#puking would be less humiliating

[yinyuedijun]

also like I have literally pulled out my phone to do last minute hsr dailies at movie theatres, parties, and the fucking club it's REALLY REALLY BAD GDDHASLAH

it's so bad how much hsr meta has rotted my brain guys like I sleep breathe and eat turn order calculations and crit dmg multipliers at this point

[stxrslut]

HUMILIATED 𖤍

summary; when rafe gets with you as a barrier to stand between the tension that stands in stone between him and his drug dealer, but the moment barry realises what he's doing, he takes it to his utmost advantage and uses you to prove to rafe that he will never be anything other than pathetic to him  

content; rafebarry x reader, dubcon, ass eating, use of weed, “bitch” is used in a derogatory way towards reader

rafe cameron is a pathetic man. there’s no doubt about it, anyone who’s ever met him has found it out in some way or another. you’d been told this when he started going after you, and to your dismay, you’d ignored it. you’d had no idea that rafe had alternate motivations when he began pursuing you, but you were ever so wrong. 

maybe one month ago, more or less, there had been a rather monumental night. rafe and barry, up late, smoking, had fucked. it was quick and rushed and sweaty and gross. and then rafe had run for the hills, never to acknowledge the night again, or so he thought. 

overcome by a mountain of emotions and complicated thought processes, he’d done everything possible to distract himself, starting with a few hookups, and then a relationship with you. 

you do the job well enough for him, but even so the dealer is always somewhere in his mind. you notice sometimes when you’re having sex that he just disassociates, but you’re not sure what he’s thinking of, maybe that’s just how he is in bed. 

whilst you’re not aware of all of the backstory behind them, you know something is up with rafe and barry. when you tag along with rafe on his weekly visits the tension between them is tangible. barry always remains stony faced,rafe always looks similar to a prey animal, scared, skittish, ready to run or play a defence. you quickly become aware that you are his defence. 

rafe takes you there to try and intimidate him. to try and show him, to send a message that says “I don’t need you.” 

tonight is one of those nights. you are sat cross legged on one of the two couches on barry’s front porch. you feel rather uncomfortable. 

the two men are smoking weed, each of them have their own joint, because apparently sharing doesn’t happen anymore. rafe occasionally offers you a drag, which you occasionally take, but you think if you got high, the tension in the air would make you puke. it might make you puke anyway. 

nobody has said anything for over five minutes. you decide to crawl into rafe’s lap, for some comfort, retreat, maybe just to make him break this deafening silence. 

rafe lets you take a place straddling his lap, you wriggle down there to get comfortable before you rest your head on his chest. to your absolute disappointment, the silence continues. 

another ten minutes, maybe fifteen, you can’t keep count. you hear the moving of cushions from behind you, barry must be changing the position that he’s sitting in. 

looking up, you see rafe’s jaw ticking in supposed frustration. you can tell that the thoughts are rushing around behind his eyes before his gaze hardens and he looks back down to you. 

without speaking, his hand cups the back of your head and he pulls you up to lock lips with him. the kiss is sudden and a little too intense for the context, being that his drug dealer is watching it happen. 

there’s really not a way for you to protest and this does help occupy the quiet and awkward just a little bit so you don’t. along with you not protesting, it escalates just a little bit. a lot actually, within minutes you’re humping on his bulge. 

your mouth no longer on his lips and now on his neck, you can see his face just a little bit. he’s staring right at barry, not looking away, not blinking. his only acknowledgement of you is the hand on your lower back, guiding your movements just a little bit. 

you think maybe you should just stop, walk home without him and escape this turmoil of looks and telepathic communications you can’t tap in on. but something else happens before you can act on it. 

you don’t see it coming, so it takes you by surprise when barry’s firm pair of hands pull you back to stand up against him. 

“fuckin’ done with this.” he grumbles, but he’s not speaking to you, he’s speaking to rafe, who’s face you can now see is bright red, eyes wide and lips parted. “you think you’re such a tough guy huh? nah. we’re not doin’ this no more. you wanna fuckin’ show off your girl like that makes you better. huh?” 

he yells, pushing you aside but blocking you in, as he goes down to rafe’s level. you watch in shock as he leans forward and grabs rafe by the collar. then he pushes him down to lay on his stomach on the couch, making his cheek smush up against a pillow that probably smells of mould. 

once rafe’s pants are pulled down and his ass is revealed to the cold evening air, barry grabs you once more, forming a ponytail in your hair to keep a firm hold of you. 

his mouth comes up close to your ear, “you think your man’s tough huh? nah. gonna show you what a fuckin’ pathetic little son of a bitch he is.” the dealer's words are driven by an anger that you are not sure the origin of. 

you have to avoid yelping when suddenly you’re pushed to your knees and your face is inches away from his ass. you can guess now what you’re about to do. 

hand still on your head, barry levels his face with rafe now, “feel like a big guy now rafe? do you feel good?” 

and then your face is shoved down. your mouth immediately comes into contact with his asshole. by default, you begin to move a little, parting your lips and tonguing at it. barry chuckles, “this girl knows what to do, doesn't she? you got her trained rafe? you like having your ass ate?” 

rafe whimpers. he feels humiliated, this is not the reason he ever dated you. he dated you for confidence in himself, not whatever the fuck this is. 

unfortunately, for him that is, pleasure is there too, and he can’t resist reacting to it. his ass shifts upwards to accommodate the boner that was pressing into the couch uncomfortably. 

the sounds he’s making are oh so pathetic, whimpers and whines and little begs to barry to stop this. he doesn’t stop though. 

even when you come up for a breath of air you’re swiftly pushed right back down by his firm hand, “keep goin’ bitch. I didn’t tell you to stop.” 

after chastising you, barry turns to rafe with a clear sense of what he’s about to do. “look at you. fuckin’ pathetic. never gonna be the big man you think you are rafe cameron.” 

it takes just a few more seconds and then rafe cries out embarrassingly loud. “mmh- fuck. get her off o’me.. stop it.” tears are falling down his cheeks while he feels nothing but humiliation at what he’s doing. 

barry does pull you away, pushing you aside, but only after he’s sure that rafe has endured every last second of his orgasm. 

you move up to sit on the floor two feet away, eyes fixated on the two. rafe is breathless, body limp on the couch, cheeks red and tearstained. his eyes bore into barry’s, it’s like they’re speaking in their heads again. whatever the fuck has happened between these two, you just hope to god you don’t have to stay a part of it.

