#i describe my general pain i feel as an ache

[a-whispering-echo]

how do people differentiate between different types of pain? how do you know if the pain you are feeling is a pulsing, a throbbing a stabbing pain or an ache? Like? ive had people ask me what kind of pain something feels like, and i just describe it the best i can, but then people look at me confused, and i get the feeling like ive said the wrong thing in response to what im actually feeling?? like?? how do you KNOW what the word is for the thing?

[hellishjoel]

a visu videre (a sight to see)

4k / pairing: general marcus acacius x lucilla acacius x f!personal attendant

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summary: Before Marcus leaves to lead his army to a distant province, he teaches you how to please his wife, Lucilla, while he’s away - and sees what you’ve learned upon his return. 

warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), porn without plot, threesome (fmf), swearing, size kink, free use, spanking, rough sex, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, pet names (marcus uses sweet girl, lucilla uses darling girl), oral (f!receiving), fingering, overstim (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, spitting in the mouth is romantic, inexperienced/virgin!reader, unprotected p in v, reader is described having hair and wears a stola, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n

A/N:  I'm very thankful to @pedgito and her writing of Marcus in little dove! I'm usually a bit hesitant to write new characters whose lore I know literally nothing about, but we all saw those vanity fair exclusives, how could I not! thank you Ali for the encouragement and honoring "fuck it we ball" - graphics made by @saradika-graphics!

You have never lived as a free woman, not until beginning your servitude to General Marcus Acacius and his wife, Lucilla.

Averse to owning slaves, they filled their home with paid servants. From domestics to weapons and armorers, the high-profile family required additional hands.

Their home in the city, a magnificent testament to the General’s success and high status, was a reflection of the family’s opulent wealth and esteemed social standing. Their domus in the city of Rome was a sight to behold, and as a personal attendant, you were entrusted with knowing every nook and cranny. 

From the preference of their foods to their nightly desires, it was your duty to fulfill.

After serving their every need, you could not help but fall in love with the pair who had gifted you a life of freedom and happiness. 

The attraction was immediate despite it feeling forbidden. It was gentle gestures at first. 

After serving a meal to the General in his study, his rough hand felt over the material of your stola, a simple dress in his family’s colors - gold to symbolize his wealth and power, lined with purple to show the high status of his military success. 

“Beautiful,” he muttered in his stolen raspy voice, his eyes gleaming as he took in your figure the belt around your waist provided. 

You felt the warmth of his hand further into the night, allowing you to sit upon his desk as his fingers and mouth worked you to a flourishing orgasm. His fingers were thick, leaving a painful turned pleasure-inducing ache that you didn’t even know was possible. 

“Your cunt is perfect,” he hummed out as he aided you onto his lap in the afterglow, allowing you to curl into his broad chest and strong shoulders. 

The guilt sat deep in your stomach, using you for his pleasure while his wife was just down the hall. 

“Dominus, what of your wife? Will she not be upset?”

Marcus ran his fingers across the sweet skin of your cheek, staring into your innocent eyes. “You will keep my wife company while I lead our army to a distant province. I trust you to pleasure her as I have taught you.” 

You didn’t believe him, not until you were helping Lady Lucilla undress after a long day. She was missing her husband. The long days without him were torturous. Her eyes began to lust over as you bathed her, running a natural sponge and Egyptian cucumber along her skin. 

“Your hands, they are so soft,” she praised, gently clasping her hand in yours. 

Your smile was shy, and your lips slowly parted as she dragged your hand below the bath water, feeling over her bosoms. “Thank you, Matrona,” you whispered breathlessly as she squeezed your hand around her breasts, watching in awe as the simple gesture caused her eyes to fall closed in euphoria. 

You cannot deny you haven’t thought of her beauty. The General and his wife are both undeniably attractive, allure dancing over their skin like little stars. 

After her invitation to join her in the bath, you used what the General taught you with his fingers. It was a little clumsy at first, but she was patient and guided you to where she needed you to be. You gasped as you felt her cunt spasm around your fingers as her body slipped deeper into yours, her head falling onto your shoulder as she gave sweet kisses to your pulse point. 

She insisted she return you the favor the very next night. You laid in their silky sheets and melted in her hold under the candlelight. 

They were perfect opposites; Marcus was strong and rough, whereas Lucilla was gentle and tender. 

You were a guest in her chamber nearly every night the General was gone and stayed until the early morning light. Lucilla would spoon your body against hers, your interlocked fingers resting over your naked body. 

Soon, there was no guilt, only mutual pining. Love swarmed all three of you into a buzz, despite the General away on duty. 

He sends letters to you both, dirty promises he intended to keep upon his return. You made love together in Marcus’ name, while Lucilla affirmed that you had a place in their relationship and nothing would change. 

You both ached in wait for him, an ache that was only soothed by your nights together. And if you were truthful, you liked being used by them. Filling the void of the other on long, lonely nights. 

Day and night, you were hers to use as she pleased.

One night as you cooked her dinner, Lucilla entered the culina and pushed your stola over the curve of your ass. She kneeled and made out with your cunt as you shook in her hold, still attempting to finish her soup. 

“M-My Lady, here?” You squeaked, feeling her palms knead into your ass, feeling the sting of her nails as she took what she needed from you. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking of you, of your taste,” she whispered before continuing. 

Marcus' arrival was due any day now, only amping up your and Lucilla’s wild imaginations. 

“He’ll be ravenous,” she whispers, fingers intertwined in your hair as you explicitly slurp up her arousal. “Lords,” she gasps, jaw dropping as her head shoots up to watch you eat her pussy in their bed, “please, do that again,” she begs. 

You mimic the small ministration again, curling your fingers deep inside her cunt, feeling her walls pulse with need. 

“My Lady, he will not be able to take his eyes off you.”

“Or you.” She cooes, moaning out your name with little regard to volume. 

The amount of times you’ve prayed to feel Marcus in the intimate ways that Lucilla has is unimaginable. You’ve never felt the feeling of his cock, but Lucilla has described it to you in a way of preparation. 

“We’ll make sure you’re amply wet. It will hurt, but only for a moment, my darling girl.” 

You moan against her cunt, feeling your arousal begin to soak the sheets. 

Heavy boots thud down the hallway, but the both of you are too lost in the pleasure of one another to notice - not even when the door opens. 

“A sight to see.” 

It’s the return of Marcus, both of you gasping - Lucilla’s of excitement and yours of feeling caught. 

Despite Marcus assuring your match, you were still nervous to see him. And you certainly weren’t expecting him to return tonight with your tongue on his wife’s pussy. 

“Meus amor,” Lucilla moaned to Marcus, stroking your hair as you both sat up.  Marcus was still in his armor, a brilliant metal chest plate with Medusa coursing through the front with long hair of slithering snakes sprialing out across the extent of it. 

Lucilla moves to his side, bare naked, her body curving around his own as she holds him in her arms. 

“Lords, have we missed you,” she praises as Marcus’ hand fell low to cup her ass in his large palm. 

“My beautiful wife.” He whispers, kissing her slowly. 

They both turn to you, and you feel the burning sensation that you should leave and allow them to resume their love in peace. Instead, Marcus opens his other arm to you. 

“Let me see you, pretty girl. Come here,” he commands. You fill into the space of his side, all three of you hugging as his hands take claim of both Lucilla and your ass. 

“You’ve taken care of her like I asked?” You’re shocked to see his question is to Lucilla who proudly smiles. 

“She’s been nothing but an angel. She should be nice and ready for you, my love.” Lucilla whispers as she leans up and slowly kisses her husband. Your eyes soften as you watch, laying your head against his shoulder, your warm cheek against his cold armor. It’s a nice contrast compared to the warmth in the room. 

Marcus hums as he deepens the kiss with his wife, watching his tongue slip into her mouth as his fingers slip between her ass and move downward to the slick of her pussy. 

A moment passes and he breaks the kiss, turning to you now and leaning in. 

You’ve never shared a kiss with him, but it’s like you imagined. He’s rougher than Lucilla, needier. Away at war and away from his lovers, his lust for you both pumps through his veins. The course hair of his mustache gristles against your lip, his arm locking you tighter against his hold as you allow him to lead. 

Lords, how can you miss something you’ve never even experienced? 

A gasp enters his mouth as he feels over your pussy, how gloriously wet you are for the both of them. 

“Get on the bed. Now.” 

Lucilla smirks at you and takes your hand in hers, guiding you to the bed. 

He begins to take off his armor, hearing the loud metal clatter to the floor as Lucilla kisses you with reimagined heat. Now that her husband has returned, she showers you with even more affection and praise. 

“How do you want us, Marcus?” Lucilla asks before she begins to kiss down your neck and to your breasts, leaving wet kisses on your nipples before beginning to circle your peaks with her tongue. 

Marcus watches with authority, his dark hair cast with speckles of silver as more and more of his body is shown to you for the first time. Lucilla seems to take notice, moving behind your body and adjusting your position on your knees to face Marcus at the edge of the bed. 

“He’s handsome, wouldn’t you agree?” She whispers into your ear as her hand slips down the front of your body, slowly beginning to make circles around your already twitching clit. You whine weakly, to which Marcus smirks. 

He sheds his undergarments, seeing his tan skin and body littered with old battle scars. 

“You are unscathed? You are not hurt?” You whisper out of care, Marcus cooing softly as he comes closer and cups your cheek in his large hand. You allow the weight of your head into his protective hand, large eyes watching as he coddles you. 

“I’m unhurt, sweet girl. Do you like how Lucilla touches you?” He asks as he strips out of his last garment, your eyes landing on his hard cock that angrily knocks against his lower stomach. The hair around his cock is dark, and all you wish to do is make it sopping wet. 

At the sound of her own name, Lucilla speeds up her touches. You whimper out, your body shuddering into hers as she holds you tight and upright. 

“The General has asked you a question, my dear,” Lucilla encourages. This only probes a faster speed of her fingers and the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter. 

“I-I love it, I love it,” you whisper as your head falls back onto her shoulder, Lucilla moaning softly into your ear as she grinds herself against your bare ass for any bit of friction she can get. 

“I think we should allow Marcus to have his way with us. Would you agree, my love?” She whispers to you, her other hand beginning to tweak and pinch at your nipples, only causing you to grow wetter. 

“Fuck,” Marcus admires, “she’s so prone to your touch, Lucilla. You’ve done good.” He praises his wife, only causing her body to shudder against yours. 

“Take us,” you gasp out, desperate eyes meeting his own, “please.” 

Marcus positions you as he pleases, laying you on top of Lucilla and hiking both of you to the edge of the mattress. Your ass lies over hers, your pussies perfectly lined up as Lucilla is pitched up onto her knees and resting her forearms against the bed. 

“First touch for my wife,” Marcus says as he begins to line his tip to her entrance. 

Lucilla twitches at the touch but ultimately shakes her head. 

“Allow it to her, my love. She’s never felt the touch of a man before, and I want her to feel you for the very first time. She’s waited for so long. I want to feel her cum slide down onto my cunt.” 

The couple is so giving, allowing only for a most powerful match in the bedroom where everyone wins. 

“As you wish.” Marcus manhandles your ass above Lucilla, stroking a hand down your lower back and playing with your hair. That is until he fists the ends and cocks your head upright. You hold a breath as your breasts stick to Lucilla’s warm back, feeling his tip prod against your entrance. 

And you’re reminded that Marcus is to take what he wants. 

In one swift thrust, he fills you to the brim. A cry is strangled from the depths of your throat, feeling Marcus pull your hair tighter in his hold. 

“Oh, Gods, holy hell,” you whimper as he groans. Your entire body feels like it is on pins and needles, Lucilla moaning with you as Marcus massages your ass in his greedy hands. 

“Been too fuckin’ long without my girls,” he grunts as he grinds himself into your ass, feeling both you and Lucilla shuffle with his movements. The coarse hair around his cock tickles your clit, Lucilla feeling you jerk at the sensitivity. 

“How do you feel, darling?” Lucilla whispers, turning her head and capturing your distracted lips. 

It’s impossible to string words together, the coursing thump of your walls against his protruding cock was enough to leave you mute in pleasure. 

Your gasp enters the room as Marcus strikes his hand down onto your ass, quick to massage the plush flesh under his hold. He was so different from his wife, but this pleasure of rough desperation sprouted a new flood of arousal to gush around his member. 

“My wife asked you a question,” he pants, keeping himself stationary inside you until you answer. 

“Give her a moment, my love, she’s never felt a cock before.” Lucilla coos as she reaches back around both of your hips, her hand a soothing one compared to the burning print on your other cheek. 

“I-I feel,” you gulp, panting weakly into Lucilla’s ear, “I fear I like it when he n-needs me,” you whisper, to which they both smirk wider. 

“Did you hear that Marcus? She likes being a little whore to your cock.”

Marcus hums appreciatively, the rough hand stroking your ass going to squeeze what was his once more. 

“Knew she’d be a good girl for us.” Marcus reels back his hips, your jaw dropping at the feeling that damn near burns - but you now see what Lucilla was speaking of on your nights together. 

His cock is thick and large, swollen inside of you that allows you to feel every inch of him as he claims your cunt to be his. The ache of being gaping open for him begins to glimmer into pleasure, sweat beginning to coat your body as he quickens his hips over and over again. 

It rocks you deeper into Lucilla, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She moans with you in unison; your pleasure hers, her pleasure yours, and both of your pleasures are Marcus’. 

