#i imagine pain like sharp this is just Very uncomfortable and Bad

[rebelliousmuse]

Reassurance – C. S.

Warnings: cute at first, smut at the end; insecurities, "cheating", unprotected p in v (don’t do that), oral.

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A sudden shake went through the mattress. Chris muttered something incoherent. The room was silent except for the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the sharp gasps escaping his lips. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, you could see him twist and turn, his brow furrowed in distress. He must be having a horrific nightmare. With a soft sigh, you reached out and gently ran your fingers through his long hair, whispering soothing words you hoped would reach him in the depths of his sleep.

Chris nightmare:

The familiar warmth of their living room bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight. Chris's heart skipped a beat as he saw you sitting on the couch, a radiant smile illuminating your face. But his joy dissolved faster than mist as he saw who you were talking to. Matt. He lounged comfortably across from you; his arm casually draped over the back of the couch. The air crackled with intimacy that made Chris clench his fists.

Memories flickered through Chris's mind like a slideshow. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you genuinely laughed at his jokes, not the way they did now at a throwaway comment from Matt. The warmth of your hand slipping into his as you watched movies on this very couch. A wave of nausea washed over him as he saw you lean in, your eyes sparkling with a happiness that used to be reserved for him.

Chris tried to call out to you, a desperate plea stuck in his throat. He was a ghost in his own home, unseen and unheard. The scent of your lavender shampoo, a scent that used to fill him with comfort, now felt like a cruel mockery. The sound of your laughter, a sound that once filled their house with joy, now scraped against his raw nerves. As Matt closed the distance and your lips met, a sob escaped Chris's lips. The pain was so intense it felt real, a physical ache in his chest.

Chris woke with a gasp that ripped through the quiet room. His eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, as he stared at the wall opposite the bed. His body trembled slightly, and he threw the covers off in a single, jerky motion. Fragments of the nightmare flickered through his mind - the kiss, the way you looked at Matt, the feeling of being invisible. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. "Not again," he thought, his throat constricting. "Why do I always come second to Matt?" Remembering the times he was used by other girls just to get his brother. Just then, a gentle hand began to caress his back, a soft movement that slowly brought him back to the present. “y/n?" he whispered; his voice raspy. You leaned closer, your voice laced with concern as you asked, “What's wrong, Chris?”

Chris shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting away from yours. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again with a sigh. A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face, quickly masked by a strained smile. "It was just a bad dream," he finally mumbled, the words barely audible.

You watched him closely. "I can tell," you said softly, with empathy. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, his jaw clenching slightly. The thought of revealing his nightmare, of you even considering Matt in that way, was unbearable. He couldn't bear the thought of you questioning his worth, of even entertaining the idea of Matt. "No," he said definitively, his voice a touch sharper than he intended.

You squeezed his hand gently, acknowledging his distress. "Okay," you murmured, leaning against his shoulder. With a soft sigh, Chris allowed himself to be pulled back into bed. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as if sheltering him from the storm raging inside. Your fingers began to thread through his long, brown hair.

The dream's images flickered behind his eyelids, the sting of Matt's imagined presence still fresh. He winced at the thought of voicing his insecurities. Were they even valid concerns, or just the echoes of the past? A fierce protectiveness for this newfound happiness welled up within him. He couldn't risk putting it in danger with insecurities. He loved you too much, the thought of losing you was too terrifying.

The internal fight had finally drained him. With a shaky breath, Chris blurted out, "You kissed Matt… you loved him." His voice was barely a whisper.

You cupped his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Oh Chris, no," you whispered, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb. "That will never happen. It was just a horrible nightmare, but it’s not real, never. I love you, Chris. You, with your infectious laugh. You, with your thoughtful nature. You, with those captivating blue eyes that seem to hold a whole summer sky within them."

With each declaration, you leaned in and placed kisses on him. A soft kiss landed on his forehead for his laugh, another one on his cheek for his thoughtfulness, and a final, passionate kiss on his lips for his eyes.

As your love washed over him, you felt him relax in your embrace. His shaky breaths calmed, replaced by a slow, steady rhythm. A smile, genuine and relieved, spread across his face. His captivating blue eyes, no longer filled with worry, locked onto yours with a depth of love that mirrored your own.

You stayed tangled in bed, the warmth of your bodies chasing away the chill of the nightmare. A low rumble from his stomach made you both chuckle.

"Sounds like someone's ready for breakfast," you teased, brushing a kiss against his temple.

Chris cracked a tired smile. "Maybe," he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"Pancakes sound good?" you suggested.

He finally opened his eyes, a spark of gratitude flickering within them. "Perfect," he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.

As you spent the day together, you marveled at the way the sunlight danced in his captivating blue eyes, a silent compliment that brought a blush to his cheeks. Later, during a playful game of mini-golf, you cheered him on, genuinely impressed by his unexpected trick shot. "You're such a natural!" you exclaimed, squeezing his hand. With each compliment, each touch, you felt a wall crumble within him, replacing the insecurity with the reassurance of your love.

At night, laughter still lingered in the air from shared stories over a delicious dinner you'd prepared together. With full bellies and empty plates, you decided to set the mood for a night of cozy intimacy. You browsed through a playlist on your phone, familiar tunes filled the air as you sang and danced with your boyfriend. Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love" started playing, Chris smiled, he knew how much you liked old songs.

Chris cleared his throat, a nervous flutter in his eyes that instantly melted your heart. He hesitantly extended a hand towards you. A smile bloomed on your face as you slipped your hand into his. He pulled you close, swaying gently to the rhythm.

Lost in the world of Elvis's melody, you swayed gently, your foreheads joined. Your eyes were locked. A universe of emotions swirled within – gratitude, love, a newfound sense of security.

The final notes of "Can't Help Falling in Love" faded into silence, replaced by the unmistakable sound of a Lil Skies song. You blinked, pulled back slightly, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your hand.

Chris's gaze followed yours, a playful glint in his eyes. "Should we watch a movie?" he suggested, his voice a husky murmur. Though the mood had shifted slightly, there was an unspoken tenderness that hung in the air.

Nestled comfortably on the bed, you scrolled through movie options with a playful smile. "How about this one?" Chris suggested, pointing at a sci-fi thriller.

"Hmm," you hummed, reading the synopsis. "Not sure I'm in the mood for aliens tonight."

"Okay, how about this action one?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "We watched that one last month, remember?"

The laughter lines crinkled around Chris's eyes as he continued browsing. Finally, he landed on a film you both recognized – a comedy you'd both enjoyed in trailers. "This one?"

"Perfect!" you exclaimed, snuggling closer to him as he pressed play.

You curled up against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. As the movie unfolded, a comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional laugh. At some point, you felt his eyes on you. You turned your head, meeting Chris's eyes. His gaze held an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. There was a depth of emotion in them, a look that spoke volumes about his feelings.

A smile spread across his face, warm and genuine. He leaned in, and you met him halfway. The kiss was soft, filled with a tenderness that sent a wave of warmth through you. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. "You're incredible," he murmured.

With a contented sigh, you snuggled back into his embrace, the glow of the movie screen painting a warm light on your faces. The movie continued, but your focus had shifted.

The movie became a mere backdrop, the sound muffled by the growing hum of desire within you. You stole a glance at Chris, his profile bathed in the soft light of the screen. You bit your lower lip as your gaze lingered on the curve of his jaw, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Unconsciously, you traced a finger along his arm, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt through you.

Suddenly, a loud laugh erupted from Chris. The scene on the screen displayed a character in a hilarious situation, but you barely registered it. Your attention was solely on him, on the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the joy radiating from his smile.

He turned to you, expecting you to share his amusement. But your serious expression made his playful glint falter. "What's wrong?" he started to ask, but the question died on his lips.

Before he could finish, you captured his lips in a kiss. It was a hungry kiss, fuelled by a yearning that had been building throughout the night. Chris melted into your touch, a surprised gasp escaping his lips before he responded with equal fervour. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your bodies pressed together in a silent plea for more.

Suddenly, you feel his playful smile against your lips as your fingers gently tugged the hem of his shirt. Chris understood instantly. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he lifted himself slightly from the bed, allowing you better access.

His shirt slipped away easily, breaking the kiss, revealing the expanse of his torso bathed in the moonlight streaming through the window. You started kissing again, your hands moved with a newfound confidence, tracing the defined lines of his muscles. Your fingertips lingered on the smooth skin of his chest, sending a sigh escaping his lips as you explored every delicious inch.

He stopped kissing you to take your shirt off as well, revealing no bra on you, letting him see your tits as he bit his lower lip, bringing his hands up to grab your right boob, playing with your nipple. Meanwhile, his lips trailed a path of fire down your neck, lingering on the sensitive skin just behind your ear. A gasp escaped your lips, half a moan, half a laugh. His hands, cool against your heated skin, skimmed down your arms, sending shivers chasing each other. They reached the edge of your shorts, gently grazing the exposed skin before dipping teasingly beneath the fabric.

A surge of heat shot through him as he shifted, taking control and positioning himself above you. With practiced ease, one hand went to take your shots and underwear off, slowly teasing it downwards, revealing a glimpse of creamy skin before discarding it entirely. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the curve of your hip, a flicker of possessiveness crossing his features before settling into a smug smirk. His own breath hitched in his throat, mirroring the quickening pace of yours. He licked his lips, a slow, sensual sweep of his tongue.

A smile spread across his face as his gaze drifted down your figure. "Fuck, babe," he murmured, his voice a low and raspy, "you are perfect." His eyes devoured you.

The words were barely out before you were yanking him in for another kiss. It was urgent, a collision of lips fuelled by a desperation that left you breathless. Tongues tangled fiercely, a battle for dominance that left you both lightheaded.

With a low groan, you surged forward, instinctively throwing yourself on top of him. His playful facade faltered for a moment, replaced by surprise that quickly morphed into amusement as he raised an eyebrow playfully.

Dipping your head, your lips brushed the sensitive skin of his neck, sending a shiver through him. A playful bite, the sharp press of your teeth, drew a gasp from his lips, the sound swallowed by a moan that vibrated against your ear.

His hand shot up, tangled in your hair, anchoring you to him as you continued your descent. Each kiss was a spark, a deliberate exploration down his torso, his muscles hardening beneath your touch. You lingered on the sharp angles of his hip bones, feeling the heat radiating through your fingertips and lips. A choked moan escaped his lips, his voice husky when he finally spoke.

"Don't tease," he pleaded, his eyes meeting yours, a mixture of desperation and amusement. With agonizing slowness, you moved a fraction closer, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

You took his dick in your mouth, tracing circles with your tongue, feeling the heat on his skin. His head tilted back, exposing his throat. His eyes fluttered shut, then squeezed tight, lines crinkling at the corners. A low groan rumbled from his chest, growing deeper and more urgent with each stroke. As you shifted your movements, a gasp escaped his lips, his breathing heavy. "I-I'm about to..." he stammered, his voice thick with desire. You could feel his muscles tense beneath you, a response to the increasing intensity. You welcomed his release in your mouth, swallowing his cum, and started leaving a trail of wet kisses, you moved upwards, your tongue lingering on the taut skin of his torso.

Your voice dipped low, a husky whisper against his ear. "You taste so sweet, baby," you said with desire. Your hand trailed down his spine, fingers digging lightly into the heated muscles beneath. He met your gaze, a flicker of hunger danced there before he leaned in, his lips brushing yours tentatively at first. Then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss deepened, his mouth hot and demanding against yours.

With a groan, Chris shifted, his weight settling possessively on top of me. Your breath hitched, a choked plea escaping your lips. "I need you, please," You whispered, your body arching up instinctively. He met your gaze, a dark fire burning in his eyes. "My needy girl, don't you want me to..." he began, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. You cut him off, your voice trembling with urgency. "No, please Chris, I really really need you, please." His smirk widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Begging for me? Damn baby, you know what it does to me," he said, his voice a low rumble. He moved with deliberate slowness, positioning himself between your legs, drawing out the anticipation before finally claiming what you both craved.

Chris began to move slowly, you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Faster, Chris, please," you gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea. His response was immediate. He surged forward, his jaw clenching tight, a low growl escaping his throat. Your nails dug into his back, carving lines that you knew would turn red later. He didn't flinch, his grip on your thighs sending a delicious shiver down your spine as he thrusted deep and fast into you. "God, you're doing so good for me, babe," he rasped into your ear, his voice thick with desire “So fucking good”.

A wildfire appeared in your stomach as Chris's dick grazed your g spot, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His voice, usually deep and steady, was now a husky rasp that sent goosebumps erupting over your skin. "Damn, love," he breathed, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're so tight," he finished in a strangled whisper, his body tensing on top of yours.

"C-Chris," You stammered, your voice barely above a whimper. "I'm g-gonna…" The words caught in your throat as the feeling intensified. A smirk played on his lips, his eyes burning with desire.

"Cum for me, pretty girl," he commanded in a husky growl. The world dissolved around you in a wave of pure pleasure, sending you soaring to your peak, wetting the bedsheets.

A shudder racked Chris's body as he released, followed by a sigh of contentment. He rolled onto his side, pulling you close so you could feel the warmth of his skin against you. Drowsily, you traced lazy circles on his chest.

"You were incredible, my love," You mumbled, your voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked down at you.

"I love you, honey," he murmured, his voice husky but tender.

"I love you too," You whispered back, snuggling closer, content to simply exist in the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

[shadowkoo]

disgraceful dreams - teaser

→ Summary: After two years of lustful pining and disgraceful dreams about someone far out of your reach, you decide the only way to move past your hopeless crush on Onyx Academy's star student is by taking part in the Lupercalia festival for the very first time.