[lawrencespen1777]

Hi, I have a request!

What about a sickfic where characters go on a boat, and one seems to be seasick. The only thing is, character continuously claimed that they don't get seasick, and never have. The others think it's just character being difficult, but then their friend/partner discovers they have a fever...

turns out they managed to catch the stomach flu.

I had SO much fun with this! I think I may keep it and adapt it for my own fandom. Thank you for the awesome prompt!

“Everyone who said hell was a big fire lied to me. It’s water and a bunch of boats where people have to live and be seasick for eternity.”

“I’m glad to see you’re not letting it affect your good mood.”

W groaned and hunched over the toilet in the four by four bathroom again. “How much longer?”

C checked their phone. “Still about four hours.”

“You said that last time.”

“You just asked a few minutes ago.”

“Impossible,” W choked and retched into the bowl.

C grimaced at the sound of partially digested lunch splashing in the water. They looked down when they noticed W watching them, but it was too late.

“You don’t have to stay…with me,” W panted, their words catching unevenly as their stomach jerked again. False alarm. “You should enjoy the party.”

“Not happening. The only reason I came was for you anyway…I just didn’t know you were such a lightweight.”

W rolled their eyes, but C saw the corners of their mouth twitch upward. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve sailed before. Never been sea-seasick.” They lurched forward and spit a mixture of saliva and bile, each dry heave bringing up less and less. W crashed back onto the floor and wiped tears of exertion from their cheeks. “God,” they whispered, resting their head in their hands. “This is humiliating.”

“Maybe you should lie down? I can ask someone if there’s a place you can use. Surely you’re not the first person to be seasick on a boat.”

W chuckled softly. “It would help if I could get someplace warmer. It’s freezing in here.”

C watched W closely. The shaking they had attributed to the violent vomiting had escalated to shivering. W’s face was the color of wet paste and their hair clung to it in damp, sticky patches. “It feels pretty warm in here to me. Do you think you have a fever?”

“I don’t know…I can’t focus on anything right now, but not pu-puking. Maybe it’s just cold on the floor.”

C bent down to touch W’s skin, first with the back of their fingers against a clammy cheek then, feeling the heat that radiated from them, with their palm against their forehead. “You’re really warm, W…”

W said nothing.

“Okay…just try to relax. I’m going to check with the party staff and see if they have Tylenol or anything you can take.

“I don’t think it’ll stay down.”

“Well we need to try so you don’t get worse.” When W remained silent again C kissed the top of their head. “I’ll be right back. Are you okay for a few minutes?”

“Mhmm.”

C didn’t quite believe them, but they hurried off anyway in case there was a round two.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Vin Jin with Unhinged F!Reader

Unhinged F!Reader: Gun Park | Goo Kim | Samuel Seo | Samuel Seo Part 2 | James Lee/DG | Jinyoung Park | Eli Jang | Tom Lee | Ryuhei Kuroda | Eugene

Enough with the games.

"Come on, let me see."

Even in his half dead state, Vin's hands remain glued to his eyes. You grab both wrists and pry them off effortlessly.

Of course the bastard's eyes are closed. You should have seen that coming.

"I'm gonna make you puke blood all night!"

Your eyebrows lift in amusement. Well well, this boy still has a surprising amount of bite.

"In your current state?" The snap of bone fills the air, closely followed by screams. "See? How do you expect to do anything to me."

"Y-you're crazy, you b-bitch!"

Vin's wrists juts out at an unnatural, opposing angle.

.

.

Your hand hovers uncertainly.

You're not sure if fighting someone in.. what was that again? Cheongliang? Gang? Fam? would be worth your time. This guy's reputation seems bigger than his actual feats.

So what if he's killed somebody. Hasn't everyone?

But rumours of his monstrous strength had crept through the grapevine, along with his penchant for wearing tinted sunglasses.

Seriously, what a freak. You smile. Well, you're a freak too.

You make up your mind, scribbling down his name.

.

.

Is it worse to be proven right or wrong? Probably the former in this case.

The judo moves and grappling are predictable from the onset. You don't receive so much as a scratch.

It's a bit too easy to be fun. However, his foul-mouthed insults and antics delights you.

The way this guy seems to pull countless pairs of sunglasses and goggles to instantly replace the one you shatter keeps your interest.

And it's been so long since anyone has managed to do that.

You shriek gleefully and your demonic grin stretches a little more each time Vin places a new pair upon his face.

How far does this rabbit hole go?

Fuck.

How was he supposed to know the moment he stepped out of the bathroom you would be there.

You're relentless. Vin has been cornered from the get-go and hates anyone, especially some random psychotic bitch, have the upper hand.

He considers leaving the glasses off to fight you. But proud as he is, it's plain to see the vast skill gap even without the handicap.

The first hit you landed proved that much.

It's one less humiliation to not show his deformity.

.

.

No longer having the use of his hands, the angry shouts and threats soon devolve to pathetic whimpers and pleading.

"Please... Don't look..."

That's more like it.

Your index and middle finger, taking on a V shape, start to lightly press on both eyelids. Digging a bit more with each passing second.

"How about I give you an out? Either you open your eyes, or I pluck them out to see what the fuss is about."

"You fucking..."

Your talons finally breaks skin, dots of crimson appearing from the punctures.

He gives in.

Opening his eyes, Vin looks at you like how everyone else looks at you. Abject terror and burning hatred. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Except... His eyes?!

"Holy shit, that's hot as fuck."

The terror and hatred melts into something else.

"What?"

"I said, you little freakshow, that your eyes are sexy as hell."

Oh you really do like this one. Those eyes would make such a pretty trophy.

Although-

You wonder about having those eyes reflect his soul breaking as you destroy him. Seeing them swim with emotion as you irreparably wreck him.

To you, victory is meaningless without ruining them physically, mentally, completely. This one still has too much life.

Perhaps a rematch is in order instead.

[gendercosmos]

Hello!!!

Welcome to my kinky blog!! If you know my main or know me irl, no you don't! I post cute & kinky pics on here and hornypost, so if you like that feel free to follow and say hi!

