn't drop dead, but is still standing in a euphoric pose at the end, bathed in light, while the rest of the stage goes dark. It's as if we're seeing her spirit instead of her body, ending on a note of transfiguration instead of grief. But maybe that's too sentimental and religious for this mostly-realistic tragedy of social commentary.

I'd love to see other people's thoughts.

@simone-boccanegra, @supercantaloupe, @notyouraveragejulie, @ariel-seagull-wings, @leporellian

[plasticfangtastic]

Can We Be Lonely Together? Ch.6

A Homelander X Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader fic, but you can see it as a male leaning fic or Homejoe fic, this is a slow burn.

Author's note: this is a long chapter so warning, but on that note I'll be going on holiday for the next 5 days so I prolly post the next chapter next wk. Thx to all the folks reading. previous chapters in #my fic tag in me blog

Sypnosis: You're a mind reading supe who's gotten a little too enamored with Vought's number 1 hero, he just won't like the lenghts you took to make yourself his favorite.

R18+ smut, anal play, bruise kink, S.A mention, cannibalism mention, inmoral everyone, CSA mention, blood.

Chapter 6

Working 9 to 5

Together you wrote my schedule:

8:30 am– head to work

9:00 am to 12 pm– actually do work

12- 12:30 pm– Lunch

12:30 pm and onwards– It was Homelander time whenever you demanded my attention… much to the chagrin of my colleagues.

Your distractions with Soldier Boy, Maeve and Noir certainly meant  you alloted me time to do my job– and my actual duties. My time solely dedicated to doing the job of five people (making my days end at 8 pm at the earliest), and the superpowered nuisance forcing me into overtime… folks too self absorbed to notice how much pressure this department was falling into did not help my grief. It was easier to walk out for a coffee, shoot some Compound V in the Starbucks toilets, and walk around the city to find crimes happening live to send them to whatever chump needed a spotlight, just so I could finish my reports.

Swimming on the same wavelengths, you came to my rescue.

Any amount of stress, any craving for a distraction, support or affection, I was there for you.

You could come into the room, shoot me a text even though I never gave you my number– sometimes watch you type live the messages you had for me just so I could formulate the perfect response. Not that we ever had lengthy conversations. It was mostly just you telling me to go to your penthouse, boardroom, randomly selected location, or to perform some innocuous task that would make me stay past clocking hours… you seemed happy to make me walk, and stress me out just wanted to push my buttons, alleyed when I complied with gusto… and we both got to relieve.

Sitting me in your lap as soon as the doors closed on your servants, sitting on mine if my room was solely occupied by computer screens and us.

Today it was the boardroom, meeting was adjourned, it had been a mundane meeting with the remaining members of the Seven some boring discussions about filling up the emptied slots since Starlights and Maeve’s departure, all you wanted was to be with your son and make your fans happy… or that’s what you told yourselves.

You chuckled and pulled me by the hem of my jacket, making me drop the stack of files you had so urgently requested by your feet, maneuvering my hips with unsurprising ease-- by now I had grow accustomed to how much discipline you had over your own strength, masterfully manipulating just the right amount needed to force my whole weight to move at your whims, I try to hold my laughter forcing some restraint as you purr into my stomach, dropping me forcefully into your lap, gloved hands pulling my dress shirt open, your tongue licking its way to the nape of my neck, nipping at my neck, your breath hot against my jugular, your laugh reverberating all across my body covering me in goosebumps, as leather burns possessive lines on my back, every bruise that faded was just another spot for the Homelander to paint.

Admiring your work, kissing it better, grumbling quietly as you plan your next stroke, cupping my ass forcing me closer as you kiss every bruise you can, every bite, every line.

It was all yours without reproach, a warmth build in your stomach as I held your neck egging you to kiss all that was yours, your kisses gentle as I shuddered from the ecstasy born from agony.