↠ wooyoung x f.reader (feat. yeosang) | teaser wc: 491 (16.4k~ total) | 18+ ↠ genre: witch/warlock au, smut, virgin!reader, inspired by s2e3 of caos, slowburn

→ Full Fic Warnings: little bit of social class discrimination, cult-ish behavior (mentions of blood, Y/N uses a knife to cut her hand for binding/ritual purposes), being ‘hunted’ like prey, explicit sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, pet names, praise kink, biting, nipple play, breast play, begging, fingering, mutual masturbation, oral (female and male receiving), exhibitionism, voyeurism, partial agoraphilia & semi-public sex, dirty talk, heavy teasing, spanking, multiple orgasms, grinding, deep dicking, size kink (wooyoung is HUNGGG), magical sex, fucking up against a tree, slight age gap (y/n is 20 and wooyoung is 25), slight corruption, choking, possessive!wooyoung, woo is ravenous for you (you’re welcome)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @pirateeznet @cromernet

@illusionnet @othersideoutlawsnetwork @cultofdionysusnet

→ Release Date: 10/31/24

↠ want to be notified when this is posted? join my taglist here!

Under the safety of your blankets, you move quietly, as if any sudden movement could betray your secret. One hand begins to massage your breasts through your thin tank top, the other sliding down toward your pink panties.

Taking a deep breath, you open your legs, allowing your fingers to slip beneath the dampening fabric. After spreading your juices around, you rub your clit before slowly dipping your first finger into your slick entrance. The sensation is unfamiliar—neither bad nor uncomfortable, just something you're not used to. The pain of the stretch lingers, leaving a strange warmth that you can't quite place.

You close your eyes and pretend that Wooyoung is there with you. Swiftly, you begin to curl your fingers, simultaneously bucking into your hand. You picture him hovering over you, but the image clouds over, shifting into a different scene that becomes sharper.

Wooyoung is also in bed, with his hand wrapped around his exposed, thick cock, lazily pumping it. There’s something unsettlingly vivid about this image, as if it’s not just a product of your imagination. It feels real—too real. Gasping, you realize that he’s in your head, projecting himself, revealing his presence in a way that makes your heart race.

Then, as if he can sense that you've finally caught on to his wicked scheme, a dark smile tugs at the corner of his lips, the kind that makes your body’s temperature spike. “Are you touching yourself, like I asked you to?”

You suck in a sharp breath and nod instinctively, even though you know he can’t physically see you. But somehow, you sense that he knows.

“I bet you are,” he hums, closing his eyes while running his thumb over his pink head. He tosses his head back as he strokes himself, “I bet that tight little virgin cunt of yours needs some good stretching before she’s ready for me.”

Feeling the heat rising to the tips of your ears, they’re red from the weight of his words, like they’re wrapping themselves around you, pulling you deeper into his influence. The knot in your lower belly grows as you match your little finger thrusts to the speed of his hand pumps.

“Add another finger, honey, I know you can,” Wooyoung groans, his hand moving a little faster. “Look at how my cock aches to be sunk inside your sweet folds.”

You do as he commands. You’re panting at this point; completely zeroed in on his throbbing length while you climb towards bliss. The silent room fills with a sinful pattern of squelches from each thrust into your lush heat, and a divine sensation washes over you.

“Goddess, I’m about to make a mess,” he whines, a sound that you’ll never be able to forget. He stills, letting out another beautiful noise while his seed shoots out across his abs, some even on his dark silk sheets.

“That’s just a preview,” he grins devilishly, “Sleep well, Y/N.”

→ Taglist: @gyupremacy @yoonguurt @starsrens (join my taglist here!)

©shadowkoo 2024. All rights reserved.

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Secondo x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: So . . . I'm already really bad at these types of things. But I think writing one of these on this type of subject matter is still important. Fanfiction is kind of a very rough place when it comes to acknowledging or writing for sexual disorders. On one hand, I am to assume this is because fanfic, by its very nature, is meant to be like wish fulfillment. Reader inserts are often meant to be the representations of the best versions of ourselves. But . . . I dunno, I feel like that can only go so far when you see representations of all kinds of disorders or issues or even complete non-issues. And yet virtually nothing is ever made with people who have conditions like vaginismus or whatever in mind. I love a good smut but sometimes, reading stuff makes me flinch inward and all I can focus on is the pain I would be in from even a pinky tip trying anything. I just think it's important to try and remind people that PiV isn't the only way to "get stuff done" and that it should be okay if that's a struggle for you. Some people can work their way out of the condition, and some people never do. And I think it should be okay to write about it because all too often it's easy to forget that or feel like you've lost out on being loved or understood over something that, in the grand scheme, is so silly. And since I have the condition and there's a chance I may never get out of it thanks to my fucked up noggin, I think this should be an opportunity to write about it. Hope I did okay. There might be more to follow . . .

Word Count: 2394 CW: Vaginismus and all the lovely self-loathing it entails, reader has a vagina, references to aspects of BDSM ig, MDNI

In your defense, you didn't think it would go this far. Certainly, one could argue that Secondo was a serious man: He wasn't prone to playing with food that wasn't absolutely his to consume. But you supposed you had forgotten that, or maybe you were just high on the the arrogant assumption that you might be a special case. Or maybe it just slipped your mind to intervene when the teasing glances, subtle and overt flirtations, and little talks between you kept going and going and going until --

Now look where it had gotten you: Sat in the office of the most intimidating Emeritus brother, a packet of documents lying on the desk before you, along with an elaborate green and silver fountain pen.

Secondo preferred to use contracts when it came to his potential bedmates he had a particular eye for. Ones he had an especial intention of keeping closer. Longer.

To many, this was an absolute honor. You knew plenty of siblings that would probably kill to be in your place. And as you sat wordlessly before both Papa and his documents, you contemplated throwing yourself onto those swords.

It would certainly be quicker and less painful than ducking out after coming this far.

You could picture it: St. Andrew's crosses, leather, hot wax searing deliciously into your skin, his sharp voice directing wicked degradation before salving you with praises. All the scrumptious things Papa II had gained a notoriety for indulging. You would gladly eat it all up and beg for seconds and thirds.

But you couldn't stop it there; it had to go further. Nobody just. Stops there. Nobody normal, anyway.

The problem was that you didn't consider yourself normal. Which was what made imagining him getting into position all the more mortifying even if in concept. You could picture yourself trying to convert the anticipation you were meant to feel from one of nerves into one of bliss but it doesn't matter. You try so hard to relax and be in the moment but it's a terrible moment!

You'd heard Secondo was blessed. The idea sat in your stomach while its surroundings shriveled in fear and constricted to an uncomfortable degree. Hell, it wouldn't even matter if he were the opposite of blessed: It would all hurt the same. It would still feel as though a needle were shanking its way into your most intimate parts, piercing onward until it struck your lungs and took the oxygen right out of you. And that would only be the beginning of it.

And just thinking that was enough to make the mask slip.

You prayed to Lucifer that the sound of you wordlessly nudging the papers and pen closer to Secondo would somehow be enough to disguise the whimper paining your throat. Unfortunately, it was not.

Your already throbbing stomach somehow made enough room to swallow your heart when you saw the older man's brow quirk.

"Something the matter, Sorella?" His voice, the one you'd grown to swoon into after all these passing weeks, made you want to flinch now. Fuck. You could feel your resolve slipping through your fingers like sand and creating further mess. You just needed to keep it together --

"N-no," you forced out. You tried not to dwell on how tight your voice sounded or how it even hurt just to utter that. A complete opposite to how smooth and natural it had been when you answered his invitation to his office earlier. You weren't even sure why you hadn't expected this to be the reason for such a request. You were so naive then . . .

You tried to push through the pain, tried add on, "I'm just --" but stopped almost immediately. You had no idea what to continue with. Fuck, you were fucking this up so badly! You seriously began to contemplate just standing up and leaving, but then where would that get you?

You still lived here, in the Abbey. Avoiding a Papa was virtually impossible at the end of the day. There was no way you two could carry on as though nothing had ever happened -- the flirting, the gazes, all that junk . . . Oh, Satanas, would you need to relocate? Uproot the life you'd finally managed to create for yourself here, sent off somewhere else just to hide the humiliation of what you were and what you had or hadn't done?

Satan, why did it feel so hot in here? Was that why the air suddenly feel like it was only oozing into your lungs with difficulty?

Clearly, Secondo did not take the silence well. His lips pressed into a thin line. "If I have insulted you, Sorella, I deeply apologize." No . . . "I thought you were aware of my practices." No!! He reached a large, ringed hand out to pull the items back towards him. And somehow, that was the final straw, the final snap before the dam collapsed.

It was like watching your last chance for something being taken away from you, even of your own accord! In fact, it was exactly that: Something you knew was necessary but it didn't have to be that way but fuck, your body and mind were at odds with each other and making it your problem and --

You hadn't even noticed that you'd turned into a crying, hiccuping mess, much less one that talked. It was only when you could see through your tears an actually surprised-looking Secondo (he was capable of shock?!) that you comprehended just what sort of state you were in.

And if it was enough to make the most emotionally constipated man in the Church look disquieted, then you must've been in a sorry state. The room only felt more hot as the burn of embarrassment enveloped you. You hoped it might even consume you in a full-throttle case of spontaneous human combustion as you struggled to swallow back up everything you'd just done.

"I-I-" you hiccuped wetly. It was so hard to formulate words underneath his gaze, which he never took off of you even as he reached for a box of tissues to offer you. You knew it was one of concern, searching for traces that maybe you needed help he couldn't offer you. But for the state your mind was currently in, it twisted it into one of disgust; like maybe all those affections he might've held for you an hour ago were being replaced with ones where all he saw was a madwoman.

It was almost too much. But it was also too late to go back now, wasn't it?

"I . . . My body doesn't work right," you finally admitted in a croaked murmur. Your eyes flew down to your lap in shame, watching your hands twist and tear at the wet tissues you'd just used. "It's a condition. Like my body clenches up down there at the mere thought of penetration. So . . . So sex is off the table, basically. I'm s-sorry . . ."

God, it sounded all so lame when you said it like that. But what else could you really do? How could you communicate to him the physical and mental pain it all caused you? How could you get across to him the embarrassment that came with pap smears, the shame you felt when recognizing how behind your peers you were? Would he sympathize or pity you if he learned that on a good day, you could get the very tip of a well-lubricated q-tip in and have to consider that a victory?

You weren't able to even formulate such thoughts, let alone predict how he might feel besides, perhaps, disappointment. Maybe even disgust.

Secondo liked the finer things in life, after all: How must he feel, knowing he'd wasted so much time and energy on something that was actually broken the whole time?

"I . . . I'm so sorry." At this, your fidgeting froze, your mind beckoning for you to glance up even the slightest. In doing so, even from such an awkward angle, you could see your Papa's expression remain nearly unchanged from before. It was still worried for you, though now with a touch of something more. "I can't imagine how difficult a spot you must've felt you were in . . . And for that, I apologize."

You gave a wobbly expression born of appreciation but also acknowledging the silliness of the sentiment. You gently huffed at the absurdity, "Don't apologize, you couldn't have known." A soft shrug allowed you to upright your position better. "If anything, I'm the one that should apologize. I should've said something in the beginning . . ."

At this, the older man shrugged back. "Perhaps, but I also can understand how uncomfortable that might've made you feel. Telling someone something so intimate can be difficult. Especially if it is like . . . Well." He gestured between the both of you.

You gave the smallest of chuckles (albeit, out of a desperate need to tenderize the mood) as you twisted the shredded pieces of napkin in your lap once more. Yet again, your eyes diverted from their connection with his. "Yeah, well, at least you would've known whether or not to waste time on me."

At that, the mood seemed to slightly change. You didn't feel threatened, but you knew that the breed of seriousness had shifted somewhat. Almost reprimanding. The eyes of Papa Emeritus II were just as intimidating out of the papal paints as they were in them, it seemed.

"I can assure you, Sorella," his normal nature of calmness returned, all traces of hesitancy from moments ago completely evaporated. "I don't see any of the time or what we've done together as a waste. If you have had any partners in the past that might've felt the opposite, then I sympathize greatly with you. But I also know that means you have no experience with anyone worth your time. That is, perhaps, the most disappointing thing of all here."

Damn. What do you even say to something like that? What could you say to something like that? Under normal circumstances, you might've argued in unfortunate defense of past failed connections, pinning the blame on you. After all, that's what made the most sense. or at least, it had. Until now, with the metaphorical mirror being propped up before you by one insistent Papa.

The room fell into silence as you searched for a response -- if you even needed to make one.

"Do you still want me?"

You almost jolted. You hadn't been expecting that to be what broke the silence.

"I . . . Well, yes. Of course I do, Papa." And you did. But . . . "But I don't know if --"

"I didn't ask for specifics, piccolina. I asked you: Do you still want to be with me?"

You struggled with a punctuated inhale. "Yes."

He hummed single low note before taking back the documents and pen. You watched curiously (and perplexedly) as he began to scribble and draw lines at seemingly random places. After what had felt like an eternity, he finally slid the packet back to you.

"Take a look. It's the roughest of drafts, of course, but we can properly revitalize it as needed. If you wish to make further retractions or additions, I give you the freedom to apply them."

Your brow furrowed as you picked up the papers for inspection. Of course, your eyes were immediately drawn to the instances of green ink that now freckled the paragraphs but you took especial time dialing it back and reading in full what these adjustments were meant to even mean.

Acts concerning penetration had been removed or adjusted as necessary, acts concerning outercourse or fondling had been either emphasized or added and asterisked.