He begins to groan obscenities to you both as he pushes you to the edge, your fists clenching the bed sheets as pleasure overcomes you. 

“Gods, this cunt is so goddamn tight, breaking this pussy in, makin’ it the shape of my cock,” he grunts as he begins to pound into you at a relentless pace, causing your screams and cries of pleasure to echo through his chamber. 

“This pussy is all ours, right sweet girl?” He hums as he stuffs you full once more, your shaky breaths against Lucilla’s shoulder leaving you breathless. 

“Y-Yes, sir, thank you, thank you,” you pant, all of a sudden falling a bit limp over Lucilla as he eventually slips his cock from your pussy, down to his wife. 

It’s as if life is shot through her body, holding you up with ease as all of her muscles are alerted as his cock spears through her entrance. 

“Christ,” She moans, smirking as her eyes fall close. 

Marcus hums approvingly, beginning to hump into her and watching in delight as your ass slaps against his abdomen with each thrust. 

“Feels so good to be back inside my home, my temple,” he worships her endlessly, holding her hips below yours and keeping her spread and steady. 

“Holy hell,” Lucilla cries out, feeling every single nerve in her body twitch at the feeling of her husband being inside of her once more. 

You bravely turn your head and look over your shoulder, in awe of the sight before you. Marcus’ muscles are all outlined and strong, his arms bulging as you marvel at the thick veins coursing up his forearm. The lewd smacks of your asses against his front are damn near enough to get you off. 

He smirks as he stares at you, only fucking his wife harder and faster. Almost in a look of permission, you bring your fingers up to your mouth and slip them in, suckling around each of your fingers until they are nice and wet. 

With his nod, you reach around Lucilla and begin to circle her clit. She lets out a shocked moan, her eyes widening as you and Marcus work in unison to get her off. Your lips messily meet, your kisses rocked by his thrusts as you begin to circle her faster and faster. 

“That’s it, please, yes!” She cries out, shaking and crumbling before you as she comes down Marcus' length. 

“Don’t stop touchin’ her,” He barks. 

Though he halts his thrusts, your fingers continue over her spasming pearl. She cries out your name and continues to twitch below you, shaking weakly as she comes a second time. You feel the stickiness against your fingers, and you greedily take them in your mouth, moaning softly at the sweet taste. 

“Fuck,” Lucilla whispers as Marcus releases his hold on her and slips out, his cock still hard as a rock and resting against his stomach. 

You both tumble onto the bed, your smile wide as you watch her come down from her euphoric orgasm. 

“She… she hasn’t come yet, Marcus.” Lucilla weakly whispers, crawling up the bed as both you and Marcus share a look. 

“You want me to finish her, my love?” 

Lucilla hums and nods, crawling up to the pillows as she lounges casually, eyes lust over as she watches. 

“You owe her for the many nights she served me. Make her feel as good as you make me feel.” 

Lucilla notes the uncertainty in your face, cooing softly as she strokes her fingers over your face reassuringly. “I want you to have him. It would make me the happiest. Believe me, darling girl.”

Lucilla lays you back in front of the towering Marcus, his eyes raking over your body in a way that makes you nervous. Then he begins to stroke over his messy cock, slick in both of your arousal and his wife’s come. 

“Lie with me?” You ask her weakly. Lucilla and Marcus share a look, to which he shakes his head. 

Lucilla smiles tiredly and kisses your lips softly, one of love and care. “Let him take you fully for the first time. I want to watch him have his way with you.” 

With her encouragement, you face Marcus who steps between your spread legs. Now that it’s just you two, it’s intimidating the way he stares down at you. Stern eyes cast over with desperation, his cock hard and ready to come. 

But he’s more intimate this time, his body caging you in as he leans over you and hovers his face over yours. You nip at your lower lip as his tip nudges against your entrance, nodding softly as your eyes meet his.

He’s slower this time, groaning as your pussy surrounds him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers as he rocks his hips, feeling them maliciously snap the entirety of his length into you. “Been fantasizing about this, bein’ the first to feel this pussy.”

You nod again and gently cup his cheeks, watching as his eyes soften and stare down at you. Something primal seems to take over; taking you has made him protective, maybe even in a way that claims you. 

You’re his, hers, theirs. 

He takes in each cry you let out as he begins to pound into you repeatedly, your chest swelling as he trails kisses down your neck, suckling each of your nipples into his mouth. Fisting the sheets grounds you, but you note the loss of his focus. You return your hands to his face and he’s there again, fucking you like he owns you, like he loves you. 

And maybe he does. Maybe he loves you like Lucilla does. But it would take more time to chip away at this soldier’s heart. But to be given the chance is something notable. 

His aquiline nose nudges against yours, damn near growling as you lean up and pepper kisses down his jawline and along the coarse hair of his beard. 

“Lucilla wrote how good you feel- fuck, she was right,” he forces out, hearing his voice strangle around his words. He’s close. 

His thumb moves to your clit, ensuring you both finish together. You whimper at the electric contact, gasping as your lips brush against his own. He circles your clit faster, and his hips become more erratic with desperation. 

“Finish inside her, meus amor,” Lucilla encourages, but you’re not sure how that feels. 

Heat slips down your spine as Marcus seems to find a special spot that makes your stomach drop, moaning out for him to please you. 

“I want to feel you, p-please, this feels too good,” you whisper to him, your whines on repeat with each thrust he gives you. 

“Fuck,” he groans out, “you first,” he insists, circling your clit faster faster faster and finally, you come around his cock. Your walls pulse around him, feeling your white cream coat his throbbing cock. 

You fall limp in his hold, your pearl twitching as you feel the aftershocks of your orgasm. It feels so much different with a man; you’re not sure if you love one more than the other, or maybe you love them equally. 

Marcus, in the high of chasing his own orgasm after yours, moves his arms under your body, his hands bracing the top of your shoulders. With this hold, he locks you into place, and it allows him to plow into you unrelentingly. 

“Fuck,” You cry out, feeling every inch of him over and over and over again. You reach blindly up the bed, your fingers extended as Lucilla takes your hand. 

Marcus feverishly kisses you, deep and with need as his tongue slips into your mouth and lines his own with yours. He pulls away but only for a second, spitting into your open mouth before chasing your lips once more. 

In one, two, three more thrusts, he stalls inside of you. A groan enters your mouth as his warmth paints your walls and you feel each spurt as he finishes deep inside your cunt. He groans your name, watching as his face contorts in pleasure.  

All three of you fall into bed together, panting with all energy drained, eyes closed, basking in your shared pleasure. 

That feeling comes over you again as Marcus moves up the bed, lazily kissing his wife and feeling over her skin. 

“Missed you.” He whispers to her. 

You move to stand, your shaky legs nearly giving out beneath you as you collect your clothes scattered on the floor. 

“Where are you going?” They ask in unison, concern lacing over their features. 

“I,” you start weakly, looking between them. “I thought I should return your marital bed. I haven’t slept in mine in ages.” You whisper with a smile. “Really, I insist.”

“Get back in this bed.” Marcus commands, wrapping his arm around his wife who is curled into his side. 

“Please.” Lucilla insists, reaching her hand across Marcus’ chest and keeping it open for you. 

You graciously smile and pad over to the open space on Marcus’ other side, slowly filling in and relaxing in their embrace. 

Lucilla shares a kiss with you as Marcus cradles the back of both of your heads, smiling tiredly as you sigh into her mouth. 

“My girls.” He praises, both you and Lucilla leaning in and sharing a kiss between all three of you. 

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[minnaci]

ushijima wakatoshi x reader · nsfw · wc: 0.9k

a dragon's breeding season can be a long, hard course. luckily, ushijima's found a willing partner to take his eggs...

contents: dragon!ushijima, OVIPOSITION, monsterfucking, ushijima has two cocks, unrealistic sex, ushijima-typical bluntness, in-depth descriptions of egg-laying

reader details: they/them pronouns used. reader's body parts are described as "clit", "cervix", "womb", "entrance", and "hole". reader is called "little one".

a/n: super excited to present my last entry for @ficsforgaza's kinktober! i haven't written ushijima (or any hq characters) for a long while now, so thank you for the opportunity to stretch my wings and fly high again! i hope you enjoy!! <3

The thing they never warn you about having a dragon boyfriend is— well, to be concise: cock big. And there are two of them, besides.

Well, technically, only one of them is a true penis. The other one…

"Wakatoshi," you gasp, back arching. His fingers dig into the soft of your hips, claws filed down to a manageable length. Still, the dull pinpricks of pain are enough to make heat bloom under your skin.

Ushijima growls your name in response, low and rumbling. His chest heaves with exertion; a bead of sweat trails down the generous curve of his pecs. He sheathes himself deep inside of you, grinding his hips in the way he knows you like the most.

Dragon cocks are notoriously big. And, if Ushijima is to be believed, he's considered below average. Not that you doubt him. It's just hard to believe that he could be considered small in any universe when he's so deep inside of you that you can nearly feel him in your lungs.

His lower cock— or, his fertilizer, as he explained to you— is big, thick, and heavy. Even in his more humanoid form, it retains some of his more draconic features. Namely, the protruding ridges that never fail to bully your insides until you're a mindless, babbling mess.

His upper cock— the ovipositor— is impossibly bigger, thicker, and heavier. Now, it rests against your tummy, occasionally rubbing against your clit as Ushijima thrusts into you with deep, overwhelming strokes.

“I need you to cum.” His hips stutter, and he adjusts his angle before returning to his punishing pace. The change in position allows him to slip just a bit deeper, and you moan as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix. He takes the sound as an encouragement to grind harder. The deep ache resonates through your whole body, enhancing the pleasure so much that your vision goes white. “Cum, little one.”

Ushijima hardly gives you a choice. There’s nothing you can do but lie back and let the heat rage through you as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Perfect,” he’s saying as you come back to yourself. “You should be ready now.”

The blissful haze of the afterglow fogs your mind, and a soft little whine slips from your lips as he pulls out. Distantly, you remember your discussions about his egg-laying season. He’d make you cum first to get you nice and loose, and then…

You whine again, and Ushijima pats a soothing hand over your flank. You’re so empty without him inside of you. The orgasm only served to stoke the flames of arousal in your core. Desperation claws at your ribs, and you writhe under Ushijima’s careful attention. You need him inside. You need him inside now.

“Patience,” Ushijima says. Despite his unflappable appearance, his hands tremble as he shifts, lining the tip of his ovipositor up against your entrance. “I’m coming in.”

He pushes forward in one smooth glide. Even with one orgasm under your belt, the sheer stretch almost has you cumming again.

"They’re here," he grunts, voice strained. Sure enough, there’s a bulge at the very base of his ovipositor. Your tummy flips with anticipation. "Brace yourself—"

He cuts himself off with a long, blissed-out moan. His hips rut against yours powerfully— once, twice— before he buries himself deep inside of you. The egg travels along the length of his ovipositor, and you both let out twin groans of pleasure as it slips out from his slit and settles against the mouth of your womb.

After the first egg is laid, it’s like the dam breaks. Ushijima’s ovipositor jerks and throbs as it spits egg after egg into your warm, willing hole. The growing stretch makes your tummy ache, sends your head spinning. You’re pretty sure you cum again, but you couldn’t be sure– the pleasure is overwhelming and unceasing in way that is indistinguishable from a constant orgasm.

Too soon, the insistent thrusts of Ushijima’s hips slow.

“Just one more,” he says, eyes trained at the place where your hole stretches around him. “I just have one left.”

“I wanna watch,” you say, blinking up at him through the fog of pleasure. Your stomach feels tight. There’s a slight swell to your belly that wasn’t there before. “Can I watch you lay the last one?”

To anyone else, the slight downturn of Ushijima’s lips wouldn’t be noticeable. To you, it’s a deep pout. Still, he acquiesces, pulling out with a lewd pop. The eggs shift around inside you, and you let out a long, loose moan.

“Eyes on me, then,” Ushijima says, wrapping a hand around his cock. “Don’t get distracted.”

Slowly, he strokes his ovipositor. He’s beautiful in his pleasure– a work of art. Your gaze flits over his face, drinking in the scrunch of his eyebrows, the way his jaw hangs slack after a particularly delicious twist of his wrist. A shudder travels down his spine, and you shiver in vicarious delight.

The last egg is a stubborn one. He fucks his fist, coaxing the egg through the sensitized channel of his ovipositor. Renewed sparks of lust burn in your core as you watch him tenderly milk his own cock. Finally, his slit stretches obscenely wide, and he lets loose an indulgent moan as he deposits the last egg onto the soft bedding between you.

“Beautiful,” you say, soft. His eyes snap to you.

“We’re not finished yet,” he says. “The eggs must be fertilized.”

Your hole pulses and the eggs jostle inside you, as if agreeing.

“Well, then,” you say, letting your thighs fall apart. His lower cock twitches with interest, and you swear you can see his balls throb. “You’d better get to it.”

tags: @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum @chigirisprincess @resibonin

[milfhunter6698]

Under pressure pt7

synopsis: Upon joining the NYC firm as a new associate, you quickly find yourself facing the pressure of working under the firm’s star senior partner, Victoria neuman. With a reputation for excellence and an eye for potential, she was searching for a junior partner who can meet her exacting standards. You, with your impressive credentials and unwavering ambition, seemed like a perfect fit…until the pressure of meeting those high expectations started taking their toll. 