About me:. I'm a 20yo genderfluid goober with a dream, man, idk. I'm pan, I like art and nerdy things and strive to be queer presenting as fuck. I only started using Tumblr awhile ago so the etiquette is still coming to me I'm getting the hang of it I think tho lol, but I hope you like your stay here! xoxo

Kinks in no particular order:

breeding, bondage, petplay, hypno, bimbo stuff, degradation, praise, roleplaying, light cnc, somno, knifeplay, sadism, masochism, pred/prey type stuff, dollification, being owned, training, anal, dumbification, feminization (<<tread very carefully there is a lot of baggage around this kink I avoid but I do like it in theory), edging, feet, humiliation, religious stuff, and much much more probably. (and also vanilla tho I would hope that's a given since I've listed all these others lol.)

there's probably way way more, if it's not listed in hard limits but it's not listed in kinks either, I may still like it but you'd have to ask.

Hard limits (you can interact with me and I may interact with you still if you're into these things but I will not partake.)

pee, detrans stuff, sissy stuff (I'm uncomfortable with a lot of the weirdly racial and transphobic baggage of it, but am less icked about just liking dressing fem and being humiliated), findom (obv doms can get their bag I get it's a living, I just already am incredibly poor so it's not something I can do. As a switch who enjoys to sub (a crazy combo, ik :/) it's disheartening when I'm basically paywalled from talking to ANY dom just bc I'm poor.), etc.

DNI: (if you're into these/if I see you engaging with these things on your page I'll likely block you, if I talk to you and you're into these it's bc I didn't know/notice. )

minors, transphobes, racists, MAGA, sissies that fetishize/exploit trans people and/or POC (which is unfortunately quite common :/ ), anything diaper/scat related, beastiality, puke stuff (not as deplorable as some of the things on here it's just a big ick of mine), amputation-likers?? idk man sometimes u think you've seen it all, etc.

Also little disclaimer, I'm not really looking for a serious relationship on here or anything, I'm in an open poly relationship IRL, but here is not the place to look to join. I'm a freak and engage in freak behavior on here, and I enjoy to message and meet people, I get excited at the thought of people liking my pics and posts, but it won't be anything serious and you'll likely never learn my real name. (Unless I'm revealed one day to like, be a public figure or something but you'd never know >:) I'm certainly not lol )

Also also, I use the tag #me to show my pics, #my thoughts for my thoughts, so if you're looking for those in particular, click the tag from here. ;)

[totallyexhausted]

Posted before but posting again to remember to continue with this Given sickfic, along with the Given sickfic with kid Uenoyama and caring Haruki/ Kaji :) (Evil laugh)

If Uenoyama had known this is how his day would have turned out, he would have just stayed home. Being at his house, his sister and father gone for the weekend, would have been better than his current situation. And less embarrassing. Humiliating.

It started out as a headache, a small annoying ache across the bridge of his nose and behind his eyes as he waved to his father as they pulled out on the street, leaving him behind so he could go to school and practice with his band… and spend time with his boyfriend. His stomach had followed later that evening, making the noodles his sister had prepared ahead of time, difficult to eat. He thought all he needed was rest. After all, Given had been practicing like hell lately to prepare for their next gig, and school exams were coming up, so sleep was getting hard to come by.

By Friday morning as Uenoyama begrudgingly walked through the gates of his school, smiling towards Mafuyu as the red-head made his way towards him, the 17-year-old realized, that might not have been the case. Despite getting a few decent hours of uninterrupted sleep and choking down a few Aspirin, along with whatever the hell his sister had left out for him for breakfast, his headache had worsened and his stomach even more so.

All-in-all, his day hadn’t gone great. But things went from bad to worse after classes ended, and he followed Mafuyu back to his apartment to practice and hang out. They hadn’t spent a whole lot of time together outside of rehearsal, even less as just the two of them. Working several jobs a week made alone time rare. Never mind the stress from school didn’t help, so the Friday hang out/ date night was something they both were looking forward to. And something Uenoyama really didn’t want to cancel.

However, had he known this is where he’d end up, he’d have canceled in a heartbeat. Because cancelling, staying in a quiet lonely house for the weekend, would have been better than this. Preferred even. Given his current situation.

Instead, the 17-year-old found himself hunched over the toilet, puking his guts out for what had to be the fourth time, in Mafuyu’s cramped bathroom while his boyfriend hovered over him. He wasn’t entirely sure when things took a turn. One minute him and Mafuyu were tuning their guitars and joking with each other; the next, he’s vomiting up the tea the younger had offered when they got there.

“Uenoyama?”

Mafuyu’s concerned voice hit his ears as the 17-year-old leaned his sweaty forehead against his arm on the rim of the toilet. He swallowed thickly as Mafuyu’s hand trailed gently up his back, pulling some hair away from his face. He closed his eyes, soft fingers carding through greasy sweaty locks. This. Sucked. So. Fucking. Much.

He didn’t want to look at Mafuyu. Not right now. Not like this. He always tried so hard to be cool in front of his boyfriend. To appear tough. Hell, the only other people outside of his family who’d seen him sick like this, was Haruki and Kaji (a memory Uenoyama barely recalled as he’d been 14 and had one hell of a fever.) But right now, Mafuyu’s normally comforting grasp was nothing more than a reminder of his current situation. Not only had he thrown up in front of the younger several times within the past two hours, but he probably looked just as bad as he felt.

Sweat plastered to him roughly as his hair matted against flushed skin. His head hurt more than anything, making his stomach even more nauseous and hard to keep down the water his boyfriend had offered him several times. Honestly, Uenoyama would chalk this up to a migraine, something he hadn’t had since he was a kid, except for the fact that he was shivering, sweat soaking his shirt, making it cling to his back and chest uncomfortably. So, he had a fever too, which was uncommon with the headaches he’d sometimes get. All-in-all, he probably had some stomach bug that’d been going around school. And instead of staying home like he’d planned, he forced himself to school, to see Mafuyu, trying to be a good son and boyfriend. An almost laughable cosmic result to his efforts. He really should have just stayed home. Because being alone and miserable was better than being this vulnerable, this uncool, this pathetic, and miserable.

            Mafuyu hummed lowly, his fingers brushing against Uenoyama’s sweaty cheek as the ladder groaned, pulling himself back over the toilet. Uenoyama clenched his eyes, saliva building in his mouth as his stomach cramped. Part of him wanted to curl up against his boyfriend, giving in to his soft grip, letting himself be cared for – let himself be weak. Part of him wanted Mafuyu to hold him, to soothe all the shit that his body was trying to force to the surface through fevered skin, a spinning head, and nauseous stomach.