I wanted my whole body to be your canvas, every future glimpse in the mirror I would see your warhols, while you struggled with the fragility of my body and how willing I was to let you break it, your eyes looked at me half smiling as you took my nipple into your mouth. 

Sucking and moaning forcing me to quiver, your tongue drawing circles gasping as you sucked harder wanting something motherly from me.

“Such a sweet boy working so hard to make mommy feel good.” It was nice when you let me control your movements– let me spoil you, mi sol.”

"Spoil me?"

"Rotten."

Letting me pull you into my lips, kissing until my lips turned blue and all I wanted was to suck the spit straight from your tongue, your hand forcing my head still pushing me closer to you, covering my ears until all I could hear was a high-pitch timbre.

You could be so quiet.

"How much do you want this?” you purr into ear, licking my neck back down to my lips making sure to nip my it gently but enough to make it bleed– tell me you silly thing.”

“If you don’t fuck my brains out in the next five seconds I swear to god I'll shave your fucking eyebrows!”

“What did my eyebrows ever do to you?” we both share the same ragged laugh, as you hands finally undresses to pull my pants down– oh fuck.”

“Had an inkling you might be stressed out.”

“That's… you've been walking around all day with six inches?” your neck meets your chin-- to help me?"

“seems... so far doing a better job than you”

From the look in your eyes you took that personally.

Your fingers wet with just enough spit as you thoroughly fucked me, playing around with your speed until I’m left quivering and squirming around your arm while you watch in delight how my mouth struggled to keep quiet. Facinated with how just the right amount of pressure and speed had my mouth looking like a bunch of W’s. trusting deeper as people walked by oblivious to our office debauchery.

Your long tongue spreading me wide, eyes half open watching my every move as my hands glue themselves to my mouth, holding back painful mewls as you force me to cum for the sixth time.

Your cock, hotter than the rest of you, I wanted to be smothered under your heat, happy to be elevated from the stiff surface, cradled around your arms as you trusted in me.

You cried wetly into my lips, filling me up, your cum oozing from within me, kept warm by our mingling heat.

“Be good for me, and don’t spill it.” You closed me with my not-so-forgotten toy– don’t you fucking dare waste a drop of it.”

“I'd rather die, sir.”

This warmth inside me began to feel strange, your hand lingering on mine as we finally parted, Homelander making sure to get a last glimpse as I headed back to the elevator, John snarking at the picture.

Your idea of romantic outings needed some examinations on the occasion you found me outside during your patrols, a simple ding had me running to the nearest alleyway so you could scoop me, and fuck me in some dingy roofstop, but you did bring vodka, and flowers on the occation… holding my whole self with little effort, bouncing me on your throbbing cock by lifting your fingers up and down from underneath my legs, forcing me to scream and sough into your neck, as I tried to hold back.

And when you finally decided I deserved a bed and privacy, you took to entering my home, surprised at how little reaction you earned when you knocked on my window up on the 15th floor.

But it worked for us at the time, for we didn’t have a name yet for whatever this was, sure I understood it would take time for Vought and the people to come to terms with this, plus the timing wouldn’t be right either– not to mention you knew I still had unfinished business with my ex.

By the end of that first evening together I’ve come to realize that you had bad taste in partners, how could they all quit so easily at the first sight of insipid behavior when you could give a hoover a run for its money. You could devour with more panache than needed, greedily forcing me open, sucking and slapping my cunt with your fingers and tongue, until I was mewling, and begging for mercy, the more I cried as you left my entrance puffy, red and drooling– the more you ate, leaving me nothing but hair to pull, shriveling and unsure of what name to call after.

Couldn’t even pretend to run away from you as you had your way with me, all you had to do was give me a glint of red around your corneas, a smirk and you pulled me right back with a finger… quite literally. 