Warnings: 18+ eventual smut, no use of (y/n), cursing, no describing reader’s appearance, explicit language, fluff, angst, teasing, hurt & comfort, power imbalance, slight AU, some similarities to cannon, mentions of the boys characters (Hughie), slight age gap, rival associates, young!reader, older!Victoria, slow-burn, infidelity.

Notes: Woahh finally!! finally it’s happening the moment you’ve all been waiting for ;) whew i really need a cold shower now. This is pure smut (I’m talking the entire chapter) so be careful do not read this in public lmaooo don’t say i didn’t warn you. Anyways late night post because my sleep schedule is fucked, also don’t mind me i genuinely cannot stick with a header so ignore that, now happy reading! (And i really wanna say thank you thank you thank you for all the follows i’m screaming).

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wc: 3.3k

You stepped out the car, as you reached your apartment building. You took the elevator up to your place, the silence between you comfortable now. Once inside, you wasted no time heading to the kitchen to grab two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

You poured two glasses, filling them with a generous amount. You couldn't help but smirk as you handed one to Victoria, who eyed it with a raised brow. “You’re not holding back, are you?”

“You don’t seem like the type to go for anything light.” You replied shrugging. Victoria’s brows lowered in amused acceptance, with a nod she took a sip of her glass, the smooth burn visibly easing her.

Settling in the living room, she watched the relief on your face as you kicked off your heels, the sweet ache in your feet fading as you let out a sigh. You plopped down on the couch, leaning back, and swirling the glass in your hand. "You know, you could've kept the teasing to a minimum tonight. It was hard enough trying to keep a straight face without you in my ear.”

You watched her take another sip, a playful grin slowly tugged at the corner of her mouth. When her gaze met yours, she bit her lower lip, her voice a hint of a challenge, "Well, can't handle a little teasing now can you?"

You laughed shaking your head, “Oh, I can handle it. Just didn’t expect you to be having so much fun while I was sweating bullets.”

“Well, someone had to keep things light. Besides, you did great. Romano didn’t even see it coming.”

You shot her a glance, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you appreciated her playful compliment.

“You have to admit, though, you almost cracked when I mentioned the martini. That was close,” she added, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Her smile widened as she heard your laugh, it was contagious she couldn’t help but let out a chuckle of her own. Her heart warming at the knowledge that she was the cause of it.

“I knew that was going to come back to haunt me,” You said, taking another sip of your drink. “But yeah, I’ll give you that. You almost got me.”

There was a beat of silence after, as she leaned back on the couch, her hand resting casually against the armrest as she studied your apartment. Everything was neat, almost too tidy for someone who'd just gone through a breakup. A small part of her wished she could help you forget about it, ease your pain and make you feel better.

She inched closer, her knee grazing yours as she placed her empty glass on the table. A charged moment passes, your gazes caught in the room's dim light. Her lips parted, her eyes piercing yours, but her only response was a shake of her head, a coy smirk playing on her lips. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

Surprised, you arched an eyebrow, leaning in. “I think you might be the dangerous one here…”

Her gaze drifted to your moist lips, remembering their touch on hers. Your eyes, now dark with desire, held something unidentifiable. Without hesitation, your lips met in a kiss filled with only raw hunger and pure lust for one another.

She pulled you closer, urging you to straddle her lap. The moment your body settled, her head spun. It was as if every wish she’d had in that dream about you just a few weeks ago was now coming true.

Your dress unraveled further up your thighs, revealing more of your skin, her fingers slipped underneath the fabric. The kiss deepened, your tongues melting against each other’s.

Everything she’d fantasized about was happening. The intoxicating mix of your lips, touch, and scent was better than she’d ever imagined, It was almost overwhelming, each sensation swallowing her whole.

Her fingers traced down your back, the heat emanating from your skin making her bolder. Her hands roamed, and you didn't resist. She gripped your ass, her touch tight, strong, and commanding. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your reaction making her heart race.

She grinned against your mouth, before you pulled away, both of you gasping trying to catch your ragged breaths, as she panted your name.

Your eyes locked onto hers, and you reached for the long silver necklace, its chain dangling over her chest. You tugged, pulling her closer with it, as your lips met in another heated kiss.

The room spun around you, time slipping away as your hand continued to grasp her necklace. Your fingers worked their way to the buttons of her blouse, quickly undoing the first few ones. You broke the kiss raising up, your eyes lowered to Victoria on the couch, her legs spread apart, her blouse revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her black double lace strap bra. Her doe-eyed gaze silently pleaded with you, and her hand found its way to your lower back.

Your fingertips brushed against her cheek, she looked up at you as your fingers traced the edge of her jawline. She then stood, keeping your gaze before your lips crashed together once more in an intense, breath-stealing kiss.

Heavy breaths filled the air as you moved towards your dark bedroom, the smacking of your lips echoing. With the open balcony doors casting moonlight, you could just make out the path. Victoria followed, her strides leading her to your bed. Until the back of your knee collided with the edge, and you were spun around.

Her fingers undid the zipper of your dress, one hand circling your neck while her lips claimed the other side. Your head fell back, granting her deeper access as she explored your body with eagerness and passion.

She ventured down your neck, trailing kisses, leaving marks behind. Her body pressed against yours, an arm wrapped around your waist urgency building as she planted soft kisses behind your ear and along your jawline. She spun you around once again to face her, your lips crashing together, a feverish dance of lust and desire.

Your fingers trembled as you freed your arms from the dress, the fabric pooling at your feet. Her fingers roamed your back, seeking out the clasp of your bra. She unfastened it with a flick, letting it fall away, your lips never parting.

As she pushed you back onto the mattress, she felt the need to possess you completely, crawling on top of you. Your kiss continued, her heart pounding in her chest. Her head dove into your neck, relishing in the warmth and the alluring scent.

Her lips moved wrapping around your nipple, and her nose pressed against your silky skin. Her breath caught in her throat, you were very soft… very sensitive, very responsive to her every touch. And it all made her head spin.

With both hands now craving you, she gently squeezed your other breast, feeling the rapid beat of your heart beneath her palm. A soft moan escaped your lips as she left a trail of tender pecks all over your skin—from your collarbone to the valley between your breasts.

Her mouth trailed down your torso, pausing at your stomach. Her head rested between your legs as her fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear. Her kisses continued to explore, venturing up and down your inner thighs, savoring every inch of your skin.

With a final, swift motion, her fingers tugged at your underwear, sliding it down your ankles and leaving you completely bare and exposed to the night’s breeze. Your knees closed in, but she gently forced them apart, her touch eliciting goosebumps that rose under her fingertips. In the dim light, she devoured the sight before her. Your flushed skin and wet arousal, visible in the darkness, sent heat rushing through her.

Spreading your slick folds apart, she pressed her tongue flatly against your burning skin. A soft curse escaped your lips and your hand reached out to grab onto her head. Her tongue traced a path from your entrance, licking up to your aching clit. She swirled it slowly around your sensitive nub, savoring your response to her touch.

Meanwhile, her veiny hand found its way back to your breast, playing with your nipples, teasing them between her fingers. Your thighs wrapped around her head, holding her close as she continued to gently suck on the sensitive nerves, nibbling at times. The pain from your tugging on her hair only fueled the throbbing need between her own legs.

“Fuck… Vic— please,” You cried out.

She pulled her wet tongue away from your throbbing clit. With a slow, tantalizing circle, her thumb teased the sensitive bud. Your whimpers only intensified her desire. She slipped her middle finger inside you, the sight of you begging for more sending shivers down her spine.

A possessive need overcame her. She wanted to make you feel like no one else could, give you a night you’ll never forget.

Her index finger followed suit, gently but firmly pushing into your wet, welcoming depths. Her tongue joined the fray, humming in response to your mumbled pleas. She sat an unrelenting pace, her gut telling her your climax was already near. You squirmed beneath her, gripped the sheets, back arched, and moans growing louder with each stroke and thrust.

“Oh Victoria I can’t, I’m so—“

A wicked smile tugged at her lips as she pulled away, leaving her fingers curled inside of you, feeling the softness and warmth. Your eyes remained shut, your mouth agape in pure joy.

In her softest voice, she encouraged you, "Come on baby, you're doing so good. Let go."

Your cries filled the air, chest heaving with raw desire. Her tongue darted out, teasing your clit once more, sucking and licking with an intensity that matched your need. Your legs shook, squeezing tightly around her head, muffling your moans in her ears. With one final, deliberate flick, you were lost in ecstasy.

Your loud gasp reached her ears, your mouth wide open, as your head fell back into the pillow. She continued her rhythm, her tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony, feeling your walls clench and clit throb. Warm liquid gushed out, coating her chin and fingers, and she rode through it, determined to bring you every last wave of pleasure.

Your hips bucked forward and her arm looped around your leg, holding you steady as your body trembled with release. The taste of you, the sound of your cries, and the feel of your body convulsing beneath her sent a thrill through her, knowing she’d brought you to this point.

Her other hand gently massaged your thighs, calming you as the aftershocks subsided. "Easy... easy," she whispered, her voice soft and caring.

Slowly, she withdrew her fingers, her own arousal still burning. Licking her lips, she wiped them gently on her forearm, before sitting up. Your eyes met, once again she admired your beauty, your perfection. She wondered if you knew how breathtaking you were. Her trembling lips parted as her hoarse whisper shared her thoughts, "Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you really are?"

“Oh shut up,” Your soft chuckle and the rubbing of your eyes only fueled her fire. Gently removing your hands, her eyes locked on yours. "I mean it, and I'm not just saying that," she confessed, her voice soft but laced with a playful edge.

Closing the gap between you, you shared a slow kiss. She felt your legs wrap around her waist, your fingers finding the back pockets of her jeans. She hadn’t noticed she’d been fully clothed till now, since she was too focused on giving you absolute attention and pleasure. That realization was all it took. You shed her clothes, joining the disarrayed pile on the floor, bodies tangled together as the night wore on.

You stirred awake, your eyelids slowly fluttering open to the soft glow of the sunrise. It was still early the distant sounds of the city's streets began to rise, the gentle hum of a new day starting as the soft breeze ruffled the sheer curtains of the balcony.

You let out a deep sigh, turning as the soft sheets brushed against your warm skin. Your gaze fell on Victoria, her peaceful sleep state filling you with a sense of calm. The morning light danced on her skin, her long hair splayed over the pillow. Her forearm covered her face, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath.

You couldn't help but press a few soft kisses on her cheeks, neck, and hand. But she barely stirred, lost in her deep sleep. Smiling, you gently placed her hand on her chest and slipped under the covers, lowering yourself and settling between her legs.

You showered her inner thighs with sweet kisses. The sound of her soft groan, whispering your name, filled the room, and you felt her hand cradle the back of your head.

With a playful tug, she removed the blanket, meeting your gaze. "Morning," you uttered, her head fell back and you saw the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. Your tongue found its way to her, eager to explore and awaken her desires.

She surrendered to the sensation, her sleepy eyes closing shut as you touched her. Her hand holding your free one, and you gently caressed her sensitive spot with the other, drawing tight circles with your thumb.

Her soft, hushed moans making your own desire grow, heating your body from within. That same hand interlaced with yours, guided you to the tender swell of her breast, your fingers encircled her nipple, you squeezed gently, feeling her body arch into your touch.

Lowering your hand, you grazed your own lips, gently sucking on your middle and ring finger. Fingertips traced slow motions around her slit, before dipping inside. Your thumb joined applying firm pressure, rubbing sensual circles against her clit.

Her mouth parted, and her brows furrowed as a soft moan escaped her. Your tongue met hers, mirroring the movements of your thumb. Your other hand cradled her breast again, teasing and pinching her nipple, eliciting a breathy "Fuck" from her.

You sat up, urging her to follow, your legs adjusting to fit perfectly together. Your lips met, her hands gripping your shoulders as she pulled you closer. You moaned together in each other’s mouths, the rhythm of your hips slow and unhurried, a deliberate contrast to the fervor of the night before.

Your groan filled the room as her plump, wet lips enveloped your breasts, sucking and teasing them. Your head fell back, and you bucked at the sensation, hips jerking into Victoria’s. Your thighs twitched, clit craving more of the attention.

She trailed chaste kisses from your breasts to your neck, ending with a final, lingering one on your lips. You took the lead, your body moving against hers, leaning back, using her elevated leg as an anchor.

She placed a lazy hand on your ass, guiding you into a rocking motion, her body trembling, and breaths coming in ragged gasps as your hips continued grinding against hers.

The sensation of your bodies moving together, the friction of your wetness, and the heat between you built to a fever pitch. Her fingers found their way to your clit, teasing it gently, and you cried out nails digging into her hips, your body arched into her touch, your release was already drawing near.

You moved in perfect sync, bodies slick with sweat, the room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, moans, and the soft rustle of the sheets as you moved against each other.

Victoria's cries echoed in your ears as you picked up the rhythm, your diaphragm in knots as your clit received constant pleasure from your grinding. Your moans overlapped, names a mantra of the passion.

Your heated bodies continuously rutted against each other, your hands roaming, exploring, and stimulating every inch of skin you could reach. Victoria threw her head back, her necklace dancing with each twist of her hips. Her intoxicating eyes, rolled to the back of her head, offering you a glimpse of her delicate neck.