            Another part of him wanted to tell Mafuyu to leave. To go back to his room, to leave him alone to wallow in his own misery until he found enough of his footing to make it to the train station, to make it home. It wasn’t that his boyfriend had done anything wrong; hell, he’d been glued to him since Uenoyama unceremoniously sprinted to the bathroom after trying his best to shove his guitar as gently as possible away from his twisting stomach. If anything, the amount of attention he was being showered with was almost addicting, the comfort he wanted so badly to give into… it was embarrassing really.

            But that wasn’t his style. He didn’t like showing weakness. But right now, weakness was all he fucking had. To make matters worse, he couldn’t look any weaker if he tried. He couldn’t keep anything down, and the fever was making it harder to concentrate, to hold himself up, to breathe properly. Never mind the fact that he’d been cramped in the bathroom, vomiting for the last two hours, in front of his boyfriend… in front of the person he’d just been making out with. The person he’d been intimate with, who-

            The 17-year-old lurched, coughing up the pitiful amount of water he’d choked down not even twenty minutes ago as Mafuyu adjusted his grasp, shushing him gently. In the hallway, Kedama yipped, spinning slightly before sitting down, and Uenoyama gagged roughly, his boyfriend’s hand gently trailing up and down his sweat-soaked shirt...

[skellagirl]

I am, as usual, late lol, but Y'KNOW. This is gonna be a long, rambly post lol, sorry, I have a lot of thoughts.

2023 was a weird year for me, artwise. When it began I was still deep in my Art Block From Hell, which had begun in mid-2021 and lasted the entirety of 2022.

Being in the thick of such a ridiculously suffocating art block, for TWO AND A HALF YEARS, is like... I can't describe how fucking life-draining it is. It felt like something was fundamentally wrong with me -- like a part of me, which used to be as effortless as breathing or blinking my eyes, had ceased to function altogether. It wasn't just a regular art block, it was a complete identity crisis. I could no longer trust the instincts I'd honed over twenty-plus years, could no longer trust my sense of observation or my ability to recreate what I saw. I felt BROKEN, and every single time I picked up my tablet pen it was like I was scraping my insides with a spoon, trying to pick up whatever tiny dregs of dried-up, crusty shit I could manage to puke up onto my canvas. It was fucking painful and humiliating and completely demoralizing.

I'm not really sure what finally got me to do so, but sometime in summer (my memory is shit lol) I downloaded Game Maker, found a video tutorial on youtube, and just... gave myself over to it. I made myself learn how to use Aseprite, and working with pixels, making teeny-tiny little sprites, forced me to work in ways I usually don't. It was a lot harder for me to find the flaws in my art when my art was thirty-five pixels tall and the anatomy was stylized to communicate clear information rather than be a recreation or approximation of reality. I think I really do credit that time working on game dev as the thing that finally cracked loose all the gunk that was keeping me stuck -- I could not perpetuate the cycle of toxicity I'd fallen into because I could barely even conceptualize what 'good' or 'bad' pixel art even looked like lol. I just knew that I was making art, and for the first time in two years, it didn't feel like I was having to desperately beg the emaciated husks of my sense of self-worth and confidence to cooperate while doing so.

(I actually sort of abandoned my foray into game dev around August/September lol, as my adhd-brain, flitting around like a little hummingbird to every dopamine-rich-flower, is wont to do 🥲 But I wanna get back into it at some point!)

From there I had a rush of inspiration for an original project I've been mulling around in my head for years, and I wrote thousands of words in my worldbuilding document, made a map, developed the shell of a possible actual STORY. I returned to sketching. Conventional sketching. It was, at first, largely still comprised of that same demotivating struggle against myself, but I was so deep in the throes of inspiration (after several years of this project laying dormant in my google drive) that I NEEDED to sketch. So I kept going. And after a while, it got....... easier. And I started hating everything I made a little less. I painted, properly, for the first time in years. I stayed up late into the night, even if it meant I would be tired at work the next day, because drawing felt so damn GOOD again and I had missed that feeling so much. All I wanted to do was draw. For the first time in two and a half years, I could finally see the light at the end of the fucking tunnel.

I still don't think I'm quite out of the woods yet. My style is changing, as all artists' styles do over time, and that comes with stumbling adjustments. My confidence is still small and shaky and recovering; I still catch myself second-guessing what I've drawn, and even looking at some of the things here on my grid makes me cringe a little bit for one reason or another.

But compared to both 2021 and 2022, the volume of art, and in particular the volume of art I don't actively despise, is WAY higher, and I'm really really hopeful that that means I'm finding my footing again.

So! Here's to 2024, and to continuing to move towards the light at the end of the tunnel 🙏🌟 I'm gonna try.

[bronzefuryfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/bronzefuryfic/731560785775558657/just-realized-a-multitude-of-rhae-parallels-to?source=share

👀👀👀

(so curious to hear!)

OH you have no idea how badly I was hoping someone would ask me to elaborate on this. Succession spoilers beneath the cut!

Okay so I think narratively Greg and Rhae share parallels in how they serve as an audience’s point of entrance into the upper echelon of their respective world’s ruling class. There’s obviously some large departures because the settings are so different but hear me out.

They are both the offspring of a king’s (Logans obvs a CEO but.. y’know what i mean) estranged brother, which gives them a way into their most inner circle. The Kings (Viserys and Logan) are less interested in their niece/nephew (Rhae and Greg) than they are in a proxy to their estranged brother (Daemon/Ewan). Rhae and Greg are both pushed to pursue that connection by other family members after a humiliating ordeal that signifies rock bottom (Greg puking in his costume vs Rhae’s failure to claim her dragon). They do not have quite enough power/ connection to pivot their way into the top spot, but they are still at the heart of a succession crisis and have the chance to influence the outcome. In doing so, they both risk corrupting themselves from the weaker, albeit kinder, versions of themselves at the start of the story.

Some looser parallels:

Rhae and Greg are brought into the fold and become closer with their cousins- the King’s three children by his second wife. (Although Viserys favors his child by his first wife, while Logan rejects Connor constantly, so the dynamic itself in that way is flipped.)

Rhae and Greg both get taken in by a fellow outsider to the family’s most inner circle in an attempt to bolster their strength, seeing value in their protege where others may have missed it(this one is really loose, but bare with me, because it might become more apparent later):

I think Alicent is kind of like Rhae’s Tom. Alicent singles Rhae out and is manipulating her under the guise of kindness (though, I don’t think Rhae quite realizes and I still do think Alicent cares in her way). Furthermore… I think Rhae reminds Alicent quite painfully of a certain distant lover who she is on difficult, if not outright hostile, terms with. And I think Rhae (like Greg) might be a type of outlet, an easier-to-control substitute for Alicent(/Tom) to indirectly express their true feelings toward. But. The depths of that are not quite revealed yet and will be a lot difference. But the parallel is there. Trust!