I wanted to run– by now I knew if I let this go further I wouldn’t be happy with just close friends… that I’d grow needy… impatient waiting for you to make up your mind about us. I was content to receive your kisses, to watch you play with the hues of my skin, to fill me up in gold, to let me be the only one that ever calls you ‘the sun’, I knew that as I rested in your arms, wrapped around my quilts, the TV playing one of your favorites “Fight Club” just dozing up to the sound of your observations-- your friend somehow the only one who understood the movie out of the two of you.

Youse always leaving by the time I fell asleep.

But it worked for us at the time, for we didn’t have a name yet for whatever this was, sure I understood it would take time for Vought and the people to come to terms with this, plus the timing wouldn’t be right either– not to mention you knew I still had unfinished business with my ex.

Roman had become impatient, knowing the expiration date on my life began to draw near, I had to continue doing better– I never meant to stumble upon any of these things, finding it hard even for somebody of my expertise to crack these files that both Edgar and Madelyn had hidden so well, whatever it was they’d paid it had been quite a hefty sum for this much encryption, and with Roman’s threats increasingly more virulent this could be my white whale. 

I could’ve send him your files let Roman expose Vought for the crimes against you, I just couldn’t… the whole country would rally behind your pity party, for they knew not of your long list of crimes but their symbol… and if that symbol had been a little boy raised in a metal box denied food, affection, touch, and even a name– It would be easy to spin on your shareholders’s favor.

You see John… I didn’t want that… I wouldn’t… so I had to pray to the gods that this would be worth it, for I was finalizing the details of my escape plan.

The music faded as you took my earphone out, so focused on finishing this report that I’d failed to notice your presence.

It had been weeks since Maeve’s death, and Ryan's introduction to the world… The whole company was scurrying away trying to make your son work, writers running on narcotic stimulants, and energy drinks to try to come up with a story good enough… The real story wasn’t sufficiently marketable.

“Busy?”

“How can I help you, Mister Gillman?” I tried to smile but I was honestly so exhausted.

You took a nearby chair rolling it towards me, you sat taking the mouse from me to open one of the tabs on my screen.

“You hadn’t answered my texts all day. So I thought I would give you a visit… Ashley is chaperoning Ryan around… he wanted to buy some Lego sets, but these assholes decided to schedule an emergency meeting– you wouldn’t have anything to do with what’s going on with the stocks?”

I hand you the spare phone in my drawer after unlocking, for you to see the barrage of abusive messages that Roman had been sending me for the past few days.

“Nope. That’s just the market at the moment. Sorry I missed your texts I was finishing a report… and I got you what you wanted”

Taking a large folder off my pile as a present to you.

“Pink is Best, Blue is okay and green is 50/50… There aren’t many schools in the country that have specialized Supe classes… so most of the schools are still for normal civilians except these ones go to swanky private schools, keeping the search relatively close even tho you and Ryan aren’t limited by distance… I think he’ll really like number twelve.”

“Why?”

“Their school has a film program for High School students… and an equestrian club. Is all in the dozier.” I look towards you as you pretend to skim the pages– kid’s talented he could be the next Spielberg.”

You rolled your eyes, John already had a vision of his future, to you this building was his.

“Still for people. Glad you did this… can’t trust anybody with this… not right now.”

Your paranoia was well placed. You were completely right about what Vought had planned for Ryan, and now that he was around they had begun to plot ways to rid of you, to give him the right kind of origin story. Your demise had to sell tickets, some calculating how much return they would make from your funeral.

“They currently have seven enrolled Supe students, not enough for a class but enough for Ryan to make friends with.”

You gave the folder a couple flicks pretending to give it much attention admiring one of the 50/50 for it was the furthest from New York.

“So I gather you’re looking at real estate for me?” You said cocking your head to the screen– is a bit drab.”

“Needs a bit of love and elbow grease-- is for me.”

“You want to commute 5 hours every day from Rushville? or take a plane from Argentina?”

This I could dread.

“No, it's not like I can fly, mi sol. If I don’t give Roman something juicy soon I’m dead… look… I’ll be resigning from Vought in a couple weeks, once I find a place and figure myself out it is a bon voyage for me.”