Your head dived right in there, biting into the skin, as her mouth opened, moans escaping, a mix of pain and pleasure coursing through her. “God, I’m so clo-“

Her words interrupted by your fingers plunging in her once more. Her body jerked, vision blurring as your lips pressed against her throat. “ugh, fuc- fuck!”

Your back arched, body stilled, and Victoria shuddered, both of your orgasms crashing over simultaneously, your moans growing louder as you rode out the waves of pleasure. Her fingers gripped tightly into your thigh, her body chasing the delicious release.

Pulling away, gasping for air, she shivered as your fingers eased to a stop, slowly sliding out. Your eyes drifted shut as the aftershocks of your orgasms coursed through your bodies, leaving you feeling weightless. You collapsed onto the bed, limbs splayed, taking deep, slow breaths.

Victoria joined, her body beside you as you steadied your breathing. In the quiet, you spoke, "Wow.. that was..." Your breath hitched, and you licked your dry lips, unable to find words. But she completed your thought, "The best sex I've ever had in my entire life."

A pleased laugh escaped you, and then her lips met yours. The kiss was tender, tongues exploring each other lazily before she broke it, her breaths as ragged as yours. "I need to use the bathroom," she mumbled, and sighed leaning in for another quick, small one. You pointed the way smirking. "Just down there,"

You watched her slip on her blouse, her body a delight to behold, you shifted over the mattress resting on your stomach, your gaze following her as she sauntered down the hallway.

You couldn't help but smile to yourself once she left the room, covering your face with your hands, a giddy sensation bubbling within, much like the excitement of a teenager. You kicked your feet slightly, the happiness you felt completely unexpected, yet utterly welcome.

In the kitchen, you stood, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes on the pan. The rich aroma of coffee filled the room. Warm hands wrapped around your waist from behind, and you turned to see Victoria, a smile spreading across her face.

You leaned in for a tender kiss, and she pulled away, admiring the food-filled kitchen island. "You made all this just for me?" Her gentle chuckle followed. As she sat on the counter's edge, snatching your cup of coffee and taking a sip, her eyes glinting.

"Guess I'll be here more often if that means you'll be feeding me these goodies," she added, you turned around and caught a sight of your mug and began, "Hey, that's my-" but she quickly shoved a strawberry into your mouth, laughing as she cut you off.

You couldn't help but smile as you turned to pour another cup, teasing her, "Very funny."

She let out another huffy laugh, snorting this time, before sighing softly and taking a sip of her coffee. You shook your head, closing the gap between you. For a moment, Victoria's expression changed; her smile faded, her brown eyes trailing down to your lips before meeting your gaze.

Slowly, she pressed her lips against yours in a long, passionate kiss like she didn’t wanna let go. Your stomach fluttered, the surreal feeling that this was what you’d both been fighting, for so long. It all seemed normal, right, like you belonged together.

You let out a contented sigh as she pulled away, only to meet her soft smile looking down at you. Leaning in for a quick peck, she then hopped off the edge and sat on a chair across the counter. You handed her a plate, and she accepted it with a playful smile, as you sat and shared your meal together.

[doumadono]

hey! i dont know if this counts as an emergency request or not.😭🫶

tw: puke, sickness in general

i have a really horrible flu right now. ive even reached a fever of 104😵‍💫. ive been unable to keep anything down, not even liquids. my left lung hurts to even move, and i have a horrible cough and throat achs. are you able to do a little izuku midoriya x f!reader where f!reader is sick w/ what i described.? love ya!🫶🫶

A/N: it's important to note that in cases of severe illness or medical emergency, it's best to seek immediate assistance from a medical professional. I experienced similar symptoms recently, and it turned out that I had COVID, so perhaps you should consider getting tested

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

When Izuku sees you struggling with the flu symptoms, his heart aches for you. He's deeply concerned about your well-being and is determined to do everything he can to help you feel better.

As you cough and wince from the pain in your chest, Izuku gently rubs your back, trying to provide some comfort. He assures you that he's there for you and that you're not alone in this.

Seeing you unable to keep anything down, Izuku encourages you to try small sips of water and offers to moisten your lips with a damp cloth to help ease your discomfort. Izuku also prepares a simple and nourishing broth, carefully feeding you small spoonfuls, all the while offering encouraging words. "I know it's tough, but you need to keep your strength up. You're doing great."

He notices the feverish flush on your cheeks and immediately gets a cool compress to your forehead to help bring down your temperature, all the while expressing his worry for you.

When you shiver from the fever, Izuku wraps a warm blanket around you and sits close, gently rubbing your arms to help bring you some comfort. "I'll keep you warm, babe."

When you express how much your throat aches, Izuku brews a soothing herbal tea and carefully helps you take small sips, making sure it's not too hot.

Izuku carefully organizes your medication, setting reminders and ensuring you take each dose at the right time. "It's important to stay on top of your medication schedule. I've set up reminders for you, and I'll be here to help you with each dose."

He encourages you to rest, assuring you that he'll handle everything and that your well-being is the top priority. "You just focus on getting better. I'll take care of everything else."

As you struggle to catch your breath after a severe coughing fit, Deku gently takes your hand and rubs its top, whispering, "Just focus on the sound of my voice. You're going to be okay."

He sits beside you, softly talking about anything and everything to distract you from the discomfort, sharing stories about his day at hero work or recalling a funny memory to bring a smile to your face.

Izuku notices you're experiencing chest aches and remembers how you often find comfort using a heating pad during your period. He gently suggests, "I remember how the heating pad helps you during your period. Maybe it could provide some relief for your chest aches too. Would you like me to get it for you?"

As you struggle with the symptoms, Izuku remains by your side, holding your hand and offering words of encouragement, reminding you of your strength and resilience.

Izuku is attentive to your needs, making sure you have blankets, a comfortable pillow, and anything else that might provide relief, all the while expressing his unwavering support and care.

[shinystealingbirb]

Some thoughts on Yanqing

I don’t quite know how or if Yanqing was shown in Honkai Impact, but I’d like to talk about my understanding of him.

Biiiiiiig cut.

I assume many think he’s a flat character. He’s a child prodigy who arrogantly took on two immortals leagues more powerful than himself, and couldn’t get over his loss. Right? Who went out seeking some strange person, who Jingliu almost treats like an amusing pet, who tried to shortcut his way to total mastery. Who desires a title of a championship rather than the art itself. That’s the mark of a flat character- no displayed motivation, and traits we’re told, rather than shown, exist.

This is what the game explicitly tells us. In fact, it takes pains to push this narrative, and in my opinion, it’s specifically because he’s never in our party. To Stelle, or Caelus, or whoever you play as, Yanqing will always be on the other side. He faced Dan Heng and Blade, who we controlled. He duelled Stelle and Kafka. Faced us under the voluntary control of a heliobi. The only time we control him is when Yanqing battles Jingliu, and even then, he was canonically alone. To the Trailblazer, he is a child. An irritatingly strong one, but a child nonetheless, ultimately a footnote in their journey.

So that’s what the game says. But I want to talk about what the game doesn’t really put out there as much, but becomes more obvious the more we encounter Yanqing.

It’s a little hard to explain- I got a kick in the balls when I went through the Fyxstroll Garden quests and got to Yanqing, but I’ll explain that in a moment. For now, allow me to begin with a brief explanation of his character in the way I see it, rather than what the game has taken pains to show us.

He’s a winner- all he’s done is win, and he is young. It’s all he’s known, training and success. He’s showered with praise that he easily tires of, and the General is the only one he spars with that consistently defeats him. This praise is the expectation, the norm. You must win can be a hell of a motivator.

So when he loses to Dan Heng and Blade, it rocks his fucking world. He had no idea where he was in terms of power- really, the only thing he had to compare himself to was Jing Yuan, and the gap there is enormous. He got a taste of a true life-or-death scenario, as opposed to the competition he’s accustomed to, and according to the heliobus, the two immortals- who are way out of his league- left him teetering on the brink of death.

In an attempt to discover his prowess, something outside of the meaningless praise and predictable spars with Jing Yuan, he was absolutely ripped apart by an undead Hunter and a reborn Elder. The worst part? The heliobus in the Fyxstroll quest says he would’ve died “if the hunter’s blade pierced him,” which could quite possibly mean Blade was holding back. Given he was in a rush to beat the shit out of Dan Heng, I doubt it, but it is a possibility that would add salt to the wound- being defeated without being cut once by Blade, only using the flat side of his sword to almost kill him?

So he’s aching from that loss. He got fucked up and knows exactly where he stands, and that’s the single greatest defeat he’s suffered in his life.

For some children, for those who began or became skilled, who build and build and gather ourselves, trying to fight good to become great, a fear we have to overcome is failure. And failure is the single more horrifying concept to a gifted child, the absolute worst outcome.

A normal person fails. Oh well. Time to move on with life.

A competitive or gifted child fails, it means something. It means the effort put in, every single move spent in our lives, every thought, every moment of practice or rest, even if not working on that skill specifically, was a waste of a life, and as failures, that child, too, is a waste. Failure is like death. The way I can best describe the feeling… your heart clenches. Cold sweat, a sudden mental blank. A spider crawls up your throat, and with every step your throat grows tighter, the sense of dread closer and closer until the spider has made its way up to your stinging nose, your tearing eyes, and you are humiliating yourself with those tears.

It’s hard for people who do not understand this to be empathetic. To these people, a loss like this is just a loss. Things like “you’ll get them next time” or “they were out of your league” are said, and these things will never be consolations.

We, the Trailblazers, do not understand why Yanqing goes back to it in his thoughts so often, why it is a pivotal moment for him, why it appears in his character lines, and why he speaks about that battle so ruefully. It was inevitable, we think, that he would lose, isn’t it?

Shouldn’t he know he would never have beaten him?

Of course he knows.

But Yanqing is a child. For all his power, all his cheer and skill, he is a child. He’s gifted, and loss stings really fucking bad if you’re gifted, if you’ve won and won and already realized that praise is false and results are king (his trace voiceline sounds so sarcastic when he speaks of praise.)

Now: we can go over Jingliu and Stelle’s battles if you wish- more salt in the wound, to twist the knife just a little more(loser, loser, loser)- but by far our most interesting encounter with Yanqing is in the Fyxstroll Garden quest.

He’s possessed by a heliobi who claims- and delivers- that he can teach any weapon and advance the soldier to a warrior beyond compare. Despite the memory-wiping effects of the heliobi after possession, I believe said possession- at least for this one- is voluntary.

After all these losses, Yanqing finds a spirit who pushed a Cloud Knight into something lethal, and the spirit tells him, “I have seen your losses, I see them inside your head. Offer me your sword; offer me your allegiance, your body, and I will make you great.”

Knowing he was almost killed for his naivety, knowing he has been painted as the enemy, knowing he has won and won for his entire gifted life, right up until he hasn’t… why do you think he takes it? Of course he’s desperate, of course there’s a nagging doubt, a painful needling that tells him hes not enough anymore, nothing is enough. Of course he allowed himself to be possessed.

After all, praise is empty. Results are king.

The real kicker comes when Jing Yuan gets there.

I think Jing Yuan’s reaction to Yanqing’s possession says a lot. He’s not surprised it was him, nor how easy it was to get into his head. He knows these things, understands they are part of growth and motivation. He is only disappointed because Yanqing has allowed himself to cheat, to find the shortcut.

He arrives at the island, and so calmly he says “Yanqing would never lift his sword against me.”

Yanqing raises his blade. And then he turns to the heliobi and demands a duel. He proceeds to rip the false Yanqing apart with all the speed and precision that Blade and Dan Heng dueled him with.

I’ve seen people talk about how Yanqing was put in a loaded situation. That his choice was made based on disappointing one teacher over the other. It’s not an unreasonable claim, but a shallow one, i based on the surface teacher-student dynamic and taking nothing the heliobi or Yanqing said into account.

It comes down to the choices he has: in that example, his choices are loyalty to a heliobi he only just met, or a teacher he’s known since he was a little kid. In this perspective, the choice is obvious.

This one is not an incorrect perspective, merely an incomplete one. I think the complete choice was as follows: Instant power from an unpredictable, harsh master, one who is asking strange things of him- attack your friends, attack your previous master, don’t you want power?!- or turn back to the training he feels he’s outgrown, mentored by a man who he holds in such high regard and, if his voice lines are any indication, would trust with his life in an instant.

He’s braver than I am for choosing Jing Yuan’s side. Yanqing’s been shown to have an honorable teacher, but we have not seen him put in a situation where he has to prove it. We couldn’t confidently say what he’d do.

This quest displayed his desperate side. The heliobi had already exploited it, promised and delivered power. The heliobi proved it could be trusted, for that at least. Jing Yuan is a trusted mentor, almost a father figure, but those methods led to failure at the most critical of times. This undoubtedly crossed his mind- it certainly crossed mine as I played through that quest- and I genuinely thought I’d have to fight him again.

Frankly, I’m astounded he chose Jing Yuan, and that surprise made, at least to me, made him feel complete.

Yanqing is a child, with a child’s complex emotions and weaker understanding. He is cheerful and confident, a trait easily confused with arrogance. He is competitive. His worth is based on his prowess with a sword. He knows praise is empty and results are king. He is desperate, but more than that he is loyal beyond his own desires, honorable to a fault, which is more than I could say about most adults, much less myself.