"But . . . But Papa, I can't ask you to take away from your own pleasure," you objected. It was bad enough you'd strung him along, even if he argued that you hadn't. This was still quite a lot to grapple with in under ten minutes.

At this, Secondo cracked the first hint of amusement he'd had this entire session. He smirked as he reclined back in his hair. "And what, pray tell, makes you think I wouldn't derive pleasure from doing any of these things, piccolina?"

Porn, smut, the stories kiss-and-tell Siblings would often share in the cafeteria or in the hallways or the quad. Reddit posts.

"Well, I mean," you tried to argue. "They were there for a reason, weren't they? You enjoy those things." You ignored how the smirk on his face only seemed to grow. Hm. Maybe your words didn't have as much umph to them as you'd thought? Still, you continued. "A-and besides: I can't imagine you'd get off as easily from --" You glanced down at a word he'd scribbled in. " -- thigh jobs."

The low chuckle that rumbled from his chest settled your failure of a one-sided debated.

"Oh, Sorellina: You have much to learn about my proclivities," he sighed. "I understand that what the others might talk about may paint a certain picture of me. But I can assure you, any lover worth his salt should know that just shoving their dick into something is far from the end all, be all."

"And besides." The chair squeaked as he leaned in, hands folded on the dark wood of the desk. "It takes a true lover to relish in pleasure's many forms. I am more than happy to show you this, if you will let me."

It didn't matter that you had heard him say and gesture far cruder things: Just the words coming from his lips -- lips you had craved the taste of ever since your first sampling mere days ago -- coupled with the sincerity of his unbreaking eye contact. Your face was once again awash with a heat, a pleasant one born from blush.

You wanted to let him. You'd let him do whatever he could with you. You just needed to . . . let him.

Your body made picking up the pen feel weightier than it could've possibly been. But in a way, you were used to it: You were used to fighting your body and mind, always losing the battle so that they and their anxieties could be pacified while the other parts of you remained barren. Unsatisfied, with the conviction that it was only your burden to bear.

You didn't want a story to tell or even a milestone to complete so that you could better fit in with your peers: You just wanted to be understood. Or at least, like you wouldn't get left behind, chained by your own body and mind's complications.

As you stared at the green ink that formed your name on the pristine white paper, you felt a tightness in your throat. Never before had you felt so liberated . . .

[yandere-kokeshi]

thank you for wishing me well regarding my chronic pain. may i request a könig or ghost headcanon or drabble of a gender neutral y/n with a shoulder pain kind of chronic pain? like, being unable to carry anything heavy, limited movements, and needing help with simple tasks as they heal? thank you in advance!

— Yandere Ghost and König with gn darling who has shoulder pain from chronic illness

Warnings: yandere behavior, and talks about chronic illness.

A/N: I did both and headcanons! Hope that doesn’t make you upset. Enjoy <3!

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

He takes your health very seriously– always reminding you to never overwork yourself, even if you feel obligated to finish a chore/or assignment that you know will leave you sore. And if you require help, you ask him, and he’ll do it.

To an extent, he understands your pain. But he knows he’s not you, and you aren’t him; plus, pain is much more than a 1-to-10 scale ratio. He may be used to it now, but he remembers the sleepless nights, sharp pain electrifying everywhere in your joints, dreams of imagination of being painless, and exhaustion that holds tight onto you. He knows how awful it is, and seeing you in pain makes him uncomfortable. 

With this said, Simon understands that all you need is care, love, and patience. Moving to-room-to-room could take so much out of you, even lifting a book has you gritting in pain, to which he takes care of you — easily taking it out of your hands. He often carries you, asking if you require anything else, and places you down wherever you like in the rooms. 

To no surprise, Simon knows how to deal with pain: bringing you pain meds prescribed by your doctors, surprising you with your favorite snacks, running you a bath with bath–salts, or even going out of his way to massage your swollen joints, but only if you want him to.

Having limited movement because of your own pain leaves Simon’s really close to you. He’s at your beck and call, never forcing you to move, always groaning as he gets up from the bed to retrieve your choice of hobby, gladly fixing the blankets around your body and making himself comfortable beside you again. His arms around you, tracing lines in your skin as he asks what you want to watch on TV. 

Simon does everything around the house for you without being asked. It’s how he shows his affection, other than being physically touchy, but he isn’t one for lovey-dovey words. Within the stance of you resting, you might have an ounce of guilt and try to help him — which he quickly refuses. 

About the third time you get up, despite his warnings, he’s carrying you back to bed, grouching that you need to rest, not worry about him, and that you deserve as much rest as possible. 

For the days when it’s hard to do self-care, he doesn’t judge and is more than happy to help you. Brushing your teeth for you in bed, gently changing your clothes, bringing in facial wipes, and ensuring you take your night meds; letting you lay on his chest, tracing the outline of your face, and giving himself a bit of a relief, as you’re slowly getting better.

König:

Attentive to your needs, kissing the side of your head as he reminds you to take it easy. König is fretting over you, always checking in and hopes that if he makes you something, it’ll ease your pain. But it’s never that easy. He realizes that it isn’t enough, that it’s more than you just feeling bad. 

He’s babying you, and while he knows you’re capable of doing things, especially since you have had this forever, König would hate for you to extend your pain, or worse, have to go to the hospital due to a dislocation. 

Because of this, he carries a lot of things in the house — constantly saying ‘no’ when you’re about to grab the groceries, or helping out with the dishes. He focuses on doing the chores, multitasking on doing the laundry, and coming in every 15 minutes to check up on you. 

Chronic pain is difficult. He knows there’s medication, things that he will and can get for you to soothe the pain, but he doesn’t know the extent of your pain. So, when you express the burning sensation, or the pins-and-needles, he takes your words and works on making it decrease. König carries you, letting you lay on the freshly made bed, and asking what you want to do, as it’s a lazy-loving day for the two of you. 

He’s constantly around you — gifting you things, your favorite foods, drinks, or whatever you feel at the moment. He’s always bringing you fresh-washed blankets, ducking them in tightly and kissing your forehead before sitting right next to you, hand on your thigh. 

When the days of not feeling good, and you can’t leave the bed with how sore you are, he’s there, hand-feeding you soups, and praising you on how well you’re doing. He’s carrying you to the bath, starting the water to a nice temperature and having you strip; turning around for privacy before helping you in when you’re ready. König, of course, helps with washing your body and hair, kissing your skin gently as he asks what you want for dinner. 

König lets you know that it’s okay, and you’re okay. He’s coddling you, always by your side and on your side, letting you lay in bed, and helping you stretch in order to regain a bit of flexibility. He knows it hurts, he sees your barely-down-to-tears, but this is necessary and he’s sorry.  

—

Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[lilacmingi]

CHANGE OF HEART

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. Ageless blogs and blank blogs risk getting blocked

Pairing: Vampire!Jimin x human!fem reader

Word count: 2,380

Note: This one is just a little angsty and Jimin is a total jerk but he gets better. This imagine is from my Wattpad so there won’t be any extra parts or continuations

That monster has had you locked in this godforsaken room for at least three weeks. A room with no windows and a door that was constantly locked. The only time it was unlocked was when he came in.

You weren't allowed to go outside and all your meals were brought to you via your captor.

A dull, throbbing ache was still present in your neck from where he fed just the day before, the skin still tender where his razor-sharp fangs pierced your artery. Being bitten was something you never got used to; it hurt just as bad every time and the pain would persist and linger for days. He never gave you a break either and hardly gave you time to rest and recover. When he was thirsty, he would barge in and take what he wanted.

Every day was exactly the same and it was hard to tell just how much time had passed. At first you assumed three weeks, but you were beginning to think it had been closer to a month now.

You heard the sickeningly familiar click of the door being unlocked, your heart racing rapidly.

No. Not again. You thought.

It felt like he was just in the room two hours ago and with how often he fed, he very well could have been.

The door opened, revealing the deceivingly handsome, yet depraved man that was keeping you there. Park Jimin.

"Hi there, sweets." He grinned. "I'm thirsty."

You shook your head. "Please don't."

"You have no say in what happens." He strode towards your cowering form.

He chuckled at the way you scooted back towards the headboard, amused by your fear.

In the blink of an eye, he had you pinned to the mattress, hovering over you with a gleam in his eyes that slowly shifted from a warm brown to a sinister red.

The tips of his fingers caressed your neck as he brushed your hair away and leaned in.

"It still hurts." You whimpered, hoping he might postpone his feeding.

"Aw. Well then, I guess I'll bite somewhere else."

"No don't."

"Shh." He placed his finger over your lips to silence you while bringing his face closer to the side of your neck he hadn't bitten, stopping to take in your scent.

"Oh, you smell heavenly." He practically groaned.

You squirmed underneath him in a feeble attempt to free yourself, but his grip on your wrists only tightened, further reminding you that your strength was no match against his.

Jimin pressed a soft kiss to your neck before positioning his fangs on the surface of your skin. Your eyes squeezed shut in preparation for the stinging pain that followed not a second later.

An involuntary yelp was released from your mouth, which you were quick to snap shut. If you made too much noise, Jimin would often clamp his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. As he fed, you tried your best not to move, if you did, the pain would be worse.

The sound of him gulping down your blood made your stomach churn. It was a sickening sound that you never got accustomed to. He was quite literally draining the life out of you.

Just before you could start feeling faint, Jimin pulled away, licking away any blood that clung to his lips as he stared down at you.

He must enjoy this. You thought. He probably takes pleasure in seeing me helpless like this.

He released your wrists and ran his thumb over the spot on your neck where he had just fed from, collecting the leftover blood that seeped out of the puncture marks. You winced at the uncomfortable and painful sensation, watching as he brought his thumb up to his mouth, licking the blood off.

"You're always so good for me, Y/n." He murmured before climbing off of you, exiting the room just as quickly as he arrived.

Even after he left, you didn't move a muscle, staring at the white ceiling trying to distract yourself from the throbbing pain in your neck that now accompanied the already existing ache on the opposite side.

This is what your life had been like for roughly a month. Jimin would come in and feed, leaving you to deal with the aftermath. Not once had he offered to bandage any of the bites he created.

How unlucky you must be to have ended up in such a miserable situation.

Jimin never disclosed any information as to why he brought you there. Just that he had been watching you and that he wanted you all to himself because your blood was the best he had ever tasted.

A shiver rattled your spine at the thought.

The only emotions you had felt since being shoved into this room was fear, anxiety, and longing.

On the bright side, you had a nice bed to sleep in, he fed you, gave you clothes to wear, and he let you bathe. It could be worse, you often reminded yourself. You could be locked in some dark, damp cell with no clothes and no bathing privileges. Though being locked in this room all day every day wasn't exactly enjoyable. Not to mention how often Jimin barged in to feed off you.

You sighed, sliding your eyelids closed while leaning to rest against the headboard. The same sentence that played in your head like a broken record made it's way to the forefront of your mind once again.

I want to leave.

The sound of the door opening caused you to flinch, snapping your eyes open and jerking your head in the direction of the room's entrance. Jimin walked in holding a plate of food and a glass of water.

"You've gotta keep your strength up." He placed the food on the bedside table and turned to leave.

"Jimin?" You asked meekly, the sound of his name coming from you mouth making you feel nauseous.

"Hm?"

"Why are you keeping me here?"

"I already told you. You have the most delicious blood I've ever tasted. I need you."

"You don't need me." You shook your head. "I want to return to my life."

"You really want to leave me?" His voice lowered.

"Yes. I want my life back."

"This is your life!" He snapped. "Do you know how good you have it here? I take care of you! I put you in this nice bedroom and I bring you meals! The least you can do is be complacent."

Fed up and sick of being scared all the time, being treated like nothing but a blood bag, you stood up from the bed.

"You think you take care of me, but you keep me locked in here all the time! I can't roam around the house or even go outside! I'm miserable, Jimin!" You retorted. "Not to mention you feed off me at least once a day! My body can't handle it!"

"You ungrateful brat." He hissed. "I've given you so much and you're still not thankful."

"What's there to be thankful for?" You snapped back.

The look on his face was petrifying. He was so engraged that his eyes were turning a darker shade of red, almost black. He took a few steps towards you, but you backed away, afraid of what he might do if he got his hands on you.

"How bold of you, Y/n. Yelling at a vampire like that." He grabbed your wrist, jerking you towards him while leaning in close to your ear and speaking in a low growl, "Are you aware of what I'm capable of? I could snap your neck or drain you dry like that." He snapped his fingers. "So, if I were you, I'd be grateful for what I have and not complain about it."

With that, he released your wrist and turned on his heel, storming out of the room.

You dropped down onto the edge of the bed, afraid that your knees would buckle due to the rush of adrenaline and anxiety that coursed through your veins. A tear fell down your cheek as you nursed your wrist, which was burning from Jimin's inhuman grip.

"I'm never getting out of here." You sobbed.

So much for trying to stand up for yourself.

Part of you wished he had just killed you. Maybe if you had pushed him a little more, he would get so angry he'd snap. Then you'd be free from this nightmare.

Feeling a whole new level of despair and hopelessness, you cried, which was something you hadn't done much of since being tossed in this room. You let it all out, crying until you became tired and somehow fell asleep.

The sound of the door creaking open was what pulled you from your tear-induced slumber. Your first instinct was to try and get away, until you saw Jimin's appearance, that is. He had his head lowered, slowly walking into the room.

"What do you want?" You asked sitting up, your eyes puffy and still burning from all the crying.

"I thought about what you said." He spoke quietly. "You deserve to have some freedom. I'm treating you like an animal by keeping you locked in here all the time. I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry."