“Can we talk about this nonsense over dinner? tonite?” there was an unusual tizzy in your voice, that caught me off guard– we have a lot to dis–

“Can’t tonight I have a work dinner with an old colleague.” 

“What the fuck you’re talking about? With who!?”

“I know is difficult for you to hear this but having you select the kind of information I can leak just so you can catch Roman in a white collar conspiracy is nice, and I mean if he wasn’t one of the richest men in America I’d think your idea was beyond clever, but is not good in the long run. If I can’t get something on Roman… I’m dead. I got an old colleague… His name is Kent Lark, he’s a journalist at USA Today…  he’s the guy I fed info to, and the guy who found me clients and victims to extort. He has some hacker friend who won’t deal directly with me, so I gotta meet Kent to organize such services”

“I’ll kill Roman then. So dinner at my penthouse, or should I organize something…”

“He’s not your problem. Do you have any idea what would happen to Vought, and yourself if you got caught!? If the cops suspected you? Look your lil’ minions can clean up a thousand supes messes, and you can kill anybody you like! but if you kill a billionaire then I assure you that his side will have the money, and allies to make sure you face consequences! Fuck even my plan will only get him off my back for a couple years at most, and that’s even if he goes to jail!”

“What’s your plan then!?

“The IRS… I know Roman has been laundering money using his dozens of charities to avoid paying taxes, especially his wife’s help the homeless foundation… talking ‘bout millions of dollars a year… insider trading will get him what 2 years max… mine will get him 5 and if I’m lucky the state of New York will force him to pay double of what he hasn’t paid. So he’ll be too broke to find a way to kill me, John. Not to mention what it would do to his company, and once the head falls they’ll start investigating the rest...I just need him away from me.”

“So you were always intending to leave?” The way your jaw clenched made a pit in my stomach, your glassy eyes darting away from me as you tried to understand, you looked at my screen– I have a cabin…upstate. I had it redecorated not long ago… you can stay there.”

“I… I… don’t know what to say… I was… I wish… I wish you could kill Roman, and come out with impunity… I mean we aren’t really dating… so why would you risk anything for me?” I took your hand desperate to comfort you– Mi sol… let me handle this myself… I don’t want you getting involved in my affairs if they’ll hurt you."

You became flustered hovering above your seat shaking your head slightly trying to keep his composure.

“So what!? You’re saying I can’t help you!? Me!!?”

Your mind wanted to ask me something else, in your head you had been courting me and in all fairness you did just ask me out for dinner– just a second ago… I still regret not noticing that even right now.

“I cannot let you. If something happens… if anything goes wrong it doesn’t just affect you, but also Ryan… I can’t be the reason he gets hurt.”

“I won’t go to prison for killing anybody! You think they can even contain me?”

“If you want to help… get The Deep to hire more dipshits for this department so I can focus on getting rid of Roman instead of wasting my time doing the job of other people.”

“Do whatever you want!” You marched out still carrying the document.

You left me be for the rest of the evening, I hurried out much to Anika and Wen (the guy with glasses) dismay, I rushed home throwing something nice, and ran even more to make it in time– all while you watched me from afar, I could tell you disliked the desperation in my face as I tried to look good for this man you never met, snarling as I bothered to dry-shampoo my hair and styled it in a way I hadn’t for you, scoffing when I spend a whole minute picking up a shirt– because I never plan my outfits ahead for you or nuthin’.

You followed close-by until I made it to a posh looking restaurant, your brother questioning the absence of light coming from within the venue, it was apparent it was close yet I still met with him.

Your opinion on him was poor from the start, all you saw was a lanky, mild mannered journalist with okay hair, the closer you got the more annoyed you became by our interactions finding it hard to believe I didn’t mind that nasal southern accent… bothered as to why I would want to be so cordial to a chicken farmer, I could go on about the list of things you found wrong about him after making Anika give you a report on Kent.

So you stayed there, and I made sure to sit away from the window.