(((Here’s a hint, for those interested or not quite sure what I mean- it’s not a spoiler for anything major plot wise, but it is a currently hidden character motivation that has been influencing things and may enhance your reading- If you don’t want to know, stop reading now!!)))

Rhae reminds Alicent of a younger Rhaenyra, there’s a version of Death of the Dreamers where Alicent admits it/ more heavily alludes to it during their dinner

[inscrutable-shadow]

Febuwhump Day 19 - "You Deserve This"

or, hollow me out (and fill me with rage)

5.1k. The Doctor's captivity continues, this time, with a punishment of a particular karmic parallel.

(too long? read on ao3!) bit of background here, this is meant as a continuation of a storyline in which the Doctor has been kidnapped by one of their colleagues and a former subject and experiences various punishments and humiliations, supposedly with the goal of making them feel bad for being awful all of the time (which we all know is impossible). the "previous day" that keeps being referred to the Doc was forced to "reveal" their assigned gender under duress (they lied, they don't remember). it stands pretty well on its own if you just ignore all of the little details that don't make sense, haha Content Warnings: gore/vivisection, nausea (no vomiting), misgendering (the Doctor is not a woman and this is not lady whump, that’s the more wrong of the two options), drug mentions (medical setting and use).

I am awoken by the sharp bite of a needle going into my neck, and dread pools in my stomach as I realise what is happening. I have ten seconds to fight before the paralytic goes to work on my muscles, but it is too late. Harper is on top of me, and even I, with my enhanced strength, cannot fight both him and the drug. 

“Really, Rowan, your drugs are incredible,” Rosen taunts me. He knows how much I despise being called that name. “You haven’t patented this? What a waste.”

“You know why I have not,” I grind out. Insufferable prick.

He grins. “Ah, yes. Can’t publish your research because of your methods. What a shame.” Wrong. I can easily have procedural records forged that would obfuscate the less-than-savoury origins of my results. I do not do so because I have integrity, unlike some other doctors I could mention. 

My muscles have gone slack by now, and I hang limply from the cot, still pale and thin from my previous ordeals. “What do you want?” I interject, annoyed. I wish he would just get the seven-devilled procedure over with instead of wasting time needling me as if it would make me feel some sort of remorse.

“Harper tells me that today’s procedure is one of your favourites,” Rosen explains. Surely he doesn’t mean…

I won’t deny my nature. I do not even have the decency to be afraid in the face of what is most likely torture. Instead, giddy anticipation wells in my stomach, and requires concentration to keep out of my voice. “I guarantee you, hallucinogens will not produce as satisfying a result in me as you anticipate.” I can never resist the urge to wilfully misunderstand, one of my many small vices.

“Idiot, not that,” Harper spits as he hoists me up out of the cot. I feel sick hanging upside down over his shoulder with no feeling below the neck, but voicing my discomfort will get me nowhere. He continues, “You’d always get this light in your eyes when talking about it, like you were… hunting. You called it… uh… gross something… vivisystem?” Typical. I did not study him for his intelligence, after all. He wasn’t even really a pleasant diversion.

Rosen rolls his eyes, walking behind us on the way to the operating theatre. “Gross multi-system vivisection, Harper, we went over this. At least pretend to pay attention, won’t you? And don’t tilt them so much, they’re starting to look a little green around the gills.” It’s true, I am quite nauseous at this point, but that is least among the concerns of my mind when faced with the prospect of my wildest dreams being realised. 

“She’s fine,” Harper says, dumping me unceremoniously onto the gurney, where I will be prepared for surgery before being transferred to the operating table. “Probably can’t even puke with that shit you put into her.”

“Could. Shall not,” I respond, tersely. I fear that if I open my mouth too far, I will vomit. It’s a mostly involuntary process that will only be slightly impeded by the impairment of my abdominal muscles.

Harper moves to undress me, but Rosen shoulders him off. “No way. Not after that stunt you pulled yesterday. I don’t care what they did to you, you don’t violate them like that. What is the point of this if you are more cruel even than they were to you?”

I am grateful. Harper’s insistence on “she” since the debacle yesterday doesn’t bother me any. I am used to that. It’s the way he says it, as if I am a cut of meat he plans to devour. I have not missed that feeling at all in the last several decades of being assumed to be some flavour of male. Rosen, at least, still respects me as a human being and as a fellow researcher, though I find it hard to believe that his only goal in this is to somehow rehabilitate me.

“The point,” Harper hisses, “is to make this bitch pay for what she did to me!” He pulls up his shirt to reveal a nasty-looking Y-shaped scar. My sutures usually heal much better than that…

“Sorry,” Rosen whispers as he pulls down my trousers. He continues, louder, “What did you even study him for, anyway? It’s not like he’s special.”

“No, certainly not. An ordinary human subject was what I was looking for. I was attempting to induce accelerated healing in a subject without mutated biology, though I was only marginally successful. Should have pushed harder on that last drug trial; I pulled the plug because of the risk factor, but I suppose I would not be here if I had killed him.” The healing factor drugs are mostly complete now, though I must still tailor the formulation to the recipient’s unique biology, preferably with the assistance of genetic sequencing.

Rosen shrugs as he pulls the paper gown over me. “Well, he lived, so you must have done something right.” 

I snort. “I am a doctor, Rosen. I do not lose patients on my operating table.” On the rare occasion a subject expires while in my care, it is due to complications and not the procedures themselves. Though I am usually able to mitigate these, occasionally there is nothing even I can do.

Outraged at being talked about like he is not present, Harper shoulders his way back into the conversation. “The hell you don’t! You murdered that woman right in front of me!”

“Oh, Adelaide? She still lives. She was an immortal. Were you not aware? I suppose not. I had given up on explaining things to you at that point. But no, she did not die, at least not permanently. That was the purpose of the experiment, to transfer at least a subset of her abilities to you. You did not acquire that one, obviously.”

He has no response other than indignant noises and gaping like a fish, which, I must admit, is quite satisfying. Rosen goes to scrub in, leaving Harper to transfer me to the operating table. He is not gentle, as expected, and I let out a soft grunt as my back impacts the hard surface. I honestly do not understand why he is so bitter. Most released subjects of mine would much rather never see me again than seek me out for some sort of revenge. He is hale and healthy, even with a bit of accelerated healing, and without lasting disability. If he gained some amount of post-traumatic stress after his experience, well, we’ve all done that. If anything, I did him several favours.