You only stared at him, not sure what to think about his apology and if there was any genuine sincerity behind it.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" He asked when he received no responses from you.

"I guess." You slowly got out of bed, slipped on your shoes, and followed him out of the room for the first time ever.

When you were first brought here, you didn't get a chance to see the rest of the house. It was surprisingly cozy for a home that belonged to a vampire.

You kept some distance between yourself and Jimin as he led you through the living room and out the front door, seeing the outside for the first time in what felt like forever.

The house was secluded with no other structures in sight; not even a road, just a concrete driveway leading to the abode.

You followed your captor through the front yard, watching the green leaves fluttering in the breeze, gazing at them in wonder as if it was your first time ever seeing the foliage.

Not a single word was said during your stroll in the front yard. You merely kept to yourself and took in the fresh air, following behind Jimin until he led you around the house to the backyard. You let out a quiet gasp when you were met with the breathtaking sight of rose bushes planted about the spacious area.

You glanced over at Jimin, hoping he didn't catch your unintentional reaction. His expression was still somber, his hands shoved in his pockets while his eyes were cast to the ground looking absolutely pitiful.

"Hey."

You reached out to nudge him, but before you could, he grabbed your hand. You flinched instinctively, wincing at the soreness in your wrist. He glanced down at the spot where he had grabbed your wrist earlier, a noticeable mark splotching the skin.

"Did I do that to you?"

You swallowed.

He dropped your hand. "I really am a monster. I don't know why I've been treating you so terribly. I was human once. I should know better than to treat you like a blood bag."

Jimin never wanted to become a monster, but now he could see himself turning into one. Giving into his cravings and feeding on you whenever he pleased, kidnapping you, treating you as a lesser person just because you were, what, human? He was human. He knew how it felt to be bitten and drained within an inch of your life. After all, that's exactly what happened before he was turned.

He released a drawn-out sigh, trying to gather his thoughts. "I like you. At first I only followed you because you caught my eye, but you smelled so good, I thought I could bring you here and have you all to myself while keeping you away from any other vampires that might've come along. It was the wrong thing to do. I was being selfish and letting the inhuman side of me take over." He paused. "I was beginning to regret bringing you here, but I knew you couldn't leave, not after everything you've seen and experienced. So, I tried to keep you scared so you wouldn't run away."

The air went completely still as you processed his words, your face showing no emotion whatsoever.

He liked you? That's why he locked you away? And he was mean because he didn't want you to leave?

You shook your head. "That's messed up."

"I know." He lowered his head. "I meant what I said earlier. I really am sorry. If you want to leave, you're free to go."

Your feet didn't move.

He was giving you the opportunity to walk out and here you are standing still when you could be running towards freedom.

Something about Jimin's apology struck you, and as much as you disliked him, you also felt sorry for him in a way.

When he saw you hadn't moved yet, he lifted his head.

"Go." He told you. "I said you could leave."

You pressed your lips together, internally kicking yourself for being so stupid and sympathetic.

"Why are you still here?" He questioned.

You released a reluctant sigh. "I can't fully accept your apology and I most certainly can't say that I return your feelings."

He nodded. "I understand."

"It's going to take time, and I mean a lot of time, for trust to be built, but I don't totally hate you."

"You don't?"

"Unfortunately no. At least not after the apology."

"So... you'll stay?" He asked almost hesitantly.

"No."

His shoulders slumped.

"I would still like to go back to my own home and return to my life. However, you can still be in it."

His eyes became brighter at that. "Thank you."

Jimin stepped towards you to embrace you in a hug, but thought better of it and retracted. "I'll do everything in my power to earn your full trust. I promise."

Jungkook ♱ Yoongi ♱ Taehyung ♱ Namjoon ♱ Hoseok ♱ Jin

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

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[dr-abitat-blog]

Day 27: "Well, there's a first for everything."

@ailesswhumptober

T/W: Kidnapped, bound, enemies to allies, former whumper and former whumpee, shock collars, imprisonment

Slade belongs to @whumpsmith

Life can be a funny thing sometimes. We may commit atrocious acts that we never once imagined were feasible, acts that we had no idea we were capable of when pushed to our very limits. Sometimes we may find ourselves in situations that we never imagined possible.

Situations like…right now.

“I have to say, Viktor — I would never have predicted this scenario in a million years.”

Slade twists his head over his shoulder. I can practically hear his eyes rolling as he speaks. “You — my former captor — and I — your former ‘patient’ — held captive together. Definitely not something I imagined possible.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

I sigh aloud, turning my own head towards him. My glasses barely stay balanced on the bridge of my nose as I peer at him with exhausted and narrowed eyes. “And perhaps if you spent less time complaining and more time trying to figure a way out of this predicament then we might have managed to get out of these things by now!”

I manage yet another defiant tug on the sturdy coarse ropes keeping the both of us pinned uncomfortably closely together. Of course they had to add extra humiliation to the whole process. My own wrists rest in front of Slade’s chest, crossed and bound with ropes, whilst his arms encircle my own chest, trapping us both in place. Even more ropes bind us together at the waist, with separate bindings knotted tightly above and below our knees. I try to kick out with my bound ankles, but all I manage to injure is the surrounding air. Either way, the ropes won’t be budging any time soon, leaving the two of us — essentially former enemies — bound back to back in the middle of a dark and damp holding cell.

Wunderbar.

“Well excuse me for not being thrilled about our current situation!” he retorts, shaking his dark hair in disbelief, “I think I have every right to complain!”

“The feeling is mutual,”  I inform him, glaring tiredly at the wall in place of his annoying face. “As if being captured in the first place wasn’t bad enough.”

I sigh, attempting to sit up straighter. “So? How do you propose we get out of this mess?”

“What are you asking me for?”

“Oh, because you are the one who has been alive for over two centuries?” I remind him coolly, “And you are the one who has previously boasted about your numerous escape attempts from similar facilities?”

“I suppose so,” he sighs, moving his arms against my chest, “Nothing so far. Every possible exit is under heavy guard. They all know exactly what they’re doing — unlike your own guards back there.”

“How some of them even passed the competency checks, I have no idea — but that is beside the point. You’re saying there’s no escape from—”

I suddenly pause, realising what I’ve just said. “Heh. No escape. Oh the irony.”

“Karma at its finest,” Slade adds, “Although I don’t see why I had to get dragged along with it.”

“Oh quit your whining, Slade — don’t you see why I kept you gagged during procedures?”

“I wish they’d gag you right now,” he scoffs.

“Very mature of you — maybe I’ll ask them to—gnnk!”

I suddenly find myself cut off by a sharp pain burning my neck. The collar zaps to life, silencing our petty argument. A loud curse from Slade soon follows.

“Gah! Mother lover—oh these monsters will pay.”

“There’s not exactly much we can do in this position,” I point out, “but yes. No matter what, we can’t allow them to succeed.”

“Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.”

“I…suppose so, yes.”

I shuffle back a little, hissing at the sudden pain flaring through my muscles from yesterday’s…interrogation. Even now I can still taste the blood in my mouth from their ‘persuasion’.  

“Nnngh…”

“...are you arite, Viktor?”

Slade’s words…surprise me. He genuinely sounds concerned. “I don’t know what they’ve been doing to you, but—”

“I-I’m fine,” I answer, drawing in another deep breath that sends pain flaring through a presumably broken rib, “I…haven’t told them anything, neither do I intend to. Every piece of information they get is a further piece they can use to bring down the resistance entirely — and that is not an option.”

I don’t care to elaborate on the details of said ‘interrogation’. My thoughts turn instead to another matter. “Is…is Kristoff safe, Slade?”

“...as far as I know,” he answers quietly, “Last I heard, they were gathering intelligence in one of the other factions. I’m sure they’re still kicking though. They’re a real fighter.”

“Yes…yes he—they are.”

My heart swells ever so slightly with pride for my boy, although it also aches at the thought of anything happening to him. I’m supposed to protect him, as his father, yet that is impossible as long as I remain in here — and if they catch my boy, then I know full well what they will do to him. I will not have him go through that again.

“Aye. They’re a brave lad.”

“Thank you, Slade.”

I hesitate for just a moment, before adding quietly. “...so are yours.”

“Oh they are, both of them,” he replies, shifting ever so slightly, “I just wish I knew where they were. We lost connection with them a few days ago. I’ve heard nothing since then — I-I just hope that they haven’t managed to find them.”

“...I am sure they’re safe.”

The last thing I ever expected to be doing is…comforting my former enemy. “Ashley and Achilles are both strong and determined. They don’t give up easily. They proved that to me all too well. Still, perhaps they are with Kristoff, looking out for one another.”

“...I’d like to think that’s the case.”

He turns to peer at me again. His voice softens slightly. “They’re out there, Viktor. Our sons are still out there, fighting for what’s right. If they can make it, so can we — because we are going to get out of here and see our sons again, arite?”

His words…they ring so true. In this one moment, a shared trait connects the two of us — fatherhood. Our sons. Our love and care for them.

“...yes. Yes we will.”

I allow myself the smallest of smiles — until the door to our cell suddenly creaks open. I immediately send the familiar gruff guards an unamused scowl, whilst Slade snarls at them. None of them grace us with any conversation — they merely remove our restraints, yank us to our feet and apply sturdy cuffs on our wrists before beginning to lead us out of the cell. Of course Slade’s persistent struggles of defiance earn him a few additional shocks. I soon find myself joining him, both of us sharing a knowing look of camaraderie in this particular time. We have to survive this — we will survive this.

I’ll see you soon, Kristoff.

With that silent vow, I hold my head high and brace myself for whatever lies ahead.

[magdelanesingerin]

Chapter 9: Intimacy

“I feel like a creep and an asshole. He moved on, he’s happy, and I’m happy for him. I should be over it by now, we were only together for a few weeks, for fucks sake.  But there are these moments between us and I…” Geralt breaks off with a groan, rubbing his eyes hard enough to see stars bursting behind his eyelids.

“That’s understandable,” Nenneke says. “You dated Jaskier because you were attracted to him. Those feelings don’t magically go away just because the romantic relationship is over.”

“Yeah,” Geralt says morosely. "So far he either hasn’t noticed, or is nice enough to not call me out on it. I try not to spend time with just the two of us anymore. We hang out with Ren, or I try to have June with me as a distraction, so I don’t just fucking ogle him the entire time.”

“And does that help?” she asks with a knowing smirk.

“No,” he mumbles through his fingers. Nenneke laughs.

“Have you thought about getting back out there, trying to meet someone?”

“Get over someone by getting under someone else?” he asks wryly, and she snorts, shaking her head.

“Not exactly, no. Intimacy is a very normal human need, Geralt, and it’s not surprising that you’re craving human and physical connection again as you get more emotionally stable,” she says reasonably. “You’re doing really well. Making jokes, deepening friendships, your sleep is better– you seem lighter, happier. It’s wonderful to see, and it makes sense to me that you’d want to share that happiness.” 

Geralt can feel his face heating as she speaks, embarrassed by the praise, but he can’t help the tiny smile that stretches his lips upward. That fragile smile fades as she continues, “Have you been intimate with anyone in the last few months?”

He grimaces and clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. It’s just sex, for fuck’s sake. He’s never been shy. This shouldn’t be so hard to talk about. 

“No. Not since…hm. That hookup at the beginning of the year. No one since then,” he forces out, feeling self-conscious and pathetic. 

“Ah, I remember,” she hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t berate him for his recklessness. She didn’t back then, either, when he told her about the party, the bar, and all his horrible decisions that night. He frowns and picks at his fingers, remembering the sharp, burning pain of getting fucked without prep, the cold tile under his hands, the smell of piss and stale smoke heavy in the air…

“I think you should consider dating.”

Her words pull him back out of his head and into the present. 

“Uh. What?”

“Dating,” she repeats slowly. “I think you should consider it.” She cocks her head thoughtfully. “You could try something new, something outside the bar and club scene. There are a number of dating apps for people looking for more than a hookup.”

The skeptical noise Geralt makes starts out as a groan but travels through a few other sounds before it trails off into a grumble. Nenneke’s eyebrows go up and she grins. 

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad an idea, surely,” she snorts. “It can be a good way of meeting people who want the same things from a relationship as you. Actually, this will be an interesting exercise, a way to consider and verbalize what you are looking for in a partner and a relationship. Tell me how you’d describe yourself in your profile. Who are you, Geralt Morhen-Rivia, and what do you want out of a partner?” 

She smiles expectantly and Geralt grimaces, trying to imagine it.

Cranky, job-insecure man, late thirties with no discernible career goals seeking companion for awkward dates and maybe more. Interests include horseback riding, medieval history, working out, and going to therapy for my various mental illnesses. Open to all genders and expressions; I will be equally emotionally inept with all.

Oh yes, what a catch. 

Nenneke smiles at him encouragingly. 

He can’t say any of that out loud. 

“Hm. I…like horses. And. Food. And I’m looking for someone who. Uh…” he trails off, eyes wide and slightly desperate. 

Her smile turns a little sad, and she sighs fondly. 

“I know, it’s not easy, is it?” she says ruefully and regards him silently for a long moment. “Well, we’re out of time for the day anyway, so you’re off the hook.” She grins at him as he sags in obvious relief. “But I’d like to make that your assignment for this week. Think about three positive things you can say about yourself in a dating profile, and three things that you are looking for in a partner.”

Geralt groans like he’s been assigned a 20 page research paper instead of a dating profile, and his very supportive therapist laughs at him.