The restaurant was obviously empty except for my Dolores who you had failed to acknowledge. She brought the first wave of appetizers and drinks, peeved that she didn’t stay to interrupt us.

“Is he listening or watching?”

“Watching… unsure if he’ll leave anytime soon…”

“Jesus he’s insistent but I guess the rumors weren’t wrong… you would be surprised about the amount of missing women and men whose last known location were a square mile away from his bedroom.”

“I’m well aware, Kent.” I handed him a hard-drive– he has a penchant for following  birds he likes… usually gets bored once they don’t live up to his fantasies… don’t fill the void.”

“What a creep.” Kent was teasing you when he looked out the window– and then he kills them?”

“Only if they reject him outright.”

“Should I worry about you, sugar?” He looked at my bruises.

“I’m just a fling. Either way I need those files ASAP, capische.”

“What’s the hurry?” Kent was an easy man to read, he lacked internal dialogue watching the world in pictures– how dangerous is this? Is this about Roman because I got my guys almost done with that atomic bomb. Roman made too many mistakes with the women’s charity.”

“They want him gone. Homelander… They want to mold Ryan to take over, and they’re in a tizzy trying to figure out how to get him out of the picture… permanently preferably. His DNA is patented company property, by extension the young master is property of Vought and being the only natural born supe known to man makes him more than worth the risk.”

“all 'cuz the kid is the next step of human evolution then.” 

“They’ll keep away from him and Homelander, if I can get proof of what they did.”

Kent stopped eating, looking just as curious as you are right now.

“They were more of him… if they failed to live up to their expectation they… eliminated them… from what I could gather from the oldest remaining researchers minds… they were trying since the 70’s using samples from Soldier Boy, Liberty, Mindstorm, Skandia and Five-Oh” I had to take a drink for this part, just skulking my drink and I could hear you thinking I must also find him unpleasant for you knew I only drank when you offered– they used girls… coma patients or runaways… Homelander mom was probably 14 if not 13 when she had him. The kind of girls who wouldn’t even be able to verbalize what they were experiencing.”

“Jesus fuck. You… you sure!?”

“Is hard to track these people, okay? I got some addresses and found some who were still alive… had to take more compound V to get this… but Homelander has been more than happy to let me steal some…especially when he’s being so needy and curious. I did find a lot of files about his childhood, but most of the stuff about the others and the women I couldn’t find out in the “open” but in some memories… look Vought will not recover if the public found out they got some comatose tween forcibly inseminated with high-specs supe spunk! Then kill her kid when they just didn’t show progress. I’m sure if I could've met Vogelbaum I could get some nasty fucking shit out of him… I think we’re looking at at least five siblings just from Soldier Boy alone.”

I feel sick saying those things then and even now.

“What does Soulja Boi have to do with him? And I’ll go back to that Homelander bit.”

“That’s his father… They want Ryan to take the mantle of Soldier Boy, breed him into a better American hero… make him serve in war just like his grandpa… they put a lot of money behind getting something like Ryan into this world, can’t let his dad interfere when he is one bad day away from setting the whole country on fire.”

Now he had the drink.

“There’s also… my current priority… There’s a file I labeled ‘Priority’ one of his board members had a peculiar thought not long ago– what send me down this rabbit hole… one of them thought that maybe Madelyn kid… was his, so I decided to dig… and stumbled upon locked documents, no financial records or recorded evidence Stillwell received IVF treatments outside, yet in an old email she had told her assistant to clear her schedule to attend a local clinic… guess what Kent there’s no record of her using that place, so my only lead was one file saying they performed a couple rounds of ICSI on an unnamed woman… collected a sperm sample from another not so unnamed woman.”

“One of his laids?”

“Seems if he fucks them and kills them they make sure to clean up and collect his leftovers”

“So your only lead is circustancial at best! A clerical error on a file that could be attached to anybody, not just Stillwell” I did dislike his mocking tone– amateur hour. So why does the Homelander know you’re a super?”