Rosen returns quickly. He is nothing if not a professional. Unfortunately, he is also a completely insufferable, eel-headed buffoon. “Scrub in, Harper,” he commands, and Harper scuttles off to obey. I do very much prefer non-sterile individuals not to be present while my chest cavity is open. “I’ve never done this before, should be a learning experience for me. How long did it take you to master?” 

He is trying to frighten me. It will not work; I am far too excited to be frightened. “Mastery required several years and tens of repetitions. I performed the procedure passably on the first attempt, however.”

If one were to question my colleagues, one would come away with the impression that I am something of a surgical prodigy, a notion which I quite dispute. The fact remains that I find surgery to be relaxing, and it comes to me rather easily. My perfectionism regarding working with living subjects rather than cadavers knows no bounds, and I am versatile in an operating theatre, able to do whatever is necessary to ensure a procedure is a success. I would not call myself a doctor if I could do anything less, though others are much freer with the title. Regardless, I am likely to enjoy the procedure even more if Rosen errs catastrophically, though losing my life in the process may not be worth the trouble.

Rosen is unimpressed. “I’m sure. Doctor Pryor’s wunderkind would never need more than one try to learn anything. What would she say if she knew what you’d done?”

“I am sure I have not the slightest idea. I care little for her approval. I am perfectly content to do my work in peace.” I would rather work the clinic than attend these ridiculous symposiums. My feelings on clinic hours are neutral, bordering on dislike, but still. 

“Ah, of course. Soulless vessel of science and all that.” Ridiculous. I have never claimed to be such. “Let’s see if you’re still so cold when it’s your guts on the table.” Cold is unlikely to be the correct word to describe it…

Harper is back now, hovering awkwardly on the opposite side of the table from Rosen. “Come on, just cut her open already…” Eager to see me bleed. I share the sentiment.

“Right. Would you even use pain relief for a procedure like this, Rowan? Or do you prefer to watch your victims squirm?”

Victims? Please. “Of course I do, Rosen; I am not cruel for its own sake. However-” I shouldn’t. Would he even listen? He would surely think me mad. Though, he already thinks I am insane… which is not entirely inaccurate. “Would you… refrain from using it this time? The paralytic will dull much of it, regardless.”

Rosen is dumbstruck. “Y-you… want to feel it? You really are a freak, aren’t you…”

After all of these years, I am still somehow hurt by the name ‘freak’. “You are under no obligation to acquiesce, of course. You will want to use two hundred and fifty micrograms of fentanyl, and double the dose of the paralytic formulation. I should not have this much control over my diaphragm.” If he will not cede to my requests, the least he can do is not have me die from shock.

“And you want us to skip the fentanyl?” Harper asks warily, wondering, most likely, if it will give me some advantage. 

“Naturally. I have no way of gathering data on the actual experience: not only is it more difficult to operate on a conscious and feeling subject, very few will talk to me afterward other than to heap curses upon my head. This is an excellent opportunity to collect the data myself. My tolerance is much higher than the average subject. You will not have to worry about my making the procedure more difficult by breathing erratically or going into shock from pain alone.”

“You’ve thought about this. You’ve planned this.” Rosen’s tone is accusatory. I am sure that his surgical mask hides an expression just as horrified. 

I roll my eyes. “I perform vivisections on myself regularly, yes. A multi-system would be both awkward and incredibly dangerous to perform on oneself, though I will not deny having thought about it in detail.” Fantasised, really. I could learn so much.

Harper pulls Rosen aside and they whisper among themselves, attempting to determine if fulfilling my request will defeat their purpose. I suppose I should not inform them that I can still hear them. I don’t understand what they think I will do, enjoy it too much, I imagine. It is not as if I seek pain for its own sake.

Eventually, they return, having decided that pain would surely drown out any enjoyment I may receive before I could savour it. At this point, I would rather like to get the whole thing over with. I am quite cold lying here in paper clothes while they deliberate. “Quite finished?”

“Shut it. You’re getting what’s coming to you.” Harper hovers a short distance away, likely having been told by Rosen to keep his distance if he wanted to be allowed to watch the show.

“Ah. Yes. Restitution for my many sins. May God have mercy on my soul.”

“Watch it, Rowan,” Rosen warns, pushing more paralytic as I had directed. “Save your strength. You’ll need it.”

I miss the opportunity for another eye roll when the first incision bites into my skin, sending ripples of euphoria through my entire body. My first instinct is to bite down on my knuckle to suppress the urge to laugh out loud, but, of course, I am immobile, and must settle for a gasp instead. The pain is there, of course: I can feel every millimetre of the scalpel sliding through my skin on its Y-shaped path, but the calydinol is doing its job, and the sensation is not nearly as acute as it could be. I have experience with this. It isn’t usually until about half an hour into a vivisection that the pain begins interfering with my ability to work.

Speaking of which, I must catalogue this. It would be too much to ask for my tape recorder. I shall have to rely on memory. They’ve skipped the external inventory, though, I suppose, they have no interest in the actual data, and I believe Rosen would like to avoid drawing Harper’s attention to my body (and particularly, my lack of genitalia) after yesterday’s disaster. I have sufficient data on my own particulars, regardless. The Y-incision is neat and performed with care. Rosen is actually a capable surgeon, after all, and as much as I dislike him, I cannot deny we possess a similar degree of professional dedication.

The sensation of having my skin pulled back is not exactly new, but this is my first time having it done on an area so large and one that I cannot see. With minor vivisections, I tend not to use any sort of anaesthetic at all on myself, so the humming numbness of the paralytic is an odd addition to the familiar feeling, but it’s the fingers on my internal organs that are most distressing. I remain silent, though I, at last, understand why subjects usually cry out: it is incredibly odd, though not painful, per se.

“Where’re the… you know, ova… girl parts?” Harper seems intent on being as incredibly rude as possible.

“Absent.” I glare at him, or as much as I can without being able to pick my head up.

“Hush, Rowan.” It’s not as if I can really speak while my intestines are being pulled on, regardless. “And do you really think they wouldn’t have had a hysterectomy by now, Harper? I don’t think I’ve ever known a doctor to be so eager to modify their own body.” I choose to take that as a compliment. It is one of the few redeeming qualities about being biological that my knowledge of pharmaceuticals allows me to have my body running quite the way I want it.