“I know, making you say nice things about yourself, so cruel,” she teases.

continue on Ao3

[trashworldblog]

guys i just got the calmer earplugs and i can not recommend them enough.

it limits the bad noises (they dont dissappear, they just feel more "normal" or less sharp)

im currently sitting next to my biggest trigger (someone chewing with their mouth open) and it feels just slightly annoying. doesnt feel painful like it used too

conversations are clear

and no weird hearing my own breaths or my own voice.

cons

you can feel them in your ears. its not very uncomfortable, and this may go away after i wear them for longer.

putting them in may be hard for people with poor hand coordination. its a tiny piece of rubber with a tiny stem and i can imagine if you have hand mobility problems this can be frustrating.

if you are autistic (like me) or have any difficulties or uncomfort with certain noises, this is something you should check out

[changingplumbob]

Villareal Household: Chapter 3, Part 4

Devin and Luna visit their doctor, before Devin plays a doctor in her guest star role on Residency of the Heart.

Luna: Thank you for having an after hours clinic

Dr: Well babies never stick to work hours so why should we. Will your wife be joining us?

Luna: Oh she's already in the office, we're so excited

Dr: Glad to hear it. Always helps when both parents are in sync Luna: Pretty sure our hearts beat in sync

Dr: Lie down and we can start the ultrasound

Devin: This is so exciting

Dr: Before we get started are you wanting to know the sex?

Luna: Yes please Dr. We're already thinking of too many names. It would be nice to narrow our selection

Devin: If only by half

Dr: I know what you mean

Devin: You don't let paparazzi in here do you?

Dr: Rest assured Mrs Villareal, all your records will be kept private and confidential

Luna: It would be nice to tell people ourselves

Dr: Now you know your baby will be an individual right? What sex appears on the ultrasound will not necessarily fit

Devin: We're part of the queer community, we get it

Luna: He's just being thorough schatz

Dr: The gel will be cold but you shouldn't have any pain. What trimester are you?

Luna: First trimester. Will you be able to find-

Dr: Don't worry, I've been doing this for a long time, just relax back for a sec

Dr: There we are. Now this machine can be buggy but I can see both of your boys. Congratulations, you're having twins

Devin: Twins?

Luna: Boys?

Devin: Will they be identical?

Dr: This technology can't tell unfortunately but you'll know when they get here

Luna: And they look okay? The right size?

Dr: Development looks normal for both. Now, have you thought about your birth plan?

Devin: We were busy just trying to get pregnant

Dr: No problem, take our information booklets and consider the options. Call us when you have an idea and we can get the ball rolling

Luna: Thank you

Dr: Happy to help

At breakfast the next morning the couple start to narrow down name ideas.

Devin: I would like a nod to some of the great artists in film

Luna: Such as

Devin: Cary, James, Clark, Alfred

Luna: I veto James, I knew a bad James

Devin: What names are in your head

Luna: Some literary names of course

Devin: Not Heathcliff

Luna: How about Edward

Devin: Not like Cullen right

Luna: No, like Rochester. Or we could pick a name from Narnia like Edmund

Devin: Didn't he fall for the white witch's trap?

Luna: He redeemed himself. Or there's Diggory, Caspian, Rilian

Devin: Puddleglum

Luna: OMG imagine

Luna: I'm craving something sweet

Devin: Pancakes aren't sweet

Luna: Blame the boys

Devin: Okay let's go

Luna: Go where

Devin: There's a small sweet shop by the park

The pair fetch some sweets for Luna but upon arriving home Luna is hit by nausea. Guess 7am chocolate cake isn't always the best idea?

9am sharp Devin reports to the studio for her guest role on Residency of the Heart. Once again it appears multiple groups are using the stages. Devin wastes no time getting into hair, makeup and costume as soon as she can. It appears they're not a requirement anymore but Devin takes her craft seriously.

All dressed up Devin goes to practice her lines with Anaya. Devin was paying extra attention to the hospital staff during the ultrasound appointment. TV drama may not be reality but Devin wants to do her best at appearing as a serious character instead of plain comic relief for the other actors.

Before filming starts Devin checks on Connor. Good thing she did as he is feeling very uncomfortable. Devin takes time to reassure him the blonde looks fine and that the audience won't think less of him for not sticking to his natural colour. A pep talk seems to be just what the doctor ordered.

The first scenes to shoot are the patient ones. Anaya and Devin steady themselves before springing into action. The patient Anaya is playing seems to be trouble and tries to refuse lifesaving treatment. Luckily Devin manages to outwit her objections and the treatment is delivered just in time.

Next up are the romance scenes with Connor. He's shaken off his uncomfortableness and is a great acting partner. The script has Devin as the instigator of the romance so she channels her most charming self. At the end she and Connor grab a quick selfie to celebrate a job well done.

The studio becomes hushed as Devin gathers herself for her character's death scene. She takes a deep breath, thinking of how she would feel to die before seeing her babies, and the guilt at leaving Luna alone. As she falls to the ground and waits to hear cut she is sure she hears a few sniffles.

Norah: CUT

Devin: Phew

Norah: That's a wrap everyone

Devin: Did I do okay?

Norah: You were a star today Devin, everyone was impressed

Devin: Thanks, good luck with the editing

When Devin arrives home she's on a high from a job well done. She decides to do a house expansion for Luna and their boys.

Devin takes care of some chores and works on upgrading the showers so they will break less often. Luna arrives home feeling super confident, as she should. Luna has been promoted and decides to go down the professor path. She loves learning and this feels like the best way to carry on.

Luna: What happened to our house

Devin: I expanded, we couldn't exactly fit twins before

Luna: Aww, look at our wedding photos

Devin: Are you crying

Luna: I'm hormonal okay

Devin: Understood. Do you like it

Luna: You gonna give me the tour

Devin: First stop is the bedroom

Luna: *giggles*

Devin: You have the vacation days

Luna: I know but I just got promoted

Devin: Exactly, they'll expect you to have time to celebrate

Luna: You know I'm a workaholic

Devin: But a baby shower would be a great chance to see everyone, we haven't seen your brothers since before Jacques died

Luna: Right

Luna: Hi, yes this is Mrs Villareal. I will need someone to cover my lecture tomorrow

Devin: Yes!

Luna: Yes the notes are all prepared and colour coded. Right in the middle of my desk.

Devin: You're so damn smart Lu

Luna: Shh! No, no, not you. You've been a great help. Thank you. Yes I'll rest up.

That evening Devin works on adding mobiles to the cribs while Luna stress bakes.

Devin: What are you making

Luna: Marshmallow squares, we need enough food for tomorrow

Devin: I don't think eating is a requirement for baby showers

Luna: I'm always hungry at the moment so how could it hurt?

The pair settle on the spare bed and Luna begins to read to the twins inside her

Devin: Lu the book is upside down

Luna: I know that and you know that but you don't have to tell them

Devin: *chuckles*

Luna: Once upon a time there was a mall dinosaur

Devin: Small

Luna: Right, upside down reading here

The women work their way through the book, taking turns to read aloud to their boys

Luna: They're going to love the voices you use

Devin: I hope so, they will be my harshest critics

Luna: They'll love you, hear that boys! You'll love your mama

Devin: *giggles* Their mummy needs sleep

Luna: I do I do

Previous Part ... Next Part

[tricoloredillusion]

More headcanons compilation:

Headcanon of Neo’s Semblance going off when she’s having nightmares and she just, manifests horrors around the room related to it, subconsciously

Her sleep paralysis demons are more real than you think, but they break as soon as she’s fully awake

Still creepy af to watch as an outsider

---

Thinking again about how my poor girl ended with a great pain in her throat because of the forced talking of the CC’s possession. The mix of possession magic to do so but while in a mute host like Neo, well, damaged her vocal cords even more for the moment.

She recovered from it after getting to the tree, but I don’t doubt the further inflammation or even infection/bleeding of defective vocal cords wasn’t exactly a nice experience.

It definitely added to the horrifying feeling of the possession. But that was the point, having an experience like that isn’t to be taken lightly, specially when it definitely felt like a mockery of who Neo was as a person.

---

Getting deeper into my Neo’s stay in the Ever After post V9-

So after deciding to keep being herself, with consequences and all, I’ve already mentioned how her intention was actually to help a little around the place, mainly because she thought it would help her find a purpose to go back to Remnant, or maybe one to stay there forever, thing is, with the changes of her body and behavior, the month she was around was probably more hellish for her than to anyone else.

Her /DIET/, while staying there she fed herself with fruits, cheese, and I want to imagine strange fish that she could either get from the beach or rivers around the Ever After. But because she now had the urges of a predator from time to time, the EFFORT she had to make to not eat any of the adorable and rational animal companions from the place was almost painful.

She installed her main spot in the Cake Acre. She may or may have not consumed a lot of sugary stuff there to keep her mind busy and get sugar high.

Her reputation as the Mad Hatter completely came from the fact that at times, in moments in which she wanted to eat some of the Afterans, she isolated herself in the Cake Acre for a closed tea party. One in which she was surrounded by illusions rather than real creatures. Playing pretend until the sensation of hunger for flesh went away.

There was no real Jabberwalker anymore because Neo killed it, but at least the Reassuring Rabbit helped with fixing the hearts of the Afterans a little, and in part it included Neo herself when going through a very bad episode.

The illusory characters that accompanied her delusions were, of course, based on the Alice in Wonderland characters. Other versions of them, anyway. Her own dormouse, the March Hare…and Alyx.

---

The things she gained from the post-possession are:

Heightened senses (smell, hearing…).

The white slit pupils. She can now see in the dark.

Sharp teeth. To tear apart prey.

Nails that grow like sharp nails (in both, hands and feet). Also to help with hurting.

Feral cat behaviour/urges of a predatory animal at times.

Heat cycles. A few days before her period, she gets one.

What’s only part of a trauma response of her Semblance:

Cat ears and a tail. When the CC possessed her, they made ears and a tail appear on the body, so subconsciously, she feels uncomfortable without them -ironically enough- because at the same time, the whole cat thing makes her disgusted with herself.

---

The fact I didn’t directly mention yet (around here) how my Neo has problems with wanting to eat ‘dead prey’ thanks to the feral side of her half-beast condition now.

Including other people.

She isn’t exactly too proud of it, but it has happened- :’)

+

When I mentioned the cannibalism headcanon, I avoided adding that Neo would go as far as to eat organ and bone like feral cats do, but now you gotta live with the burden of knowing as well.

And yes, her body changed enough to be able to consume raw flesh and stuff.

The only thing is that she’s small enough to never be able to eat her prey whole if it ends up being a person, pretty much.

---

It’s still funny whenever I refer to my Neo design as ‘my version of ascended Neo’ when, yes, she did have a talk with the tree and became wood, but technically she didn’t ascend, otherwise she would’ve lost all her memories.

NOW, the fact she chose herself very much like Ruby speaks by itself. My Neo would rather keep the memories of her life (specially because, how cruel would it be to FOREVER forget about Roman himself?) than lose them.

She would rather endure the trauma and the changes in her body to not forget Roman and her life experiences, even if she has to work through her struggles again. Like, there’s part of her screaming that she’s strong enough.

+

My Neo didn’t have a graceful fall into the tree at the end to ‘ascend’, she actually sat on the edge of the area after bowing to team RWBY and Jaune, unsheathed Hush, and cut her neck with the blade.

Letting her own weight to fall down into the tree afterwards, and finally 'ascending’.

Edit: it left a scar on her neck.

---

Depressing headcanon time for my Neo! So, beware. Mention of suicidal tendencies ahead.

Because I didn’t write this one down until now but, we already know that my Neo went through one of the biggest breakdowns after the fall of Beacon- Roman’s death and the shocking sight of his remains affected her REALLY bad, to the point her Semblance started going off to torment her with the images of her parents and Roman.

At that point in time the illusions couldn’t speak out loud, but Neo’s mind did enough with tormenting her with inner thoughts and the inner voices of the people she projected.

That being, Carmel, Jimmy and Roman. Not only was she extremely broken, but she also felt some guilt at first about not being there to protect Roman.

So, well, she fell into a depressive episode for some time. After 2 or 3 days of the fall of Beacon, she didn’t outright think of going to find Cinder at Mistral- she had to work through her mood at first, and at some point of the day, she was so emotionally exhausted, that she had a small incident in which she almost let the illusions to actually kill her.

Jimmy and Carmel holding her in place, and Roman choking her to death.

It was a subconscious wish of wanting to end with her life, but, of course, because there was still a part of her that wanted to live, the same way her subconscious gave her these living nightmares, it took them away, so before it could get too severe, she made the illusions disappear.

It was a very harsh week? Month? It really took her a while to recompose herself and turn her depression into wrath and thus, get into the path for revenge.

[bobathirstaccount]

Okurrr request post. Someone hit me up w multiple ideas; I’m letting them percolate but here is a start.

Boba x reader, Boba teaches reader how to fire a blaster - I have written something like that - Pt 1 (TW, no shooting), Pt 2 (no TW, shooting)

Now on to the new.

Boba x reader, sick!fic- I based this off of Pt1 here, this is a continuation of that story but you can also read this individually if ya want.

***

Love at Last Breath Pt 2 (Sick!fic request)

Boba x fem!reader, no smut, some angst, fluff

***

You were violently shaken awake. Still half asleep, you imagined the ship must be on fire. Yet you remained unconcerned.

“Mesh’la, wake up.” Boba’s voice was firm. He sounded far away. You sighed dreamily and cracked your tired eyes open.

Boba’s face was right in front of yours. He seemed relieved. “You wouldn’t wake up,” he explained, releasing his hold on you. You snuggled into him, sighing tiredly.

“How you feeling today?” He asked after a subdued moment.