“I haven’t told him, he just knows… we’re just pretending that I’m just very good at stealing, and is not him helping me from the shadows… he’s been right a couple times, if anything I think he much rather he wasn’t. Look if this is proof Teddy Stillwell is his son… then that kid is in danger.”

“So Y/N don’t tell me you and that man have more than just a fling. The fucking ice queen suddenly feeling sorry for him just because he grew up like a monkey in a cage!? Don’t pretend this is the saddest twink you ever met! You met worse Y/N, no matter how sad his backstory is… that man is a monster.”

“He is not. I’m worse. I spend every miserable single day of my life listening to some of the worst humanity has to offer, and I can’t help… I tried… you know I’ve tried to do better… but… there’s nothing I could really do– Homelander is just a trigger happy chappy…”

“Bit rich coming from you Kent. You made sure to destroy your husband’s family so your socialite boyfriend would have no choice but to marry your ass, making sure you got his trust fund, poor Bruno.”

Neither of us noticed when she came with the third main.

“And our best friend is a cannibal.” 

“Once he finds out you learned about this… if this is real… is game over.” I hated how confident Kent sounded– you can’t fix him.”

“I don’t want to fix him. I just wanna see where this is going to go.”

“Your funeral.” Kent was right about funerals just not mine… yet.

By the end of my meal I had lost my sanity, thinking of how much I could destroy your life by mistake.

I handed Kent a weapon of mass destruction, and left.

I knew you had left halfway through the dessert tasting.

Somehow there I was back in this fucking elevator, heading to your floor, somehow I had run to the nearest bakery still opened to buy my forgiveness, somehow I even bought ice cream even tho you weren’t a fan, and after I got my change it was all a blur by the time I got back to the building.

I had woken up outside your door, to strange sounds.

Looking back I was quite dense to not notice how early you had given me a copy of your keys, even though I’d already made my own by then. I entered expecting you to yell at me, but there’s nothing but a soft whimper in the air, and the sound of steps.

Everyday I could shut down my powers for a maximum of four hours a day. Why did I waste minutes trying to be silent when I entered your home? 

“What the fuck are you doing here!? Don't you have a date!” 

Probably my sorry excuse for a survival instinct kicking in at the worst hour. I dropped my bag and next thing I knew I was rushing after you, taking your face desperately trying to find out if this blood was yours.

[lets-ignore-that]

Knowing you're William What are his thoughts on you know being a corpse in a rabbit suit? Also all of his children are some kind of undead monster....

if it's any consolation to everyone else he is in mental agony being locked away in a room for 30 years.

looks wise, he's not too happy about being a rotting rabbit, but stature-wise he's not too concerned, springtrap is around 7' 5'.

He's mostly ecstatic about cheating death, his faith turned sour after he "died" clearly God was upset at him for cheating the inevitable. But now he's immortal in a way! Clearly this is the desired outcome, right? no. It'll get arduous after a while. His soul trapped in a rusty amalgamation of wires and steel framing won't be so ecstasy filled after 30 odd years. The strength and stature can't be so amazing as to want to stay like this forever.

He finds great joy in Michael being an undead husk of a man now. He's happy that Michael's life has become hell and that he'll never get what he wants or be able to live the life he wants.

He doesn't know about Evan or Elizabeth until he's drawn to the final location, and at that point he's too mentally detached to care about what's happened to his dear little children.

[ladystormcrow]

Ten First Lines Game

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have.

Oh wow, thank you for the tag, @les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques! And @a-partofthenarrative too!

In The Lonesome October

(POTO, rated G. Erik recruits a grieving Madame Giry to help him with some Halloween mischief.)

The skies over Père Lachaise were ashen and sober as Antoinette Giry made her way down the cobbled path.