He’s flawed and requires a certain prerequisite to understand. Yanqing feels childish in a different way than Hook and Clara, in motivations rather than actions. He feels human, and I really like his character

[thefrogdalorian]

Weather The Storm Together

Din Djarin x Neurodivergent GN!Reader

Summary: Despite repeated reassurances that Din loves you regardless of your struggles, you find it difficult to believe him. But when you are engulfed by a particularly strong wave of emotions and fail at your latest attempt to avoid letting him in, it only serves to strengthen your bond.

Word Count: 1.6k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Reader has a panic attack/meltdown, physical symptoms described, negative thoughts (but with Din's help, these emotions are resolved!). ✯ Author's Note: Well it really has been one thing after another for me this week, so I really needed to write this for myself. Very cathartic to write your fave character being understanding of struggles, but I do think it fits Din so well. He spends his entire life wearing a literal mask, he would be very compassionate and gentle. Hope you enjoy this one!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

As you lay face-down, sobbing your heart out on your bunk, your senses were too overwhelmed to hear him approaching. It was too late to turn away when your drained brain finally perceived the sound of his familiar heavy footsteps. 

Your stomach drops when the rhythmic sounds stop.

Now, there is nowhere to hide. 

You never intended for him to catch you in such a state. You remain convinced you look repulsive, with your swollen eyes burning from the endless tears shed. You fret about your messy hair that surely sticks out at all ends.

How will he retain his attraction to you after seeing you this dishevelled? How could anyone love someone capable of getting into such a distressed state?

The pain from such realisations will come later.

For now, you are too preoccupied with the way your chest aches from the exertion of the sobs which wracked your entire body until only moments ago. 

As you roll over, you wipe your eyes to get a better look at him, but the sniffling continues. Once your eyes are suitably clear of tears, your stomach churns with unease as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling pathetic and tiny in his presence. 

Somehow, he appears unfazed by your distressed appearance. As comfortable before his distressed cyare, as he would be encountering a band of mercenaries with deadly intentions. 

“I’m here,” Din’s familiar deep voice cuts through the anguish, and you start to feel the clouds lift.

He moves to sit on the edge of your bunk. Instinctively, you cover your face with your arms, nuzzling into the soft material of the clothes you wear to sleep in. 

Now that the shock is beginning to wear off, the equally unwelcome emotion of embarrassment begins to rear its ugly head, ready to add to your distress.

As he sits there gazing at you, his ordinarily warm brown eyes cooler and widened with concern, you think of recent events from Din’s perspective.

You blamed stomach ache for your abrupt retirement to your bunk. Despite his immediate concern for you, you successfully convinced him not to worry. Insisting it was a rogue ration pack, rather than an impending tidal wave of distress. 

When you hurried to your bunk, you left Din engaged in one of his favourite ways he soothes his soul and self-regulates. He would have remained there for a while longer, meticulously cleaning his armour, were he not abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable, gut-wrenching sounds of your sobs. 

You feel terrible that it struck at that moment, during such an unassuming afternoon. The constant storm that brews within you does not discriminate with timing. Sometimes, like today, there is a little warning, but just enough for you to get away and fall apart in peace. Things were perfectly fine, until they weren’t. A combination of the way the cloth Din was using squeaked against his armour and the seemingly endless monotony of hyperspace had caused you to tip over the edge. 

Din has reminded you time and time again that he is by your side every step of the way. But after an entire life spent keeping this side of you hidden, believing it is far easier said than done. It will take more than his supportive words to undo the years of damage inflicted by the repeated negative reinforcements that breaking down like this was due to poor behaviour rather than being a natural, unavoidable response to feeling overwhelmed.

Still, Din is your anchor, something to cling to during the ferocious storm. You reach for his hand, relieved that he has forgone his gloves, as you lace his thick, callused fingers with yours. To your relief, some of the familiar warmth returns to his eyes, matched by the heat radiating from his skin.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Din tentatively questions. 

You nod your head, taking shaky breaths to compose yourself so you can let him into your anguished state of mind rather than keeping him locked out. 

“It was just all too much. The noise of the cloth against the armour and being stuck in this ship for another day. I couldn’t take it. I hate that I have to go through this,” you murmur.

“I know, cyare,” Din squeezes your hand as he shakes his head, “I wish you didn’t have to suffer. But we’ll be landing soon. By the time you wake up tomorrow, we’ll be back on solid ground.”

You nod. You know that Din is reminding you of your impending return to Nevarro as a reason to stay optimistic, not berating you for being unable to last just one more day. He understands how frustrated you are that you could not see this journey through without being overwhelmed. Still, the shame does not dissipate entirely.

“I hate that you have to see me like this. I feel so embarrassed,” you confess shakily, deciding there is no point in hiding your true feelings from him.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing,” Din reassures you, “No one would choose to get themselves into such a state. I hate to see you like this.”

“You’re not mad at me?” you clarify, optimistic that he does not appear annoyed that you attempted to hide your acute distress from him. 

Din shakes his head, “I could never be mad at you. I wish you didn’t feel the need to hide this from me, but I understand why you do, and I hope that one day you will no longer feel a need to.”

You nod, relieved that Din does not berate and lecture you like others in your past have. His words fill you with optimism for the future, too. 

But the dread lingers. Now that you have discovered your fear that Din was angry with you was unfounded, your anguished, racing mind turns to the future. Feeling even marginally less distressed than you do at the moment seems unthinkable. 

“Will it ever get better?” you pathetically ask, picking at the threadbare blanket with your free hand as you avoid his gaze. 

“Of course, it will,” Din responds immediately, his tone so firm that you dare to look up at him, “Right now, it’s hard to imagine not feeling this awful. I promise you, this won’t last forever. I will help you through this.”

“But how long can you go through this, Din, before it’s too much?” you pose the question which makes your heart constrict. 

“You will never be too much,” Din shakes his hand, incredulous at the notion he would ever leave; unwavering in his devotion to you. 

Your bottom lip trembles at his words, a few stray tears leaking from your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. You are about to move to rub your cheeks with your sleeves when, in an achingly tender gesture, Din gently uses his thumb to wipe them away. 

The caring gesture and adoration apparent across his handsome features make you feel as though a Wookiee has taken a seat on your chest. It is difficult to breathe in the face of such unconditional love, especially at such a vulnerable moment. 

"There will be better days and I'll be standing by your side through all of them," Din whispers as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, before leaning his head against the very spot he just brushed his lips against.  

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep, steadying breath. You will yourself to believe Din's encouraging words, though you remain powerless to help the lingering doubt that gnaws somewhere deep inside. The two of you spend a few moments drawing strength from the closeness. You cannot resist how your lips curve upwards slightly at the way Din strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“Do you believe me?” Din finally asks, his breath hot against your face. 

You pause for a few moments, considering your response. Then, you bring your free hand up to Din’s stubbly cheek and run your thumb along his surprisingly soft skin. You wordlessly answer his question by meeting his lips with yours softly, pressing your lips so faintly against his that it is a ghost of a gesture. 

Din pulls away, his expressive face overcome with emotion. You can see the hope, relief and devotion in his eyes. 

“With you by my side, Din Djarin, I believe that Mustafar could freeze over,” you smirk, then grow serious, “You make me feel like anything is possible.”

Din closes his eyes in gratitude, nodding as he swallows thickly. Relieved that he has, once again, pulled you back from the abyss with the patient, gentle way he loves you.

“Why don’t we get some rest?” Din offers, knowing the impact such distressing episodes have on your energy reserves. 

You eagerly nod. Din quickly moves to shed his outer layers of clothing. He is already back before your side before you can truly mourn the loss of contact, pulling you into his strong arms so tightly that you believe he will never let you go. 

As you lie back on the bunk together, you come to rest in your favourite position; with your cheek on Din’s strong, firm chest as his hands settle on your waist, rubbing soothing circles across your back. 

You are so exhausted that it appears sleep will come easily to you, as your eyelids are already growing leaden while your breathing becomes heavy. Safe in the arms you love, the distress of before seems almost a distant memory. 

Before falling into sleep’s warm embrace entirely, you hear Din whisper a final reminder:

“We’ll weather the storm together,” his deep voice vibrates underneath you. 

You nod in agreement, reassured that Din’s affection for you will never diminish, no matter the severity of your distress. 

The strong man whose arms you lie in will always be your anchor.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

[makethatelevenrings]

Knowingly and Willingly // B. Bradshaw x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: reader has endometriosis/PCOS (it’s never fully given a name but the symptoms are described), discussion of menstruation and symptoms

Summary: You’re having a flare up and feel guilty, but Rooster reminds you that he married you knowing what he was getting into.

The second you woke up, you knew that today was going to be fucking awful.

The past week has been hell on your sleep schedule. Chamomile tea, melatonin, and no blue light wasn’t doing anything to ease your insomnia. Cramps wracked your body and you knew that, without a doubt, blood was seeping into the sheets below you despite the fact that you were wearing an extra heavy flow pad.

Well, fuck.

You weren’t going to let it ruin your night, not when Rooster was so excited to see a lot of his friends from Top Gun again. Hangman, Phoenix, and Rooster were selected to remain behind in Fightertown and train the next generation of fighter pilots, but that meant the other members of their squadron were scattered around at various bases. However, they were all converging back in town for a week due to the upcoming Top Gun graduation.

So you were not going to let your stupid fucking uterus ruin his happiness.

You trudge on, popping some ibuprofen and dulling the pain down from an eight to a six. By the time you leave work and head to the Hard Deck, your hips and lower back feel like they’re going to snap off and depart from your body at any moment. Your ankles and knees ache from general existence, but by god, you were fucking determined.

Unfortunately for you, your husband was basically a bloodhound when it came to you and pain.

Phoenix waved when she saw you enter the bar and you made your way over to the group to join them. Bradley slid down from his bar stool the second you approached and his arm wound around your waist as he settled a kiss on your temple. You shot him a small smile and stole his seat, but you knew he had vacated it solely for you.

“Oh thank god, I couldn’t handle Hangman alone for one more second,” Phoenix said in lieu of greeting. “Bagman! Go get our girl a beer.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you replied. Alcohol always fucked with your churning stomach and you didn’t want to poke the bear, so to speak. “I drove here.”

“Guess that makes you DD for the night,” Rooster hummed. He kept himself pressed against you, one hand drifting down to settle along the small of your back. Bradley pressed down on the base of your spine and you practically moaned in relief as he eased one of the particular knots in your back. Fuck, you couldn’t let him know or he would cut this night short and you would be damned if you were the reason he left early.

“Y’know what? Why don’t I go get you all another round?” Your feet protested standing so soon after sitting down, but it would get you away from your husband’s eagle eyes. Damn pilots and their damn good eyesight.

“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite Bradshaw?” Payback crowed as he ducked down and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You snickered as you pulled away from Bradley and headed towards the bar. Penny greeted you with an easy going smile as you leaned up against the dark wood of the bar.

“Refills for the bottomless pits?” she asked.

“Put it on Seresin’s tab,” you shot back and her grin widened. Penny turned to grab some of the Stella Artois that the aviators seemed to go through like water and you took that as a chance to press more of your weight against the bar and sag into the wood in hopes of relief. A particular nasty cramp tightened in your stomach and you shut your eyes as pain wracked through your hips. It was painful enough that it knocked the air from your lungs and you planted yourself in the empty bar stool next to you. Penny returned to stand in front of you, a few bottles held between her fingers, and a concerned expression on her face.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just been a day.” You hoped she would accept your excuse that this was just exhaustion after the work week. Penny shot you a look filled with doubt but you gave her what you hoped was a reassuring smile and gratefully took the bottles out of her hands.

Returning to the table, you set the beer on the table right when a wave of pain shot up your spine, the nerves flaring with burning pain. A startled gasp escaped your lungs and you rocked forward onto the balls of your feet. Your knees nearly gave out but you grabbed onto the table just in time.

“Shit!” Phoenix exclaimed as she caught your bicep. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You waved her off.

“Like hell you are,” your husband grunted behind you. Warm palms encased your hips and you sighed as soft lips accompanied with the rough scratch of his mustache brushed against your neck.

“How long, baby?”

“Since this morning,” you admitted. Bradley let out a groan of disapproval and slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back. You shrieked as your feet left the ground and you wrapped your arms around his neck even though you knew that he would never drop you.

“Folks, it’s been great seeing you, but I need to get my missus home because she’s a stubborn idiot and doesn’t know when to relax.”

“Bradley…” you trailed off and buried your burning face into the crook of his neck. “You don’t have to ruin your night.”

“Not ruining anything, babe. Why the hell would I want to hang out with Yale’s ugly mug all night when I could spend it with you?”

“I would take offense, but I also would rather spend my night with Mrs. Bradshaw than Rooster,” Yale teased.

“Hey,” Bradley barked, but there was no heat behind his voice. “If you even think about my wife again, I will tell everyone about the Barbie incident.”

Yale immediately turned away to go chat with Bob about something. Phoenix patted your hip and shot a pointed look at Bradley.

“You better take care of her,” Phoenix warned.

“With my life.” The cheesy line didn’t feel as cheesy when he said it so gently and fervently. Rooster quickly exited the bar and headed towards his Bronco.

“Roo, I’m so sorry,” you tried once again when he had you in the passenger seat and was buckled in beside you in the driver’s seat. Bradley turned in his seat so he was facing you and he reached up to brush his knuckles across your cheek.