Harper shrugs. “I dunno. Seems to me like she’d never let someone else take a knife to her. Wouldn’t trust anyone. She thinks she’s the only good doctor on the planet.” Half true. I do, in general, provide my own medical care, and I think I bring a higher quality than most, but I would not prevent someone else from assisting me if I were incapacitated. Some things I cannot do myself, there is no shame in that.

“For all we know, they did it themselves,” Rosen mutters, watching my face suspiciously. I smile in return until he looks away. “You won’t be smiling once I bring out the bone saw.”

He is correct, and that is one element that distresses me. It appears to be the most painful part of the entire process if subject reactions are anything to go on, and though I can withstand quite a bit of pain, I am not confident that my veneer of calm will survive the ordeal. It has been a very long while since I have experienced any sort of sensation that would bring me distress, and longer still since anything I would consider unbearable. I do not wish to cry in front of Harper again, but if it is unavoidable, I suppose I shall deal with it as it comes.

Rosen is squeezing a section of my small intestine between his thumb and forefinger. I grunt softly; it is painful, but I am more bothered by the memory of what pain in that location usually means for me. “Does this feel inflamed to you? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had celiac.” 

“I do. Be delicate with that, will you? It is already sufficiently damaged and I would prefer not to have to remove it. Now you know why I would only eat the rice.” The cross-contamination still caught me, hence the inflammation when I have been rigorous with my diet for decades, but I make do. 

Harper laughs. “That’s the no-gluten thing, right? Should we feed her bread and see what happens?” I sigh, but say nothing.

Rosen doesn’t respond for a moment, mind occupied with measuring my intestines. “Seven hundred and sixty-eight centimetres, in case you wanted the information. Might do an endoscopy tomorrow to check on it. And don’t be ridiculous, Harper, I’m not trying to send them home minus intestine.”

“Regardless, I am sure watching me lie on a cot staring into space will not be as amusing as you anticipate. I have lived with the condition since childhood. Do you truly think a person who would ask you to perform surgery without pain relief is not aware of how much pain they can tolerate?”

“Rosen told you to shut up.” Harper is tired of being mocked, clearly.

“Rosen can- unh!” My words are arrested by the bite of the bone saw in my ribs.

I find describing the sensation quite difficult. Pain, certainly. White-hot agony erupting from the site, the vibrations resonating through my entire skeletal structure and producing a terrible sound in my ears. I didn’t expect to feel every millimetre of my bones being ground away; I am grateful that Rosen is a cardiac surgeon and that I do not have to fear for his procedural awareness or I think I would be beside myself with anxiety. As it is, the terror still shakes me to my core, and I catch myself wondering for a fleeting instant if I am going to die, here and now, on this table. Certainly not, though the fear is understandable. There is an inherent sense of wrongness to having your internals altered while you are conscious.

Harper has found the strangled sounds I have been making quite amusing. “Ready for the painkillers yet, Doc? You’re not getting any…” I have a long list of scathing retorts I would like to make, but cannot get any of them out through the choking sobs my throat constricts into on every involuntary exhale. The breathing regulation is working, at least. I had been worried based on how easy I’d found talking to be, but I needn’t have been concerned. The tears slipping down the sides of my face and pooling in my ears are embarrassing, but there is nothing I can do about that now.

As Rosen spreads my ribs, I stop breathing entirely. My throat tightens to the point of complete obstruction, and I can hear the monitor beeping indignantly as my oxygen saturation dips. “Breathe, Rowan. How are we doing?” This is his way of offering me fentanyl. He can shove the syringe up his arse for all I care.

“F-fine… no… drugs…” My voice sounds strange, thin and faltering, but I will not give up now. My blood is still singing with the thrill of discovery even as railroad spikes of concentrated pain hammer into my spine with every movement Rosen makes. “The pain is… subsiding… I can push through.”

“You really are something else… I’ll keep the records for you, at least. Assuming you stop performing these procedures. I bet that’s a better carrot for you than any threat I could make. I’ll give you the data if you give up your practice, eh?”

I feel the urge to laugh building in my chest again, the crackling energy of mania pulsing just beneath the surface now unsuppressed by my altered mental state. Surrender my licence? I cannot even imagine it. What would I do, who would I be if not the Doctor? Just an elderly fool whose eccentricities everyone tolerates while they wait to die, nameless and purposeless. To while away my eternity carving dollhouses instead of corpses, sewing miniature outfits instead of skin? I may as well die right here on the table.

My expression most likely betrays some of this internal reflection (though I can no more laugh than I can get up and walk about) because Rosen shakes his head, clicking his tongue scoldingly. “Didn’t think so, but a man can hope. What do you even get out of this, Rowan? Surely there are easier ways to get the data you’re after.”

The data I want? No, there is no quicker, easier, or cleaner method, but I know that is not the question he truly wishes answered. “When you hold my heart in your hands, you tell me.” If he cannot understand then how I feel when I perform a procedure like this, he never will.

Rosen is discomfited by the cryptic statement, though he does not yet understand. Harper, though, in an uncharacteristic display of insight, appears to have worked it out. “You can’t beat the crazy out of her, Rosen. I told you that. She’s dangerous, and this rehabilitation bullshit is only gonna end with some other guy like me caught in her clutches somewhere else. She needs to be put down.” He is not the first to suggest it, though obviously, I still draw breath. Everyone who tries hesitates, stalled by greed or something like it, and Rosen is no different.

“I didn’t bring them here to kill them in cold blood, and with a mind like theirs, I won’t let you do it either. It would be a crime to destroy something like this.” There it is. I am just as useful to Rosen as I am to anyone else, not least because he cannot do the things I can with pharmaceutical synthesis. They all believe that if they can control me, they can use me, and that destroying me would be a waste. I quite agree on that last point, though the others are ridiculous. I give Harper a “good try” smile and try to focus on retaining consciousness. The pain is rather more intense than I had anticipated.

“You’re just like her,” Harper shoots back. “You’ll do anything for your results. Every crime, every person she kills, that shit’s on your head, too. All you doctors are the same. I dunno why I thought you’d-” He’s cut off by the strangled cry I make as Rosen pulls out my liver and places it on the scale.