You evaluated. “Mmm, not too bad. Just really tired.”

”Hm. You should get up for a bit.” He sounded strange.

“Nah.” You sighed and snuggled harder into him and closed your eyes firmly.

“It’s been two days that you’ve been in bed.” Again, Boba sounded strange.

You considered. Were you bedridden now? You were feeling so tired lately.


“Come, let me take you outside,” Boba pulled away and climbed out of bed. After a moment, you felt him grab your body gently. “Come,” he said again, softly. Lifting you like you weighed nothing, he headed outside. You snoozed lightly, keeping your eyes closed until you felt the sun on your face. Squinting, you took in the barren landscape. The sun was high in the sky. You felt warmed by it and Boba’s embrace.

Setting you down carefully, Boba plopped down beside you. He supported you so you could sit up. You felt very weak today. “See, this is nice,” he commented softly. You smiled, feeling loved and peaceful.

Suddenly a sharp pain stabbed at your gut. You gurgled, hands going to your stomach. Boba squeezed you, “Painkillers?”

”Yes, please,” you moaned softly, in serious pain. Your guts were throbbing.

He passed you your medicine. He’d had it all along. Somehow, he knew. You smiled despite yourself, administering your meds. Then you leaned into him again. He slowly wrapped a firm arm around you.

After sitting in the sun for awhile, Boba stood, picking you up. He carried you back into the ship. Setting you down in the cargo hold, he disappeared for a few minutes. Just as you were becoming uncomfortable, he returned with blankets and your pillow. Propping you up, he positioned you so you could see outside. A light breeze hit your skin.

He disappeared again. You sat there watching the desert and enjoying the outside air. Your thoughts wandered to the possibility Boba might not be able to wake you up tomorrow.

“Here we are,” Boba sat down next to you with lunch. Passing you some food, he sipped a drink. Turning to you, he asked softly, “How is it?” Between bites you complimented his culinary skills. He grinned and sat back. You thought your thoughts and ate. Suddenly you heard a small noise. Curious, you turned to Boba. He was laid out next to you, sleeping. Finishing your meal, you crawled over to him and curled up, smooshing into his form. He grumbled softly but didn’t wake up.

Tiredly, you closed your eyes to join him in sleep.

[phlve]

EN(F) — Extraverted Intution supported by Feeling

Alert to all the possibilities, operates by creative impulse and chaotic energy. Hates routine and develops insights amounting to wisdom and the power to inspire others. Worry and happiness, sharp swings of mood, reacts to life more boisterously than others. Delight from joy, despair from sorrow, "from passionate cries of joy - to extreme anguish". Subtle altruistic motivations. Attachment to family, friends, joy for them. Sudden enthusiastic urges. Love of nature, art, music, interest in sports. Spiritual experiences, the search for a worldview, extreme impressionability and suggestibility. Pity, compassion for unfortunate people and for sick animals. Artistic nature: artists. poets. pride and courage not without exaggeration. Representatives of this type are usually the most lively and individualistic people of all. Their way of thinking is non-trivial and unusual, "alien". Representatives of this type typically seem charming, warm, and considerate. They are friends with different kinds of people, and their friends like them for their insightful understanding of people's problems and peculiarities. If you have come across a person capable of keeping in good relations with their former wives. husbands, and colleagues, it is mostly likely to be this type. The drawback is their inability to do any tasks or work that requires attention to detail, meticulousness, accurate planning and scheduling, and any type of "sedentary" work. Representatives of this type may not turn in their graduation papers, quarterly accounting reports, and other important documentation for a long time. This is the type of person most prone to accept multiple projects and new initiatives, accepting so much tasks that they end up having too many things to do - and then they can't do a single project they envisioned. His openness and friendliness can sometimes play bad tricks on them. Though, sometimes he can show indomitable will and determination to reach goals, later he may regret the harsh words he has said and the actions he committed and seek reconciliation. Polite, cheery, sensible, emotive, friendly, innocent, "childlike". Feeling of harmony and integrity of the world prevails here. A wide variety of events may be perceived as normal: even very tough life's circumstances could be perceived as some kind of working environment, he takes it easy, does not panic. The principle of existence: "The world around me is in harmony. therefore I exist.". Might get compulsively intrigued and interested, "lovesick", towards things that attracted his imagination; hyperactive, ignores space and falls in love with an idea, he seeks to idealize and perceive the external reality with rose-colored glasses. Harmony and peace of mind, meaningful existence. Easily distracted by alternatives.

The integrity of the internal situation is the most rigidly ignored value. This means that this type has no such thing as an "inner core", ideology, character. He does not know how to dive into himself. meditate. find inner peace on their own. He will often idealize the existing world all the people in it - always "good". This is what it replaces finding inner harmony. He ignores his inner world, it is an unknown territory for him. This type is likely to imitate states and feelings that should be there as far as he knows; he will make attempts to analyze his state and mood. If he cannot manage his mood, he puts up with it as with an inevitable evil which cannot be fought. "I hate the negative feelings and I want to escape any sadness", "I will make the whole world happy and I will invade everyone with positive emotions, I just want to inspire!". Defensively take refuge in na excessively upbeat belief of optimism, an expansive happy mood that hides uncomfortable sentiments. When they feel pain, and deeply, when they can't avoid the negative, some manifestations may have a masochistic urge to indulge into the sentimentality When unhappy, he can be childish and not let others be happy. Passive-aggressive. Tsunderes; they won't talk about their issues, in order to keep the harmony, but they won't be anymore fun. Quickly gets up in spirits, even if it may not be genuine. Selfish. Bright and talkative. Always relying upon his talent for immediate improvisation instead of preparing the work in advance. He loves situations when new and exciting undertakings come u. when it is bossible to demonstrate his own and others' talents: when one can still expect the most unusual development of events. His speech is often romantic, his smiles are enticing, but very often that's as far as it goes. His motto is 'emotional power over all and sexual freedom from all'. "Modest". As a rule, he is not ambitious, because he can enjoy the circle of his friends and the anticipation of something interesting. His mood determines everything: plans for the future, self-estimation, and ideas about the world. Ambitious plans can change to disappointment and sadness: but interesting news, praise, or an unexpected interesting opportunity immediately lifts his spirits. Boredom can even make him ill. The greatest pleasure for him is to find a way out from the situation that others consider hopeless. He is capable of demonstrating friendliness and benevolence to all.

"If I feel like it - then I will fall in love. if I don't feel like it - then I will fall out of love. and later I will love some more." His feelings of love are never sure and stable. Today he loves you; tomorrow will speak for itself. People of this type have no idea about commitment as far as their feelings and emotions are concerned, they sway in their emotions between love and hate, they see a wide spectrum of shades in-between. At the same time if they hate you it is not final, as it is with some other types who make up their mind once and for good. "Nothing is eternal under the moon: today I love, leave tomorrow for tomorrow". "Hey, man, are you stupid or what!" he says by the way. He is joking, teasing. External relations for them - something not very much and not always associated with internal. For example, being married, often can easily meet someone else, not seeing it as something bad. barely appearing in some companies may begin to pretend to be treated the same as all the rest of its members. Often this behavior may irritate people. In certain situations, it is still in compliance with any rules of external relations, but all of these cases - rare and strictly prescribed. For example - a funeral is not fun, it may be in relation to the employer must be some scope permitted behavior, or it may even be similar cases it was his understanding of these standards. In all other cases it is simply grossly ignored. If all go on holiday to have fun - you can create a scandal, and when all upset - you can start to behave provocatively. These people look good on a stage playing a guitar or something like that. As a rule, they live to become their ideal. They simplify the logic of the real world and idealize it. Quite often they expect their partners to comply with their abstract ideal. Has a hard time finding a partner because real partners do not meet their ideal standards. The person close by cannot be ideal by definition. He is always on the quest for his ideal object of love, unless he chooses to idealize an existing person. Always ready to argue, asserting his ideals, his worldview until they prove to everyone that they are right. These people often adhere to a school or a doctrine. Having accepted a picture of the world, they advocate and actively popularize the adopted doctrine. People of this type try to structure and line up the information of the objective world as much as possible. That is an attempt to build an ideal description of the world, which does not leave any place for transcendental notions, i.e. something inexpressible in terms of their worldview. They allow for the unknown, but the unsearchable has no right to exist. Struggles with figuring out who they really are. Reactive, most decisions are based on other people. Prone to mysticism, false memories and fantastic, "religious" voices.

This type usually has the fear of a complete form, fear of an action. A fence he is building has been under construction for ten years, but the last nail may never be hammered in; he has been writing his thesis for fifteen years, but it is still unfinished because it is 'imperfect' - still more studying needs to be done, some cross-checking is needed... etc. He frequently lives in the world of the unfinished forms, imperfect objects; and he is constantly struggling with this imperfection. To get a result from him it is necessary to put strict deadline. Otherwise the work will be procrastinated indefinitely, he will continue to alter, add, and improve things... But there is no limit to perfection! This trait should be taken into account in a working environment. Knowing this trait, he often seeks a job where work deadlines are stipulated 'by default'. This could be, for example, teaching. "A good place is the place where I have good sensations, where I feel good.". A pat on the shoulder, a good meal - and he is all yours, this is his idea of a perfect world, he feels great where these conditions are met, he is in trance. Give him some more of the same treatment - and he falls asleep, goes into a deeper trance. People of this type are especially suggestible through sensations. It is enough to say a word about somebody's health, and he gets self-conscious, thinking about his health he may get carried away. They tend to apply everything they hear to themselves, information may not even be related to them but they immediately think about their own center of the universe. People of this type are rather hypochondriac. He wishes to adjust the environment to make himself as comfortable as he can, squeezing all the available comfort out of a space. Expects someone to maximize comfort and health. Always moving in the direction of places where there is physical comfort, exquisite sensory pleasure and are not able to deny yourself this. Where it is physically comfortable there and well, even if it is very expensive. Love gourmet food, massage, stroking. Finding one place where they feel comfortable, for example, restaurant some - can go there for dinner across town. Avoid places where there is all of necessary physical facilities. Gourmets around, slaves to their preferences and habits. If you like sweet, then will eat it pounds. Often determine the state of health from the words of others, because it is very suggestible on it. Sometimes it may be trying to recreate elements of the home where they feel as comfortable as physically. Quickly get used "to the good" and this becomes their weakness in the future, without it they can not. Suggestibility authorities with respect to health issues, if to tell him that he has something to be treated, it is easy to believe it can. In this context, it can become easy prey for "paid doctors." They may forget to eat on time, take medications to sleep, so it is in need of a caring parent, friend or special one.

[hidinginawell]

Ouuuuugh ok as a kid who read way too much dramatic literature and loved my pre-bed dramatic scenarios imagine my disgust when I fainted for real

If u haven't, u can probably guess, but: it sucks!

1st Time Ever: had to fast for like a day straight and then have not even water for ~12 hours before a surgery. I like slowly slid down onto the floor bc i was like perched on the edge of a bed. My mom was like "can u stop 🙄" bc she thought i was just complaining lol. I woke up on the floor and I was so uncomfortably hot and wretched feeling. I actually cried bc it felt so awful and uncomfortable (I was pretty young)

Minor Ouch: Got blood drawn. Contrary to what you'd expect it wasn't bc I care about needles, blood, doctors, etc. I finished getting the blood drawn, got up, exchanged pleasantries, was walking out the door when I passed out. I hit my back on a metal, sharp-edged trash can on tbe way down and so had a cut on each rib lol. Avoided anything worse bc i apparently kept a death grip on the door handle so someone got to me before my head hit the floor

Major Ouch: Junior year of high school woke up feeling kind of ick so i went to go drink some water from the bathroom i shared with my brother. I passed out and banged my face off the counter before full-on falling onto the floor and hitting my head so hard on the hard tile. I woke up and i instantly knew something was wrong, I felt so much worse than my usual post faint grossness. I was in so much pain I couldnt even make a sound so I lay there for a while until I had the strength to bang my hand on the wall. My mom was like "wtf are u doing?" And when I didn't answer she came and found me on the floor. I chilled for about 2 weeks but the pain didn't go away so i went to the doctor and I had a bad concussion. Tbh do think that it minorly affected me on a long term level

Funny: literally an exact repeat of the prior, except I was in college and home on winter break. I learned my lesson so i like managed a controlled fall this time instead. But remember how i said this is a shared bathroom with my brother? So he woke up and was like "what are you doingggg 🙄😒" through the wall and i was like shut up im having a senseless home accident and he was like damn ok just do it quieter lol.

In summary fainting sucks and my family has a very high threshold for pain and medical stuff and the like (but mines the best 😍💅 💯)

Feel free to tell me more about it

[llycaons]

ep31: (2/2): they're bad! they're bad!

this moment is just done so well. the dramatic shots, the slo-mo falls, the shocking spurts of blood, wwx's trembling horror, this final shot of jzx dead on the ground. excellently made

xz's expression is killer here. he just nailed the sickening shock and horror and despair and terror of what just happened. jzx's death has both massive far-reaching political consequences and extremely painful and close personal ones as well

like this, this is devastating. they were waiting for him! they wanted to see him!