“What for? Being human?” His kind eyes studied your face with a tenderness you’ve come to recognize as something so perfectly him. You nuzzled your face into his palm and pressed a delicate kiss to his wrist.

“I’m sorry you have to take care of me.”

He leaned over the middle console, his lips ghosting over yours. “Baby, why the hell are you apologizing for something I knowingly and willingly signed up for?”

“Because you shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“I shouldn’t have to take care of my brilliant, beautiful, gorgeous wife?”

If Bradley Bradshaw was anything, he was the most stubborn man alive. Hence the fact that he was a naval aviator and they needed plenty of arrogance and stubborn attitude to get to where they are now. You knew he wouldn’t let you win this battle.

“Bradley…”

“Shh.” He stole a sweet kiss from you, the faint taste of salty peanuts from the bar mix lingering on his lips. You let your eyes fall shut as you welcomed the feel of his fingers rubbing against your throbbing temples.

“Let’s go home and I’ll carry you inside-”

“Just like our honeymoon?” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Just like our honeymoon. And you’re going to drink some water and I’ll cook you something that will help regulate those little bastard hormones that are hurting my girl. And I’ll set you up on the couch with a heating pad, give you a massage, make sure you take your meds, and we’re going to watch more of Love Island.”

“Is the Love Island for my sake or yours?”

He nipped at your lips and then grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hate that show.”

“Mhmm.” He turned back to drive and you slid your hand along the nape of his neck, burying your fingers in his soft dark hair. He hit the radio and the local 80s station jumped to life. You were in pain, tired, and frustrated, but having your love nearby and singing along to Tears for Fears made it all a little easier to deal with.

Tag List: @khaylin27​ @loveforaugust​ @phoenixssugarbaby​ @atarmychick007​ @djs8891​

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

i’m unbelievably sick right now, and to cope, i’m thinking more about the abyssal contamination concept you came up with a while ago, since my main symptoms are fatigue and general aching. i love how you described childe’s worry and doubts as the illness got worse, while still having him comfort and look after us. i love angst and comfort so much, you work with it so well!!

aaahhhh i hope you feel better soon!! Foul Legacy is hugging you gently right now

he takes care of you as you deteriorate, not sure exactly what's doing on or why. all he knows is that you're sick, and you're not getting better, and that he wants to keep you safe and happy as possible. Legacy has abandoned your bed as your resting place in all but name- you spend most of your sleeping hours tucked away in his blanket nest, cuddled against him and the innumerable cushions around the room. he holds you close, delicate in his touch, claws carefully running up and down your back and massaging the worst pains as he purrs soothingly. it hurts to see you like this. always lethargic and aching, choking on a substance he can't see. and that's the thing, it's can't be a common cold or illness, or else Foul Legacy would also fall mildly sick. he frets over you when you sleep, adjusting the blankets and toying with the ends of your hair with trembling talons

when you're too weak to go out and restock the cupboards, he musters his courage and ventures out for you. there are a lot of fresh fruits in the basket he brings back, plucked straight from the trees- Legacy knows that the city folk would scream if he wandered into the market. he nudges them towards you, gently rumbling and crooning as he encourages you to eat and sip water. Legacy always chitters in approval when you manage a few bites, gently bumping his head against yours before settling down to curl around you. you'll get better- he knows you will. you have to. maybe it's just a sickness that doesn't affect him, and you'll be right as rain after a few days- weeks- of bedrest

Foul Legacy closes his crystalline eye with a coo, not knowing that it is his Abyssal presence slowly draining your life

[uncanny-tranny]

hey, i’d like some advice if you have any. i’d REALLY like to go on T… i look at folks on T and i’m just… enamored with their bodies. i look at tbears and i want to live within them. i spend a LOT of time looking at bottom growth pics. i love a lot of things about my body, but… having a small clitoris… lacking chest & tummy hair… i look at people who’ve made the leap and it aches, not to look like them. that’s the only way to describe it: a deep, howling ache. i love my breasts and my curves and sometimes i really love being a girl and a dyke but i know that i need these changes. i really need them.

but i love my voice. only occasionally it seems abrasively high or nasal… but i really, really love my voice. at some point recently i started to sing again after a long, long time of shaming myself out of it, and i had forgotten that my voice is beautiful. and it’s me. i love my voice. i’m not averse to the idea of sounding deeper… but it’ll come at the cost of losing my upper range. i’ll NEVER be able to sound like that again. i’ll try to go high and it’ll feel like my voice is being replaced. i don’t know if i’ll really hate it when my voice changes… but i’m scared. i think i’ll probably like how i’ll sound, but what if it doesn’t feel like me? is there any way to prepare myself? what if there’s just no way for me to live with both a body and voice of my own?

this is a lot of heavy stuff. my best idea at the moment is to talk to a doctor about all this, hope they have some suggestions, and try to get compounded testosterone cream, since that can supposedly help prioritize bottom growth over other changes. but i’m really scared and lonely about this. i don’t know anyone else who grew up a girl and wants to be a girl on T… i only know two trans people. i know very few people in general. and i’m too scared to try and talk to anyone about all of these feelings. the way you talk about this stuff is always so full of love, in a way that makes love feel possible, so if there’s anything you can say to help guide me or validate me here, i would really appreciate it. this is really difficult for me to talk about.

I totally understand where you are coming from; the very nature of medical transition is based on possibilities and uncertainties.

I think the thing we tend to do is assume that these changes will happen almost instantly. However, the vocal changes are very gradual, at least in my experience.

I'll remind everyone that I am not a medical expert, and my thoughts come from personal experience and observation and listening to fellow people on testosterone.

I'll list some highlights of my experience to illustrate this and include a chart of my voice drop:

The first voice-related change was actually soreness when I spoke, but not really a true drop

I had many voice cracks, and they were sometimes painful

The changes started gradually from month one or two to around the year mark give or take

My initial dose: 0.25mg IM/weekly

My current: 0.35mg IM/weekly

If you choose a testosterone regimen, I would suggest considering micro dosing. That way, you have a bit more control over how gradual the changes are. The testosterone will still change your endocrine system, but it won't be as sudden as it would be with a "typical" dose. My testosterone reached a typical perisex man's at approximately month six with my dosage, and by then, I had many changes begin to mature (such as bottom growth, the beginning of new hair growth, and my voice beginning to mature with more finality).

I honestly don't know how I really prepared myself for the changes I wasn't too sure about... I mostly came at it with a sense of desperation, and so I get where you are coming from. I truly hope you can get a medical team which will give you some options that best fit you. If you have any other questions or want me to expand, I am happy to do so, because I do genuinely want to show support. You're going to find something that works, I think. I have so much hope and faith in you, and I wish you only the best on this journey.

[sandyca5tle]

Slime HRT - 18 Months

Another few months, another update, this one’s been interesting.

First, the general progress update: I’m down to just bones in my body, no more muscles or organs, the latter of those hurting a lot as they were each dissolved and absorbed. My stomach was the first notable one to go, and that hurt like all hells. It initially felt like a horrible stomach ache, and when I looked (‘cause enough of my musculature had dissolved that I could see my internal organs) I saw that a hole had been punctured in the side of it and acid was leaking into my body, which was why it was hurting. I did call the doctor, and apparently it’s normal, and in fact is how my slime will be able to dissolve things in itself. So that went on for about a week, which sucked, but once the acid had all leaked out, true to what the doctor had said, I found that things I put in myself would dissolve.

I’d be lying if I said that reaching this stage wasn’t euphoric, or that I may have put a few random pieces of crap I had laying around into me to watch and feel it dissolve. At first, I could really only dissolve cardboard and similar things like that, but recently I’ve been able to eat some plastics - which is really useful for reducing waste. It is a little weird to be able to kinda feel things dissolving within me, but at the same time it’s kind of cool. It typically feels kinda bubbly if I had to describe it, like Sprite or something, but wherever I’ve put it. Which is another thing worth noting, the acidity kinda spread - from my stomach to the rest of my body.

The only drawback with this is that a) I can’t store stuff inside myself any more, and b) I do have to be a little careful hugging people - while my outer membrane keeps my insides safe from the outside, and vice versa, apparently it can be a bit of an irritant to sensitive skin. Fortunately, apparently, I can learn to control it, both the location and strength of the acid - so hopefully hugs will be back on the table soon! I’ve just got to work out how…😅

Another benefit of the acid is that I don’t have to clean lint out of myself any more, I can just let it dissolve in my acid and add to my mass, it’s really convenient, although I do miss the satisfaction of pulling it out of myself. 

The other thing I’ve begun to notice, more so now that my acidity is up, is that I’m occasionally getting some strange cravings, for things like metal and stuff, and I couldn’t help but notice it’s for denser things. Unfortunately most of those things are used in stuff, so I’ve had to find similar, disposable objects to quell the cravings… really hoping they go away eventually, as fun as it is eating all this new stuff.

An extra note worth adding is that I can’t really taste what I eat unless I ingest it through my mouth, which makes sense, given that’s where my tongue is. Certain things I think get passed up through my body - metal is definitely one of them, can usually taste that at least a little when I absorb it.

The other organ I noticed changing was my lungs (surprisingly most of the others went without any issue - not sure what to make of that). Initially it started as a pain across my lower chest, which I naturally investigated, seeing that my lungs were kind of peeling apart. The pain continued to get worse over the weeks, more and more of my lungs peeling as the acidity of my body ate away at them. It was excruciating towards the end, until one day, I suddenly felt what could only be described as a stabbing pain in my lungs. Naturally I tried to inhale from the pain, only for it to not work. As I struggled to breath I looked at my lungs and found that they now had holes in them - which explained the troubles I was having with breathing. It didn’t take long after that for me to pass out.

When I came too - which at the time I was a little surprised about - I naturally tried to breathe trying to recover after what had happened… except it felt off. I kept breathing, going from short, panicked breaths to deeper, more controlled ones. It didn’t take me long to work out what felt off - my chest didn’t move when I breathed; it didn’t rise and fall with my breath. I looked down , inside my chest, only to see that my lungs had mostly dissolved - just a small part of the top remained, and I could still feel a tingle where my acid was eating away at it.

In some respects I had been prepared for this - when my lungs first started hurting, I knew this was coming - I just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, nor leave me unconscious. I did wonder how long I had been out, and upon checking, it had been around 2-3 hours (I hadn’t exactly checked the time before I lost one of my vital organs) which only added to my curiosity as to how I survived. 

I tested my primary theory, holding my breath and waiting, quickly noticing something else off - I didn’t feel the kind of build up of pressure that humans got when they held their breath. The longer I held my breath the more it became evident as I never felt any kind of push from my body to start breathing again. I did find a small instinct that told me that I should breathe soon, but with no alerts from the body signalling the same, I continued regardless. After a little while I was getting antsy, mostly at staying still so long, so I stopped holding my breath, and despite my mind waiting and expecting it, I didn’t take a deep breath in after, I just kinda kept breathing as if I had never tried to stop myself.

All this to say: I no longer need to breathe! And it really is breathing  - I tested putting my head in water to much the same effect, I could keep my head under there for as long as I liked, although trying to open my mouth did lead to issues with my remaining human biology. So I’m pretty sure I now absorb air through my slime, passively as I walk around. I think was only breathing at the start because of 20 of years of muscle memory and instinct, but it wasn’t long before I did that thing where you forget to breathe for a little, but instead of suddenly taking a large gulp of air, I just… genuinely didn’t notice for a while, and when I did, I wasn’t entirely sure when I stopped. Since it’s happened, some people have noticed something ‘off’ about me, which I quickly learnt was the lack of breathing - apparently humans find it a little unnerving when animate creatures don’t visibly breathe. While I’m not super worried about that, I have worked out how to imitate breathing, chest movements and all, to help quell that unease (of course some people just find my general existence uneasy, but I’m not spending time worrying about that…). It is really neat not having to breathe anymore, and it’s another very affirming change - breathing feels like something very human, even if it’s something many organisms do, so to no longer need it gives me that distance from humanity, and greater closeness to slime…ity? slimeness? Whatever it’s called. Basically not having to breathe makes me feel less like a human, and more like a slime, which just makes me really happy. 

Between my lungs and stomach, I have noticed that the process seems to need to absorb certain organs before the slime can begin to mimic their function e.g. I definitely still had to breathe before my lungs went, and the change is even more pronounced with my stomach and new digestive abilities. It does make me wonder how that’ll work with the remaining organs in my head.

One thing that has me a little concerned now is how exposed my spine - and thus a core part of my central nervous system - is. With all my musculature and organs gone now, I just have the bones in my torso floating around in there (pelvis is pretty much gone), so my spine is kind of very exposed. My slime does provide a general cushion, but my back is still very sensitive now, and I’m just worried about some lasting damage happening while I wait for it to dissolve.

The other thing about the torso bones is that they seem to move less than the rest of my bones did - with my arms and legs I could push the bones around and rearrange them, but I can at most wiggle my ribcage a little, but nothing much beyond that. Nothing really to note about that, just an observation I made.

While all this was happening in my torso, my slime also made some progress on my head, having gotten as far as the skin, so the muscle is visible now beneath the thin layer of slime. A little bit of my nose has gone, as well as my ears, although neither sense has been affected just yet. Surprisingly my eyes have been untouched, although there is a slight pain in them - which I’m guessing is from the acid now in my slime. It could be worse, and I don’t notice it if I'm distracted, but it is a little painful when I do. 