Trio Sonata

(POTO, rated M. Post-canon AU: instead of leaving Erik behind after she returns the ring, Christine asks him to leave the lair with her and Raoul in order to save him from the mob, and all of their lives take an unexpected turn. Starts out mostly Raoul/Christine, but the endgame is Erik/Christine/Raoul, with some Daroga/Madame Giry on the side.)

Christine Daaé knew she must not look back. 

Imprints In Time

(POTO, rated T. Prequel to my other two POTO fics, exploring an origin story for Madame Giry: her childhood in a Romani caravan, her rise through the ballet corps, how she met and lost her husband Jules, and most of all, her long and complicated relationship with Erik.)

Anna Reinhardt was admiring her earrings for the third time that day.

Katabasis

(The Dark Crystal, rated T. Seven years after the Great Conjunction, the surviving urSkeks discover a new threat to both their world and Thra. They must return to Thra in the hope of seeking answers from their dead comrades, which also means once again facing Jen, Kira, Aughra, and all the peoples of Thra they harmed in their former lives. Features a lot of Jen/Kira, who are expecting their first child.)

The light was every bit as bright as they remembered.

I'll Keep You

(The Dark Crystal, rated T. Silly, fluffy oneshot involving skekLach reluctantly getting a makeover in Ha'rar after her clothes are ruined on the tithing journey. SkekLach/skekOk, and also features some of my headcanons about Gelfling wedding customs.)

“I still don’t see why I have to be there.”

Agony and Ecstasy

(The Dark Crystal, rated M. Oneshot featuring a night of BDSM sex between skekZok and skekSa, in which the Ritual-Master can finally drop his austere image and enjoy being on the receiving end of pain and torture. Established skekZok/skekSa.)

“Ah, some happy news!”

Mine

(The Dark Crystal, rated M. AU oneshot where, instead of declaring war on the Gelfling after Lore's attack, skekSo tries to strengthen his alliance with the new All-Maudra Seladon by proposing marriage. Seladon moves to the Castle, gets in touch with her inner Skeksis, and eventually takes matters into her own hands to get her new husband's attention. SkekSo/Seladon.)

For once in his life, Emperor skekSo listened to moderation.

A Prophecy Reclaimed

(SWAT Kats, rated T. Prequel to the episode "Bride of the Pastmaster", featuring a teenaged Queen Callista, her grandmother Oriana, and how their family's troubles with the Pastmaster first began.)

"The king is dead.”

Tagging @cornistasiathecoblinking @nientedal @undynedevotion @theawkwardarchaeologist @reikiajakoiranruohoja @chaifootsteps @margoteve @apileofpans @garnet-xx-rose

[wordsmithereen]

Hey there, welcome to The Agony and the Ecstasy. I'm Alex, a 38-year-old freelance writer living it up (and sometimes not so much) in New York City with chronic pain and illness. It's been one hell of a ride so far, from a coma-inducing bout of bacterial meningitis at 18 to navigating the wild world of dating and relationships as a hot mess express.

But I've managed to keep my head (mostly) above water, finding joy in the little things and the occasional big adventure. I'll be sharing the good, the bad, and the downright ridiculous aspects of my journey, with a healthy dose of dark humor and a sprinkle of hope thrown in for good measure. Stick around, it's gonna be a wild ride!

[coffeeshelves]

also im now reading the agony and the ecstasy by irving stone and ngl i didnt think i would be too interested at first bc i dont really. its a biography of michelangelo and i dont really care for biographies. or michelangelo

but im only like 20 pages into it (but probably 10k words in bc the print in this book is so small) and i reaaaaaaaaaaally like stone's prose. like i get why his books are so highly rated now.

mostly im pushing myself to read bc im doing storygraph's like. read everyday in january challenge. and dont get me wrong i like what i've read so far but oh my god. i feel a bit like i'm reading for highschool again

which isnt a bad thing!! i do think its good to read challenging stuff, esp because i feel like i want to push thru bc i know theres good stuff in here

anyway. this book will probably last me the rest of january. theres like 800 pages in my copy lmaooo