I saw a post ages ago about how 🥺 they were all dressed up nicely they planned this! and I think that's a bit dumb because obviously they're dressed nicely and what exactly did they even plan since jc and wwx's plan consisted of 'make it known that the jiangs and wwx are finished' and it was lwj who suggested the invite and jyl who requested her husband to go through with it so I'm not giving jc any credit here

was this meant to be comedic because omg

xl's performance here was also SO devastating. you can see the moment the rug is ripped out from under her - there's that sudden, sickening emptiness swooping in your gut that I think she conveys rly well. and jc is so concerned for her too oof

wwx being constantly badgered by the resentful spirits he controls...

wwx is truly at his breaking point here. he has never attacked wen ning, never been aggressive towards someone innocent. and it just shows how deeply upsetting this is - and not just for himself and jyl but for his baby nephew too!

he's also questioning his decisions. not reminiscing or regretting, but actively questioning himself and his choices. wwx has never had to wonder, he's always been so confident in the right path even when it hurts him

god, hearing him ask this like a lost child is really sad. the world just pushed him to this place

first of all who is a-shu second of all WHY WOULD YOU SAY THIS AND THEN EVERYONE LEAVES??? at LEAST tell him about the baby. this bothers me every time it is the single most annoying plot hole in this show

in the novel, there's some really unpleasant scenes in the beginning where wwx climbs into bed with lwj in hopes of being kicked out of CR and lwj slaps a paralyzer on him for it and they just sleep like that which I feel like would be a really awkward and uncomfortable situation to be in but after this scene I feel like it wouldn't be surprising if wwx has genuine trauma related to be made immobile

the last time this happened, myu tied him up and sent him away from his home, about to be destroyed, about to die. and now wn and wq are keeping him paralyzed while they tell him about their plans to turn themselves in, facing death and worse. and wwx is absolutely powerless to help them. I can imagine being paralyzed as trigger for him, putting him back into some of the most traumatic and guilty and grief-laden moments of his life. but of course nothing wwx and lwj ever do with each other is anything but mildly awkward at worst

I do remember that wwx liked being tied up later after they're together but I actually understand that. playing with something that can be/was used to hurt you in the past but it's something you have control over so you're able to play with it and make it something safe and fun. I do think a lot of fics go too far with it and I don't really see kinkiness for their cql selves but I get it in theory. anyway

wwx is still trying to survive this. he's not an optimist, really, he's just refusing to give up. and wq is more pragmatic. she knows the world she's living in. and she loves wwx

so so sad how even though wwx has sacrificed so much and hurt so much for others, he still bears guilt for not being able to do more. it's not fair! there's so much suffering in this series

this is also so fucking sad oh my god wen qing

the iconic words 😭 wq is very somber and gentle in this scene, much different than the brusque and sharp-tongued woman in the book. I think this suits the atmosphere much better. she's crying and so is he

we've seen this sleeping-tear before

and here she is, smiling at her family. what I gather is, they all decided to come with her and wen ning too. and since wwx was asleep, they couldn't tell him about a-yuan

but still, shouldn't ONE person have stayed? to look after the toddler? he was FEVERISH when lwj found him! to look after wwx? he's been paralyzed for days and he doesn't have a golden core

god you know I usually see these tragedies filtered through wwx's experienced because he's my focal point, but this is so fucking tragic just for their sakes. they're ready to die here. and the jins will scatter their ashes to the wind

back to jyl, who's looking miserable enough to make me sad too

the funny thing is, jyl's story is very sad but she still has a chance. she's of noble birth. she'll reincarnate. and yet it's her scenes with wwx that still hurt my heart

the wens met a more tragic end but I was so happy when they carved out a place for themselves and lived their lives with wwx. it was a joyful little community. maybe because by the end, their story seems resolved. even if there was no justice, wen ning and lsz are alive and they'll honor their memory. but the jiang siblings don't have a clean ending. there's still a bleeding wound there, even at the very end. one sibling lost, and one warped beyond all recognition into a hateful and vile thing.

I never really got over jyl's death. maybe it'll be different this time

the way he's imagining her nor finding fault with him...ough

wwx running out of the abandoned BM community to the gentle refrain of that song about missing the past...just kill me now

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Along Came a Spider (1/3)

Title: Along Came a Spider (1/3)

Summary: Virgil has two secrets. The first secret is that he misses them. He misses Patton’s warm hugs and his soft, gooey cookies. He misses Logan and his rants about astronomy. He even misses Roman--loud, noisy prince who gets on his nerves with his bravado and flights of fancy. He should've known it wasn't ever meant to be. Now just thinking about them makes him feel like a worm on a hook–it’s like a sharp pain stabbing into his intestines that he can’t squirm away from.

The second secret? Well, it's something he's hidden from the others for a long, long time. And he'd rather put up the "Big Bad Anxiety" persona than for the others to know the truth. He knows they'll never forgive him for it and he can live with that. He has to.

Pairings: Platonic Prinixety, Background Platonic LAMP 

Word-Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Injuries, Blood Mention, Attempted Strangling (multiple times!), Panic, Non-Graphic Violence, Spiders, Mild Body Horror, Misunderstandings, BIG MISUNDERSTANDINGS, Things Are Not What They Appear to Be, Some Characters Make Some Morally Grey Decisions, Angst with a Happy Ending

  This fic is dedicated to @theeternalspace​, happy bday friend! I hope you find this fic to your liking. It takes place sometime after DWIT, so vaguely canon-adjacent up until that point. It'll be in three parts, so be on the look-out for the next two parts to this fic.

-

There’s a rat in the cell. It’s not even a cutesy one with fluffy fur and bright perky eyes, the kind that Patton would happily squeal about and the kind that’d cause Logan’s eyes  to spark with interest. Logan wouldn’t admit it but he loved rats. If given a chance, he’d rattle on for an hour about how smart the little critters were.

Virgil also liked them. He guessed it was because he could relate to them. Rats were creatures that were feared and despised by most, seen as dirty vermin that should be exterminated and kept under control. As the personification of Anxiety, it was quite easy to feel a kinship with them.

Roman, however, was a different story. He grew uncomfortable at even the mere mention.

“Pah! Dogs are much more noble creatures!” Roman said once, folding his arms against his chest in a classic princey pout.

“What about the rats in Ratatouille?” Virgil snarked back, “wouldn’t you say Remy’s dream of becoming a chef is noble?”

“Th--that’s different!” Roman threw his arms in the air, “It’s Pixar!”

But the rat in the cell isn’t a well-groomed, domesticated rat. It’s a huge, massive thing. Like maybe the size of a small cat. It’s unkempt fur brushy and bristly. It has sharp red eyes and pointy yellowed teeth. The rat tears through Virgil’s dinner with ease. He thinks maybe he should do something about the rat. After all, he hasn’t eaten in who knows how long.

He tries to do so.  The slightest inch in movement causes the rat to unleash a screech in his direction. It’s an ear-splitting sound and so Virgil stays put. For this rat is a creation of Remus. Who knows what eldritch atrocities the rat is capable of.

He has never understood Roman’s hatred of rats until this moment. He wonders if Remus has ever sicced a pack of rats on his brother. Did Roman manage to fend them off? Or did the rats overwhelm him, gnawing on his flesh and eating him alive? Of course, death is a very temporary thing in the Mindscape–but the twins’ realms of imagination make it feel anything but temporary.

God, Virgil wants to throw up just thinking about Roman being eaten alive by rats. It’s too dark even for him. That thought can’t belong to him. He’s been in Remus’s realm for weeks now. His influence must be infecting Virgil’s function, decaying it.

Virgil hopes this isn’t affecting Thomas negatively. He already fucked up once by ducking out. He refuses to allow it to happen a second time. Not when this is for the sake of the others.

The rat is still busy gnawing at the bread. It looks close to breaking its’ damn teeth on the thing. No wonder, it’s stale and hard-as-a-brick. Virgil could’ve used it as a projectile and knock out his imprisoners if it came to it. He wouldn’t. Not after the deal he’s struck with them.

Virgil shivers, pressing further into the corner of the cell he’s in. He’s curled up in an almost fetal position, desperate to conserve as much warmth as he can. Prickly goosebumps cover his skin. There’s no fierce, biting winter wind. No snow, no ice and yet it feels like a literal tundra inside the cell.

“Oooh, I’m so excited,” Remus had said, arms flaring out in a way that is too familiar, too Roman-like, “I’ve always wondered if we could die of hypothermia. Oooh, ooh! They say in the final stage of hypothermia, victims’ bodies feel unbearably warm--isn’t that fascinating?”

Well, he hasn’t reached that stage yet, so that has to be good, right? Although freezing to death isn’t that bad. Especially compared to the other things Remus has put him through these past few weeks. Things like facing a zombie apocalypse as the last survivor and playing “hide-and-go-seek” in an inescapable maze with a flesh-eating cryptid entity. So yeah, death by hypothermia? Not that bad.

He hopes Remus grows tired of using him as a plaything soon. Maybe Deceit will step in soon and demand Remus to quit it. Virgil knows he’s close to his breaking point. Close enough to where he’ll do anything if Deceit will save him. He hopes he can hold onto his resolve. If not him then for Thomas’ sake.

It’s the only hope he can cling to at this point. He’s literally Anxiety, it isn’t like he has optimism in spades. He’s not expecting to be rescued from a hole he dug himself.

Virgil hasn’t slept much these past few weeks. Not that he gets good sleep in general. His life motto is “Never Resting, Always Worrying.”

Still, even he has to succumb to sleep and face the nightmares that await him there. Lately his nightmares have been centered around Roman, Logan and Patton. Namely, their reaction to the stupid stunt he pulled.

“What are you doing?!”

“What needs to be done.”

“Virgil, please--”

“Don’t call me that. It’s Anxiety to you, got it?”

“Anxiety. I do not understand. Can we not discuss this together and work things out as a group? Based on past events, it is best--”

“We can’t. It won’t work, not this time.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve realized something, about how a bunch of clueless morons you guys are. You act like everything can be solved in twenty minutes like a cheesy sitcom but real life? It doesn’t work that way. And I was wrong to think it could.”

“Virgil, wait! Don’t leave--”

But he did. He left them, head held high as he walked into awaiting jaws of Remus and Deceit.

Now he’s alone in a cold, dark cell. His only company? A rat that is one second away from biting his hand off. The worst part is that it’s all his fault. He doesn’t get to feel sorry for himself. He doesn’t deserve that privilege.

He inhales shakily as he reaches to clutch onto the necklace around his neck. He’s always worn it, keeping it underneath his shirt and out of sight of the others. It’s a simple black cord with a pendant of his Stormcloud emblem hanging on it. He holds onto the pendant, rubbing his fingers across the cold metal. It grounds him, keeps him from unraveling. Ironic, considering the gifter of the necklace.

He counts silently to himself. One, two, three, four, hold breath. One, two, three, four, five--his composure breaks, a sob rattles his throat. He grips his necklace tighter. Again . One, two, three, four, hold breath. Good! Now hold your breath for seven seconds. One, two, three, dammit. He closes his eyes, his heartbeat accelerating. He can do this, he must do this. He has done this, and he will do this again. One, two, three, four--he keeps going.

Several times, he messes up again. He’s used to this--it’s kinda his thing to make mistakes. In thirty years, he’s learned to keep moving forward regardless. Even when everything inside of him screams to give up. Patton would probably put some positive spin on that. He’d pat Virgil’s shoulder and tell Virgil how proud he is of him. Logan would rattle off some beneficial statistical facts. Roman might sprout some admirable speech. Just thinking about them makes him feel like a worm on a hook–it’s like a sharp pain stabbing into his intestines that he can’t squirm away from.

He misses them. He misses Patton’s warm hugs and his soft, gooey cookies. He misses Logan and his rants about astronomy. He even misses Roman--loud, noisy prince who gets on his nerves with his bravado and flights of fancy. He never thought he’d get used to their acceptance. Get used to seeing them look at him with love, like he actually possesses worth and value. For the longest time, he waited for things to drift back to normal. Back to the insults and the shunning. All alone in his room as the others’ laughter of joy from outside taunts him.

“You can’t tell me you honestly think this whole ‘charade’ will last forever,” Deceit told him, “it’ll be less painful if you end it on your own terms, then if an...outside force ends it on their own. ”

Virgil had believed him. He still believes him, even now. It’s better for him to be the screw-up like always than for the others to know the truth. The others will never forgive him and he can live with that. He has to.

Screeeeeeech.

Virgil’s eyelids fly open, hands flying to protect his face. His immediate thought is the rat. It’s attacking him. Surely his meager prison meal isn’t enough to satiate its hunger. Except he realizes three things.

The first thing is that the rat is gone. He doesn’t know where it went. It could’ve disappeared into the shadow realm as far as he knew. The second thing is that the door to his cell is open. It’s an old creaky door with rusty hinges because of course it is. Remus wouldn’t have it any other way.

The third thing he notices is Roman.

At least, he thinks it’s Roman. Bright light from the outside pools into the cell, causing a stinging sensation in his eyes. They need time to adjust to the change in light. Still, he forces himself to squint up at the silhouette in the doorway. Its’ broad, imposing, larger-than-life stature is unmistakably Roman

All of Virgil’s fears and what-ifs melt away at the sight of it. Because Roman is here. He’s here and somehow, in some way, Roman would make things right again.  A sliver of hope runs him. Weak and thin, but still present. He shouldn’t be disarmed so easily. It has to be from exhaustion, he thinks.

The hope doesn’t live long. A second dark figure appears behind the first, shattering the illusion. Remus’ wide-eyed grin meets his slackening pale face.

“Viiiirgil! I have a boy toy for you!” He crows, “I hope you’re into humping nearly-dead corpses.”

Unceremoniously he punts the first figure into the cell.  Virgil hardly has time to react before the cell door shuts with a loud clang. He rushes to the still form on the ground as an ocean of panic swells up inside of him.