The other funky thing around the eyes is my eyelids - while they’re still there, they’re now translucent, which, uh, means that I can’t really close my eyes in the same way anymore - I’m still able to see through them when I close them. It’s made sleeping a little harder, more just ‘cause it’s unnerving to be kinda able to see while I’m falling asleep, despite having my eyes closed… really hoping that something happens or that I can do something about it ‘cause it really is a pain.

Interestingly, while the inside of my mouth has changed to slime (not sure quite how far/much, but lips have and the mouth I can see in the mirror) my tongue hasn’t, which is another weird experience - meat tongue in slime mouth. My teeth also haven’t changed, which mostly looks weird rather than feeling weird like my tongue, but they’re still there.

I will add though that now that my skin is slime, my hair isn’t as cold against my face, and there’s no real difference in ‘wetness’ now, so that’s a pro.

Lastly, and more lightly since this has been a kinda heavy entry, even if the end results on the whole have been super euphoric for me, I’ve continued to mess around with shaping my slimy body. I can now firmly say I have a tail! Interestingly, it seems easier to hold that than it did to reshape my legs and arms - I’m guessing ‘cause they already had existing forms, while the tail is completely new. I imagine the phantom tail I’ve been able to feel for a while helped too - gave me a mental template to build too. I decided to go with a long, medium-width tail shape, with a horizontal fin on the end - I always liked how aquatic designs looked - mermaids and dragons - so I decided to try it out myself. Combined with the claws and talons, and you know, the general sliminess, I definitely can’t be mistaken for human any more. Only con of the tail is it’s a lot harder to hide how I feel - when I get happy, my tail wags, and sad, it droops - it’s honestly a little embarrassing, but I do still like it, and it’s not like I particularly want to be hiding my feelings anyways. Although in the early days of having a tail, wagging would occasionally send blobs of slime launched off the end of the new limb - or the end of the tail itself, which was very embarrassing, but I think I’ve got it under control now.

Anyways, I think that’s everything I’ve got to write about this time, was a painful few months, but the payoff has still been worth it, so I ain’t stopping anytime soon! See ya in the next one, goobye!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Might be a little while til the next update, but working on another thing in the meantime

First - Prev - Bonus - Next

[sexsylexi]

Love Rekindled

Dick grayson x fem reader

Summary-

In Gotham City, Dick Grayson (Nightwing) stands by the bedside of his love, who has lost their memory in an accident. Despite being a stranger to her now, Dick patiently supports her, sharing stories of their past and creating new memories. As they spend more time together, she begins to feel a deep connection with him. One evening, they dance on the hospital rooftop under the stars, rekindling their love and realizing that their future together is what truly matters.

---------------------------------------------------

It was a cool evening in Gotham City, the air tinged with a crispness that signalled the impending arrival of fall. The streets buzzed with the usual bustle of city life, but within the walls of Gotham General Hospital, a different kind of tension filled the air.

Dick Grayson, known to the world as the heroic Nightwing, paced nervously in the hospital corridor. He had faced many challenges in his life, from the death of his parents to the battles fought alongside Batman. Yet, nothing had prepared him for this moment. The woman he loved lay in a hospital bed, her memory wiped clean by a tragic accident.

You had been his anchor, his confidante, and the love of his life. But now, as he stood by your bedside, he was a stranger to you. The doctors had said that the amnesia might be temporary, but there were no guarantees. All Dick could do was hope and be there for you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, you looked around the room with confusion. Dick's heart ached as he saw the blank look in your eyes, the lack of recognition. He stepped forward, trying to mask his pain with a reassuring smile.

"Hi," he said softly, his voice gentle and soothing. "How are you feeling?"

You looked at him, your brow furrowing as you tried to make sense of the situation. "I... I don't know. Where am I? Who are you?"

Dick took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "You're in Gotham General Hospital. You had an accident, but you're safe now. My name is Dick Grayson."

You nodded slowly, the name unfamiliar to you. "Dick Grayson," you repeated, testing the words on your lips. "Do I... know you?"

He smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Yes, you do. We're... we're close. But don't worry, we'll take things one step at a time. I'm here to help you through this."

Over the next few days, Dick spent every moment he could by your side. He brought you flowers, told you stories about your life together, and answered your endless questions with patience and kindness. He didn't push you to remember, but instead focused on creating new memories, hoping that one day the old ones would resurface.

You found yourself drawn to him, despite the fog that clouded your mind. There was something about Dick that made you feel safe, something that tugged at your heart even though your mind couldn't place him. His presence was comforting, his stories filled with warmth and love.

One afternoon, as you sat together in the hospital garden, Dick shared a particularly cherished memory. "There was this one night," he began, a smile tugging at his lips, "when we danced under the stars. We had just come back from a long mission, and we were both exhausted. But you insisted we go to the rooftop. You said you wanted to see the stars. So, we danced. No music, just the sound of the city below and the stars above. It was perfect."

You listened, your eyes fixed on his as he spoke. Something about the way he described that night stirred a faint echo of emotion within you. "It sounds beautiful," you said softly.

"It was," he replied, his gaze locking with yours. "Just like you."

As the days turned into weeks, you and Dick spent more time together, growing closer with each passing day. He taught you things about your old life, but more importantly, he showed you that there was still so much to look forward to. Slowly but surely, you began to see him not just as a stranger, but as someone you could trust, someone you could care for deeply.

One evening, as the sun set over Gotham, casting a warm glow over the city, you found yourself standing on the hospital rooftop with Dick. The stars were just beginning to appear, twinkling against the darkening sky. Dick turned to you, a hopeful look in his eyes. "Would you like to dance?"

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I would."

As you moved together, the city below fading into the background, you felt a connection with him that transcended the loss of your memories. In his arms, you felt a sense of belonging, a feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, the past didn't matter as much as the future you could build together.

And as the stars shone brightly above, you knew that with Dick by your side, anything was possible.

[zeephyre]

CR3 EPISODE 78 SPOILERS

god. i love this fucking campaign. this one's gonna be long as shit.

despite how genuinely depressing this episode was, it also made me really giddy because i love hurt/comfort and there's no point of that if there's no hurt or angst.

im probably gonna go down the line with each member of bells hells, discussing what i can remember off the top of my head, i hope i don't forget anything in my rambles cause this was one of my FAVORITE episodes of the whole campaign and that's saying something.

i love ashton. i have loved ashton the most since the very beginning and for a lot of it i was really worried that ashton was deliberating running from opening up with bells hells while also going out of their way to have one-to-one convos with different members that were deep and insightful but never went as far as they needed to.

i am projecting a bit with analysis of ashton but taliesin does it best when rp'ing for ash and generally talking abt him in interviews. ashton reminds me of myself, which is not a compliment and is actually really terrible. ironically enough, ashton said the same thing abt fcg. i have spent a lot of time hurting myself by sabotaging the things i love, or embracing the worse parts of myself simply because it's become habit. there's always going to be a piece of you that finds the sadness, anger, guilt, emptiness, whatever -- comforting because it's all you've known.

ashton mourns a life that he never lived. i find myself mourning versions of myself that i would hate but still...yearn for them like an itch or an ache that comes from hurt. ashton wanted their family back, in whatever desperate, corrupted way he felt he should have done it, and hearing how he described feeling like he looked past the cautionary tale simply because he thought the pain they caused him should have meant something else made me think of imogen.

beautiful, sweet, powerful, dangerous, sad imogen temult. i won't comment on how everyone berated ashton because that's not really surprising nor was anything imogen said or did pertaining to ash shocking whatsoever. but... there's smth abt the destruction that ashton did to feel close to the idea of a family that doesn't really exist that just parallels so well with the fight that imogen has been undergoing since childhood. against the red storm, now against the call of ruidus, and the temptation and attachment she felt and still feels to her mother, despite everything liliana has done that jeopardizes everything imogen is fighting for.

abandoned by her mother, shunned by her own town, ignored and feared by her father.

going back to ashton again, there's smth to be said abt the guilt and shame that comes from making horrible choices that put yourself and the ppl you love in danger that forever changes the way they perceive you. I've done it. i had to fight to make things better. it can't be enough to love someone enough that would die for them, you have to fight to stay alive. if not even for yourself, for THEM.

i know it can be unhealthy to rely on others so much, but it's certainly not easy to fight for yourself when the foundation isn't there. learning how to love without throwing yourself on a blade is more important than self sufficiency. that comes afterwards.

i...don't like laudna's reliance on delilah briarwood this episode. i... there's smth very ironic about laudna being worried abt ashton's betrayal and the way he hurt her and the others with his deception and selfishness, coupled with my understanding of the absolute fucking insane, borderline stupid danger of even SPEAKING to delilah briarwood, let alone working WITH her.

i think it's hypocritical, but i don't feel any animosity towards laudna. just..sadness. delilah is a parasite. a disgusting, cruel, evil bitch who wants laudna to be... that weak little girl easily crushed under her thumb. she may preach abt laudna's latent power and potential, but laudna won't serve her purpose if she TRULY gains the strength to cast delilah aside forever. i don't think delilah was telling the truth abt their fates last episode, and that's why i so deeply want laudna to toss aside that defeatist mindset that has only gotten worse since episode one. maybe im wrong, maybe delilah was actually being genuine.

i kept watching imogens/laura's face during laudna's moments speaking with delilah alone, and it just made me sad because she didn't need to be alone. she had imogen, but she still felt the need to run and hide away. god i just want her to be happy.

i really liked the doll she made for ashton, even though delilah made it really creepy for no reason, the dramatic cunt she is. her assessment of ashton as being a child may seem rude or even a projection but to me it's the truth. ashton has not grown past his childhood. past abandonment and pain and mistrust and love that never lasts and always hurts. that shit followed them to adulthood and anyone who has any number of mental illnesses and childhood trauma will tell you that it's so easy to feel yourself stuck as a reactive, stubborn, bitter little kid trapped in a shitty cycle of pain. both ashton and laudna this episode felt like they were both broken, sad children interacting. laudna clinging to comfort from delilah, hiding away, mentally reverting to the person she was the last time she was in whitestone. ashton, clinging to his lost childhood and the acceptance of laudna's doll, the admittance that they'd never had a doll before. god... they're so sad, im gonna scream.

fcg apologizing for forcing faith down ashtons throat was sweet and so was ashton apologizing for being so bitter abt fcg's faith. now i just need fcg to apologize for the multiple instances where he put laudna in danger by casting turn undead with no acknowledgement of laudna afterwards.

fcg saying that ashton didn't love anyone or care about anyone hurt me a bit, because while i understood why they were saying those things, it was so... obviously untrue. before all of this, ashton has shown again and again and again how much he loves bells hells, and especially fcg. i know that ashton almost dying over smth so arrogant, desperate and foolish would make anyone question what someone's idea of "love" is, but still. it stung. maybe because i have been there. i know what it's like to be doubted and mistrusted because you ruined smth good callously and carelessly.

chetney... chetney really loves fearne. i don't care if y'all don't get it or if y'all still think chet is some joke character with no substance, I never understood that shit and i simply never will. chet and fearne probably have the best relationship in all of bells' hells -- and yes, that includes imogen and laudna because god knows those two have shit brewing under the surface that needs to be HANDLED, i.e: laudna being defeatist abt their relationship even tho it's barely begun.

chetney's a good man. him going after fearne was the best choice and im glad he gave her a couple laughs before she went off to wander. he cares about her so much, and he BELIEVES in her so much, and i love them. i LOVED the way he went in on ashton. hurting fearne by making a shitty decision and letting her bear the burden of watching ashton die right in front of her was... bad. it is very complicated but, that's pretty cut and dry.

i like him testing ashton again and again. telling him to leave but also being glad they chose to be brave and stay, and face the consequences of their actions. attacking ashton to see what all of any of that shit was even for. (im a little bummed that the shard didn't fully wake up yet but...i love the suspense im just impatient).

FEARNE. CALLOWAY. i love fearne, and i love the breakdown during the first part of the episode. it was such a raw moment and it established the tone of the episode so quickly. im glad that fearne knows that while ashton fucked up royally, her rejecting of the shard and complacence in ashton's plans was also royally stupid. i don't think her being terrified of taking the shard is bad or stupid, it's actually one of my favorite fearne character choices. no one ever actually asked her WHY she didn't want it, and when she said she didn't want it, it was still decided by the hells that the shard would go to fearne. (they're very shit at communication, poor babies). im happy that she specifically clarified that ashton did not threaten or manipulate her (plus he gave her many opportunities to not be involved with his bullshit if it made her uncomfy so im hoping the insane critters who keep treating ashton like some evil, predatory person finally stfu).

fearne being so scared of a version of herself that was sad, lonely, and "evil" to the point that she chose to believe that it was ashton's destiny to take in both shards is so... so rich. i hope she talks about that more in the next episode because i don't think she's EVER brought it up since exu. i don't think the shard would change fearne's personality but god the fact that SHE is so afraid of herself and what she's capable of.... AHHHH. love this damn party.

i hope liam knows that expect really painful roleplaying from him when he comes back cause i really do need ashton and orym interactions like i need air.

the choice to go to the fey realm was brilliant and i missed nana morri so it's a win for me. bells hells COULD have done what they've been doing for a while now, which is ignoring the pain they're all feeling and pushing forward, but ashton doing what they did was the straw that broke the camel's back and im GLAD because i have been begging them all to have real conversations with each other that don't get cut short prematurely for whatever reason.

i do hope that they do really lean into the self care aspect involving therapy and talking through their issues with ALL of the members present or even in groups, and it isn't just fun and games. they're prone to distraction. i love my little guys.