Is Remus messing with him? This can’t possibly be Roman lying face-down on the ground. Roman whose complexion is whiter than his uniform. It can’t be. It has to be a construct, something Remus created to fuck with him. Both figuratively and literally, knowing Remus. God, he does not need that last image in his head right now. He tries to ignore it, to attach himself to any other drifting semi-coherent thought than that one.

Help. Construct or not, Virgil has to help this Roman. He’d do anything to help the Core Sides. Something Remus and Deceit know too well. He wouldn’t doubt if they are watching from a secret camera. They’re probably stuffing their faces with greasy popcorn and cackling at him at this very moment.

Virgil rolls him onto his back. Brown bangs drenched with sweat hang down in the Prince’s face. They barely cover the bruise forming around his right eye. Little cuts nick the sides of his cheeks, likely from a knife or a sword. The angry red slashes also decorate his arms and legs, fabric of his uniform torn along with it. Roman’s white tunic has a high collar but even it can’t hide the ring of green-black forming around his neck. Did Remus try strangling him to death?

He can hardly focus on that however. His eyes drift further down the prince’s tunic. He realizes with a start that it’s a lot more red than it should be. The red isn’t from Roman’s sash. He lifts the tunic away, trying to ignore how it’s almost pasted to the wound. The wound, well. It’s bad. He curses, throwing off his jacket without a second thought. He presses it against the wound, trying desperately to stop the blood wound. God, please don’t let this be his Roman. Please let this be some twisted, cruel prank by Remus. Please, please, please.

“Roman, wake up!” Virgil says. Silence. “Princey, I--I swear I’m going to steal your Disney VHS Collection if you don’t wake up right now.”

It’s such a weak attempt at a threat, but Roman’s eyelids flutter open at it. His eyes are unfocused, looking around in a bewildered way before settling onto Virgil. His mouth forms a small ‘O’. His eyes so wide and glistening, alit with a dazed wonder.

“Virgil,” Roman says, managing a weak grin, “You’re alive.”

Virgil’s heart lodges in his throat because he knows without a doubt it’s Roman. His stupid heroic, obstinate, foolhardy idiot of a prince. No way Remus could perfect such a carbon copy, right down to the barest of micro expressions.

“What are you doing here? They promised they wouldn’t hurt you and the others--” Virgil shuts his mouth, horror seizing him at his own words.

Deception and Intrusive Thoughts. Why had he ever trusted in their words? Remus who lives his existence always doing and never thinking.  Or in Deceit, whose very name defines his character? The answer is very simple, of course. It is always the answer to all of his problems; Virgil had let his irrational fears get the best of him.

Meanwhile Roman’s grin grows wider, gleeful even.

“Hah,” He manages before descending into a coughing fit, “K-knew you weren’t the bad guy.”

“How’d you...how’d you know I wasn’t the bad guy?”

“I couldn’t make the same mistake twice.” Roman stares at him. His eyes hold such a firm, unyielding conviction that Virgil almost wants to turn away. He doesn’t.

Okay, yeah it hurt a lot back then. Back when Roman flung barrages of insults in Virgil’s direction. As Creativity, Roman knew how to craft insults that hurt worse than any sting of the sword. Even though Virgil has long since forgiven him, it still hurts at times. Especially when the two fall back into their old ways of bickering and mean taunts. It’s far too easy for them to do that than to play nice.

Still, Virgil knows even then he deserved them. He’d given Roman no reason to trust him. Sure being the bad guy had been an act but even pretending can hurt. He knows this better than anyone. He wants to argue Roman and the others made a mistake believing Virgil could be anything more than the bad guy. Especially once they knew what he’d been hiding from them.

Virgil swallows, the lump in his throat refusing to dissipate.

“I--I’m sorry,” He says, the words rushing out of him, “I was an idiot, I panicked--”

“Shh,” Roman hushes, his hand clasping on top of Virgil’s. He cranes his neck upwards, doing his best to maintain eye-contact with Virgil, “Don’t apologize, my stormy knight. The blame is--is all on me, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

Roman gives him an indecipherable, anguished look.

“It’s all my fault. I failed you, I’m sorry, I should’ve been able to--”

“What are you sorry for?” Virgil presses.

“To..save you. What kind of,” Roman coughs again, “prince am I if I can’t save my loved ones?”

Oh... Ohhh . Remus and Deceit didn’t capture Roman? But that would mean...Roman went after him. That shouldn’t be as big of a surprise to Virgil (considering Roman’s heroics) but it is. Did Patton and Logan even know what Roman did? Or did he trudge in without a plan, armed with only his goal in mind?

“You idiot,” Virgil hisses, and immediately regrets his word choice when Roman flinches at it. Virgil presses down on the wound harder, “Roman, I am not worth the trouble--”

“Virgil,” Roman interrupts, grasping his hands as tightly as he can, “I’d die a thousand deaths if it meant seeing you safe and sound.”

Roman’s declaration takes him off guard. It’s not necessarily the words but the glint in the other’s eyes. It’s not a case of Roman being facetious and overly dramatic. Virgil knows he means them. He knows and it scares the hell out of him.

He changes the topic abruptly, “Remus did he--”

“It’s not the first time my wretched brother has bested me,” Roman said, his mouth forming a thin, tight line, “I’ll be--be fine--”

Roman coughs and coughs, his whole body trembling with exertion. Virgil watches helplessly. Red speckles fall from his mouth. Roman sags, his grip on Virgil’s hand loosening.

“Like hell you’re fine!” Virgil hisses, “Roman, damn you, stay with me!”

Roman smiles at him. He looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes close shut and his hand falls away from Virgil’s.

“No, no, wake up! Wake up!” Virgil demands, shaking the prince to no avail. The only thing that keeps Virgil from completely breaking down is the faint yet stable heartbeat coming from Roman.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

The mantra runs through his head to the rapid beat of his heart. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But Virgil can see now that his actions had been selfish and caused harm rather than good. Roman is hurt. He has to do something to make this right. Even if it means doing the one thing that drove him down here in the first place.

Virgil’s the type to overthink things to the point of insanity. Not this time. With anger swelling in his veins, Virgil grabs hold of his necklace and rips it off. As he stares down at its broken clasp, light ripples through his body.

He forgets about the pain; it’s always worse the longer he suppresses it without any release. The pain hits him like a steamroller, flattening him down to the ground in an instant. It’s prickly and piercing like needles.

He bites back a cry, sharp fangs digging into his gums. His face burns and he reaches for it—wanting to claw it off when everything goes dark. He jerks his hands away as knives dig at his back, tearing apart flesh. No, not knives. Long, spindly black limbs sprout from his back, stretching and elongating. They twitch and flail of their own volition, sending another crashing wave of pain his way.

He fights against it, growling as he sits up. His vision clears, eight pairs of eyes blinking away bright white spots. He takes a shaky breath, hunching in on himself. It’s been so long since he’s taken this form. Too long.

Virgil tries to ignore how his lungs breathe in air more freely, how he is able to fully stretch out his spindly limbs rather than feel them writhe beneath his skin, how his vision is brighter, more clearer.

He looks down at Roman, scowling. He doesn’t have the time to dwell on it. He reaches out for Roman’s prone body–

ItSy BiTsY LiTtlE PriNce, WOulD loOk aLl niCe wrAppEd uP iN A WeB?

Virgil freezes, hands curling into fists. “NO!” He growls, “NEVER!”

He knows it’s one of Remus’ wild intrusive thoughts, probably sent to torment him specifically. It does not have a physical form, but he can still sense its presence hovering over them.

ItSy BiTsy liTtlE PrinCe, sPit on hiM and mAke hiM aCiD?

Virgil’s hands pull at his hair as he tries to block out the intrusive images. But he can’t do that. If...if what Logan had said is true, it only gives it more power. He has to continue on in spite of the Intrusive Thought. He can’t let himself get distracted for Roman’s sake. He grits his teeth, letting go of his hair as his hands fall to his sides.

itSY BiTSy PrINce, noTHiNG leFt bUt sAsH anD tUNic?

Virgil ignores it, carefully gathering Roman into his arms. He draws himself to his full height, his legs dangling several feet in the air, on spindly spider limbs. His head almost hits the ceiling of the small, cramped cell. He looks down at the rusty cell door, bares his fangs and...vomits acid onto it. There is no other pleasant way to go about it. The acid turns the padlock into nothing within seconds. He taps a foreleg against the cell door and it screeeeches open.

“Itsy bitsy spider comes out the waterspout.” Virgil mutters sardonically, skittering as fast as his spider limbs can take him. The intrusive thought is silent. Perhaps it has run away to warn Remus. Virgil does not care.

In Remus’ realm of the Imagination, there is very little rhyme or reason to its rules. The few rules it has are nonsensical--like that of a twisted grotesque Wonderland. But there is one thing and that is unlike Roman, Remus prefers stories where the bad guys win.

Lucky for Virgil, he just so happens to be a bad guy.

[starrystar]

Part 6 Transcribed:

49

Bright leafy green background with gold veins

On the bright side, sour and tart things were great. 

SB: I am going to marry this pomegranate and have its weird little mythological babies.

After the second treatment my hair fell out. 

Since I’d already buzzed it short, I started shedding little half-inch hairs like a dog blowing its coat. 

That bit was pretty awful

Note: Half-inch hairs get in everything.

50

Minty and white background. 

I didn’t have a lot of hang-ups about my hair, but it looked so awful and patchy. I looked like a sic stranger in the mirror.

SB: I hate this.

MR: Then let’s fix it. 

My husband shaves his head.

He got out his spare razor and showed me how to shave mine. That helped. It looked like I’d made a regrettable fashion choice, not like I was sick. 

51

Purple and orange inkblot background. 

I still didn’t really look like myself in the mirror. 

SB: It’s fine. It’ll grow back. Just pretend you’re cosplaying Solas from Dragon Age. Wait, I hate solas . . . 

Oddly enough, if I put on a headwrap, I looked like me again. Brains are weird.

Regardless the treatment was working. 

Bob got smaller and squishier. Doctor pinkeye was thrilled. 

Note: Some percentage of Tumblr will now unfollow me for my anti-Solas sentiment. I understand this. 

52

Reddish, disturbingly meaty background. 

Eventually I had my thyroid biopsy. 

It wasn’t painful, but it was among the most viscerally uncomfortable experiences of my life.

The feel of a needle punching through muscle and gristle, right by where I keep my trachea and jugular, was horrifying.

Nope

Nope

Nope

DR: Nearly done…

SB: Hrrrgkk!

And then it came back negative.

SB: Hot damn!

Note: Honestly though, this biopsy was flat out awful in the weirdest oh good I’m made of meat way. 

53

Gray and speckled background

Even though it wasn’t that bad, by the last red devil treatment, I was starting to get a gnawing dread about going in for the infusion.

But that made no sense!

SB: I don’t get queasy during the infusions! My body can’t actually know they’re what’s causing me to feel terrible! Why do I feel scared of sitting in a comfy chair for three hours?!

NP: …I’ll just write “anxiety” here on your chart, ok?

I had a horrible fear that I was going to cry or freak out and disgrace myself in public.

The nurses would have been kind and understanding about it, too. Just knowing that made it worse. 

54

A slightly more reddish and kind of meaty background.

I was so annoyed with myself.

I was tough! 

And resilient!

And handling everything so well!

Except now I kinda wasn’t.

This wasn’t an unknown quantity anymore, so why was I scared? 

[note: these last words are askew and overlapping]

55

Dark blue and watery background.

SB: Right. Only one thing for it, then. 

I play a lot of Dungeons & Dragons. My favorite character to be was a brave, dim-witted, highly enthusiastic paladin named Rooster. He wouldn’t have minded chemo at all. He’d have been even happier if he could have thrown himself on a rogue IV for someone, then hit it with a broadsword. 

I was really good at being Rooster, even if I wasn’t always great at being me.

SB: Gonna channel Rooster. Gonna get through this. RN: How are you today?

SB: I’m here to smite cancer and chew gum!

RN: …o…k…

SB: Have you got any gum?

RN: I’ve got ensure?

56

Pink bubblegum background with some swirls

Astonishingly it sorta worked.

Every time my guts started to knot up, I imagined being lawful good and not very bright. 

I may be the first person in history to larp my way through chemo.

The last round wasn’t great.

Every time I got hungry I got queasy. 

I had to kinda pre-game meals by eating cheese and crackers fifteen minutes in advance. 

Really sharp cheddar still works. Thank god. 

Note: An online friend sent me a can of Cougar Gold cheddar, and if he ever needs a kidney, I will lurk in alleys with a scalpel and a bag of dry ice. 

57

Swirly Pepto Bismol pink ink background. 

I hated how tired I felt all the time. It was so hard to get any work done. SB: But your cells are working really hard!

SB: Maybe, but they’re not getting this book written.

I had two people in one week express astonishment that I was still working while getting chemo. Uh, yeah? My bills don’t go away just because I’ve got cancer.

I knew I was profoundly lucky to have a job I could do in bed if I had to. I tried to feel grateful enough about that. 

SB: I’m lucky I’m lucky I’m lucky

Other people have it so much worse. 

…somehow that does not make me feel better. 

For anyone wondering how treatment is going, it’s the Saga of Bob, Part Six!

The story so far…

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Half-inch hairs get in EVERYTHING.

Some percentage of Tumblr will now unfollow me for my anti-Solas sentiment. I understand this.

Honestly though, this biopsy was flat out awful in the weirdest oh good I’m made of meat way.

An online friend sent me a can of Cougar Gold cheddar, and if he ever needs a kidney, I will lurk in alleys with a scalpel and a bag of dry ice.

It’s not fun to live through, but the treatment is working really, really well, so that’s good news!

(Continued infinite gratitude to the transcribers!)