:( two weeks without bells hells. is it thursday, yet???

[mugmegan]

I always get leg pain whenever my period hits so I am kinda confused to never having seen discussion of it. It makes standing hard and is one of the most bothersome parts of my period hurdles. So...

As example, I get it from around the hip and crotch area all the way to my knees and down to my ankles. Where my legs meet my hips, knees and ankles hurt the most, while I would describe the pain to generally feel like a nerve running down my legs is aching.

[minecraftbookshelf]

To Walk a Mile In Each Others Shoes: Bad Math

Summary: The soulbonds have consequences, and for some they are more welcome than others. Martyn & Cleo Edition

Characters: InTheLittleWood & ZombieCleo

Word Count: 267

General Note: I'm posting these as separate one-shot style posts for each soulbond pair. They are all written but I have them queued up and spaced out. All posted will be on this blog under the tag "to walk a mile in each others shoes," linked at the bottom of the other posted ones, and also on my AO3, which is linked on my pinned post.

-

His skin is falling off.

He notices half-way through building the Heart, when he stops for food and realizes that his arm is the wrong color.

A quick inspection shows a few more spots, on his cheek, on his side, on his thigh, where the skin has either changed texture to a leathery, dead feel, or is coming off altogether.

A few more days and there is a stiffness in his limbs that wasn't there before, joints protesting every time he moves as if they are supposed be stiff and still. As if rigor mortis is trying to set in.

Almost hysterically Martyn wonders if soon he'll be as rotten and hollow inside as he feels.

-

Cleo doesn't make a habit out of letting themself be fussed by things they can't control. It's a waste of time and energy and she has much better things to do.

But whatever is going on is weird and she doesn't like it.

The closest they can describe it, when Scott asks is an impending sense of vertigo. Like the world itself might fall out from under them at any moment. Like the very fabric of reality might be snatched away.

Also she's gained some of the more standard living sensations back and its altogether unpleasant. She hasn't been able to feel or taste or smell this well in a very long time and. It's a lot.

And pain. They haven't felt this sharp kind of pain in so long. It hurts in a way only Life can, when they have long become used to the ache of Undeath.

-

Team Ranchers || Team Box || Dessert Duo || The Boat Boys || The Homewreckers || Bad Math || Tilly Death Do Us Part

[batsplat]

your sampras/agassi post was life changing... my god

(said post) thank you!! I'm really pleased by the pick up that post has gotten - I don't post much about tennis on here, but it always has and always will be my number one sport and this rivalry is one that's very dear to my heart. incidentally, I got a similar ask prompting a write up of the henin/clijsters rivalry, so when I find the time I'll talk about them in similar depth too. now there's a rivalry that definitely deserves more attention that it gets

but speaking of agassi/sampras, while I have you here... there's one particular match from 1994 I only very briefly alluded to that does also speak rather nicely to the themes of that rivalry. it's the final of key biscayne (aka miami), played at a time when sampras is the dominant world number one and agassi is still on just the single slam. the reason why this match is so notable is that it could very easily not have happened. sampras was struggling with health issues at that point of his career - and before the match was scheduled to start, agassi came upon him lying prone on the locker room floor with severe stomach pain

sampras was not ready to start the match at the scheduled start time. by rights, it should have been agassi's win via walkover. the tournament directors requested that agassi agree to a delay of the match - it's particularly awkward to have to cancel a final, after all, with thousands of spectators present to see the big match (x)

On March 20, when Agassi entered the locker room before the final, he witnessed a very unusual scene: Sampras was lying on the ground, suffering from a stomach ache. There was no way Sampras could be ready to start the final on time, which would make Agassi the Miami champion. However, the world No 1 thought he would be able to play if Agassi agreed to delay the final by an hour. Agassi agreed. “It’s not about winning the tournament; it’s about taking pride in what you do,” Agassi explained later, according to The New York Times. “If I couldn’t beat Pete healthy, I didn’t deserve to win the tournament.”

delaying it by A WHOLE HOUR is just objectively extremely generous from agassi - though of course the expectation was that sampras surely wouldn't be particularly competitive anyway. sampras got an IV drip that managed to at least get him back on his feet and ready to take to the court. so at last, after all the fuss and delay, they manage to get the match started. here's agassi in his autobiography describing the delay:

After dispatching Becker, I’m in the final. My opponent? Pete. As always, Pete. The match is slated for national TV. Brad and I are both keyed up as we walk into the locker room, only to find Pete lying on the ground. A doctor and a trainer are leaning over him. The tournament director hovers in the background. Pete brings his knees up to his chest and groans. Food poisoning, the doctor says. Brad whispers to me, Guess you just won Key Biscayne. The director takes Brad and me aside and asks if we’d be willing to give Pete time to recover. I feel Brad stiffen. I know what he wants me to say. But I tell the director, Give Pete all the time he needs. The director sighs and puts his hand on my arm. Thank you, he says. We’ve got fourteen thousand people out there. Plus the network. Brad and I lounge around the locker room, flipping channels on the TV, making phone calls. I dial Brooke, who’s auditioning for Grease on Broadway. Otherwise, she’d be here. Brad shoots me an evil glare. Relax, I tell him, Pete probably won’t get better. The doctor gives Pete an IV, then props him on his feet. Pete wobbles, a newborn colt. He’ll never make it. The tournament director comes to us. Pete’s ready, he says. Fucking A, Brad says. So are we. Should be a short night, I tell Brad.

now, I reckon by now you should be able to guess where this is going. you can find the full match on youtube (samprasfan1987 one of the absolute goats of historical tennis match youtube), though unfortunately only with german commentary. here's three minute highlights with truly horrendous quality:

and I'd recommend it as a match to experience in its entirety. it's........ it's not the best match you'll ever see. it's not the best match those two have played. it's certainly a match those two have played. but, y'know, the thing about tennis is that sometimes it just isn't the best matches that are the most compelling... sometimes it's the matches where both players are fighting their demons. sometimes it's compelling to watch the demons win

because of course sampras can't do the decent thing and just roll over and die. he just HAS to come out swinging, clearly rattling agassi with how he can actually somehow play proper tennis in his condition. this match is such a fun little case study of what an absolute bitch it is to play a physically diminished opponent. the spectators, the commentator, you the viewer, and agassi himself - everyone knows that agassi SHOULD be winning this match. of course he should!! sampras was lying on the FLOOR an hour ago, he's had to IV his way back to his feet, agassi is giving him the "newborn colt" descriptors. and this kind of set-up does run the risk of making you feel like it's a lose-lose situation. if you win, you only won because your opponent was off your game. if you lose, then you're a fucking moron who couldn't even put away the weakest version of your rival

and it's clearly affecting agassi, who plays poorly at the start of the match. he quickly goes down 2-5*, double break to sampras, not finding his rhythm and reeling off a litany of cheap errors as sampras ticks up his games with typical metronomic efficiency. agassi might be making sampras' life easier, but sampras certainly isn't playing like a man who'd lain stricken with agony a short while earlier. then, however, agassi rallies - finds his game, loosens up, probably because he was already down on the scoreboard. the worst case scenario was already happening. the momentum switches quickly and it looks like sampras might be ailing physically after all. agassi still isn't playing his best - but he takes it to sampras, cleans up the error count a little and takes five consecutive games to win the first set 7-5. which, well. a physically healthy sampras generally does not get broken three service games in a row. not with his serve

so going into the second set, it looks like... well, maybe sampras had only about half an hour of decent tennis in him. now he's run out of steam, it's basically game over, right? agassi can cruise home to take the match and the title - probably shouldn't have let the first set get so spooky, but all's well that ends well. spectators got their show, agassi doesn't fall apart against a guy who might keel over any minute

except... except. first set to agassi, and the pressure's once again on him... once again, he's the guy who's supposed to be winning. sampras is down, might be out - he has no reason not to swing freely in a match he probably should be losing. and unfortunately for agassi, there's no guarantee sampras might not recover again physically somewhat after all. energy levels can wax and wane - if you're trying to manage some kind of physical issue, you might be struggling for a while before suddenly clicking back into gear again. agassi has the momentum, sampras has nothing to lose

you know what happens next. sampras gets better and better. agassi gives up a cheap break early in the second - by the third, sampras does manage to find a strong level. it's basically one way traffic. sampras takes the victory. agassi takes another blow

or, as the washington post would put it in a true all timer sports headline:

lovely

here is sampras' description of that episode:

Meanwhile, in a development I kept secret from everyone, I was battling physical problems of my own, although they were paltry compared to Tim’s. For more than a year, I had been struggling with bouts of nausea and an inability, at times, to keep food or even water down. The situation started sometime in 1993, and was so aggravated by the spring of 1994 that I was unable to make the start time for the final of the important Key Biscayne tournament, in which I was to play Andre Agassi. In a gesture I still appreciate, Andre agreed to postpone the scheduled 1 P.M. start of the final for an hour, while I took an intravenous glucose drip. I had been throwing up all morning, which I blamed on the pasta dinner I’d had the night before. The IV did the job, rehydrating me, and I went on to win the final in three sets. At the time, I wanted to believe that the episodes were somehow related to dehydration.

and his immediate post-match comments:

“I woke up at 7 feeling nauseated, heaving and gagging; I didn’t think I’d be able to go out and play,” Sampras added. “But I feel a lot better now. As the match wore on, the adrenaline started kicking in and I started to think I could win when the chips are down. That sort of showed me I’ve got guts.”

guts that were nearly spilling out of him at one point, one might note

and on agassi's side:

“Once he got in front, he started serving big, and that was it,” Agassi commented. “Part of me was saying there was no way he could stay out there for three sets…. I was wrong.” During the trophy ceremony, tournament founder Butch Bucholz thanked Agassi for his sportsmanship, and the runner-up received a standing ovation from the crowd. 

I'm sure agassi felt better getting a standing ovation for having been made a fool of

and that's the problem, isn't it, hinted at by agassi's own line - playing a diminished opponent forces you to think far far more than you should be. it increases the stakes. it makes you feel like you should be winning. it saps at your concentration. it requires you to resist feeling any sympathy or even pity for your opponent when they're struggling. it makes you wonder if you should be taking advantage of your opponent's condition, make them move around the court more, prolong the points, change your style of play to better suit the situation. it makes you wary of celebrating too much, partly out of respect and partly out of a sense of dignity, messes with your motivation levels. makes you think too much about how people are reacting to the match when you should be focusing on how you're playing it. it makes you try and peer into the future - wondering when their level might drop off, if you just need to hold out until their legs give way... all these extra considerations, eating away at your concentration and mental strength. on the flip side, it can make everything easier for the struggling player: they know they only have limited options to pull off the win, they know they probably shouldn't be winning, so they can opt for simplicity over turmoil

it's a universal dynamic in tennis, happens to the best of us - but this specific scenario does also feel like it just happens to be perfect for this specific rivalry. as always, pete; as always, denying andre. sampras, who could swing freely and fight as hard as he dared and show his guts and emerge victorious. agassi, plagued by doubts, second guessing himself as he lets his inevitable rival inevitably snatch away another victory. from right under his nose. after having been lying prone on the locker room floor in front of agassi's own eyes

as ever, of course, agassi himself puts it best:

But Pete does it again. He sends his evil twin onto the court. This is not the Pete who was curled in a ball on the locker-room floor. This is not the Pete who was getting an IV and wobbling in circles. This Pete is in the prime of life, serving at warp speed, barely breaking a sweat. He’s playing his best tennis, unbeatable, and he jumps out to a 5–1 lead. Now I’m angry. I feel as if I found a wounded bird, brought it home, and nursed it back to health, only to have it try to peck my eyes out. I fight back and win the set. Surely I’ve withstood the only attack Pete can mount. He can’t possibly have anything left. But in the second set he’s even better. And in the third he’s a freak. He wins the best-of-three match. I burst into the locker room. Brad is waiting for me, seething. He says again that if he’d been in my place, he’d have forced Pete to forfeit. He’d have demanded that the director fork over the winner’s check. That’s not me, I tell Brad. I don’t want to win like that. Besides, if I can’t beat a guy who’s poisoned, lying on the ground, I don’t deserve it. Brad abruptly stops talking. His eyes get big. He nods. He can’t argue with that. He respects my principles, he says, even though he doesn’t agree. We walk out of the stadium together like Bogart and Claude Rains at the end of Casablanca. The beginning of a beautiful friendship. A vital new member of the team.

such an impressive act of sportsmanship. so completely unrewarded. god, I LOVE the wounded bird trying to peck agassi's eyes out description. can you IMAGINE how annoying that must be if you're agassi? what a thorn in your side this one guy must be? what does it TAKE to put this bloke away? doesn't even have the decency to lose when he's needing an IV drip to take to the court. always, always, ALWAYS catching agassi by surprise. in their first slam final when agassi should've been the favourite, in that 2001 uso quarterfinal when agassi was in far better form, in their last ever slam final and match... even here, when sampras should have been a shell of himself. somehow sampras finds something, somehow he has an evil doppelgaenger to send out in his stead. no wonder he kept scrambling agassi's brain. what a nightmare to deal with