“Easy does it. You want the biopsies done too, right?” I nod feebly, awash in misery. This is usually where I would seek to bring a self-surgical procedure to a close. My hands will begin to shake and I will require long pauses between incisions to regulate my breathing. No reprieve will be granted to me here, though. I regret that I am too proud to ask for pain relief, though it is unlikely that any would be given. This is a punishment, after all. “I’m going to switch to cardiopulmonary bypass. Help me, won’t you, Harper? You’re not here just to gawk.” Harper does as he’s told, much to my relief.

Once on bypass, I am unable to speak, and therefore have plenty of time for introspection. Harper and Rosen are also silent, save for the exchange of instructions and clarifications. It is rather eerie. I am used to the sound of my own voice in the operating theatre, narrating my notes to the tape recorder, talking to the subject whether or not they are capable of response, and singing quietly to myself when things are going well. It is quite rare for me to remain in silence. I am forced to reckon with the reality of my situation. 

I am forced to admit that I was previously rather… overconfident… regarding my pain tolerance. It has been many years, I would have to say at least fifty, since I have experienced concentrated suffering on this scale. I have had my share of mishaps despite the off-field nature of my position: bullet wounds, stab wounds, various broken bones, overexertion, and the ever-present caffeine withdrawal, but I am usually able to triage, treat, and reduce my discomfort to manageable levels. Levels that are still quite intolerable for others, I am told, and it’s true, I would consider it malpractice to prescribe only a standard dose of paracetamol to any other patient for post-surgical care. I manage, by and large, and I do not complain often. 

This experience, however, is fit to recalibrate my prior standards. The constant pulse of agony, flaring with every heartbeat (though, less now, with the bypass machine) is enough to bring tears to my eyes, and it’s been decades since I did that last. I can feel the beginnings of an anxiety attack tightening my lungs and- Oh. Nevermind. I no longer have lungs. Regardless, my mind seems to want to flash back to some long-buried unpleasant experience. My amnesia is an issue I prefer to address as little as possible, it is rarely relevant in my day-to-day life, but I find myself wishing I at least knew what sort of thing to expect to be immersed in if that barrier were to violently shatter.

I… I want Luca…

At this point, my abdominal cavity is mostly empty. I feel hollow emotionally as well, silent tears slipping into my ears and soaking into my hair. All of the thrill of a novel experience is gone, and the whole of my sensation is now consumed by pain. Rosen mistakenly believes that I am myopic rather than hyperopic, and therefore, when he cradles my heart in his hands and brings it to what he assumes is my visual range, it is still rather blurry. An interesting emotion grips me, looking at my own heart, unbeating, pink and red, smaller, somehow, than I had expected. I would say my heart twists, but that is clearly impossible, and the dissonance causes a wave of nausea to wash over me, and I think I would shudder if I could move. The nausea, at least, is still possible: my digestive tract is intact, to my relief. I do not trust Rosen to put it back together properly. Frankly, I do not trust him to put any of me back together as well as I would like, but it is rather late for that now. 

“Well, here it is. Still with us, Rowan?” I can only blink heavily at him, attempting to indicate that my stillness is not due to catatonia. I am rather close to dissociation, though each new incision forcibly grounds me in the moment. “I have to admit, I think I understand what you meant earlier. Holding this in my hands, it’s... incredible.” Jävlar. He is completely insufferable.

Harper seems almost as affected by the experience as I am. Our eyes meet as he watches me silently weeping, the look of wonder on Rosen’s face reflecting into horror on his own, and I think I detect an ember of… pity?... in his eyes. Rage surges inside of me. I will not be pitied. All of my sins are my own, committed wilfully, often gleefully, and I will apologise for none of them, nor do I regret a single action I have taken. I fix my gaze on the ceiling. They have not broken me yet.

Defiant fury keeps me going through the reconstruction. Can I feel it blazing in my chest, or is that just the incisions burning? It matters little. Rosen’s stitchwork is as sloppy as I had expected, though it is clear that he has at least read my treatise on methodologies and procedures and he is using my dissolving surgical thread. I should still heal well.

When my heart and lungs are started again, the pain of each hacking cough deals a shuddering blow to my resolve, and yet, I hold fast, refusing to let more tears fall. I don’t answer when Rosen again asks how I’m feeling. I do not wish to engage with him on the matter. My ribs, likewise, do not seem to want to re-engage with each other, and Rosen spends much longer than I usually would have wiring my sternum shut again. I do not cry during this either, though I do make a good deal of undignified sounds an untrained ear may have construed as sobs.

The final stitches that close off my abdominal cavity are a mild tickling in comparison to the deep ache that has set into my entire body along with a fatigue that settles into my bones. I am disassociated from events now; I can barely hear Rosen giving Harper the order to transfer me back from the operating table to the slightly softer gurney to recover, and can barely feel my clothes being changed again. The post-surgical vest feels good, actually. The compression dulls some of the pain, though there is still plenty more of that.

“I’m going to push some pain relief now, if that’s all right. I’d like to reduce the stress on your heart.” It is not really a question, but I nod assent. I am so tired. Without the pain, I will be able to rest. I groan audibly as the drugs fill my system. “Try to rest up, yeah, Rowan? I’ll want to talk when you’ve recovered, but I think you’ve had enough punishment for one day.” My eyes are closed and I refuse to acknowledge him.

The next time he speaks, it is from much further away, closer to the door. “Come, Harper! Leave them alone!” I sense Harper’s presence leave my side, and soon the both of them leave me alone in the room, with only the quiet beeping of the monitors and hiss of my nasal cannula. I can almost imagine that I am simply taking a brief nap in my laboratory during an extended experiment and that soon I shall get up to go for more coffee. It will be a long time before I am allowed coffee, I think.

This is the first time in quite a while I will be glad to go to sleep.

[ladyddanger]

would love to hear more about lightweight quackity if you wanna continue talking abt it :)

Hi!! Yeah!

I just think c!Quackity being a light weight is so cool and interesting.

// tw! Alcohol

I can’t find a clip but I swear to god Schlatt made fun of c!Quackity in Manberg for being a light weight. Anyway!

Quackity drank a lot during Manberg, he wanted to be seen as an adult. Nobody seemed to care he was technically not the drinking age. Schlatt seemed to like him better drunk anway. Quackity was funnier that way, less uptight, better during meetings less likely to try to correct Schlatt or to get distracted.

It made him sick but that was normal. Schlatt spent hours in the bathroom puking. Why should Quackity be held to different standard?

Las Nevadas Quackity refuses to loose control. He hates how easy it is for him to get drunk. How giggly and flirty and affectionate he gets. It’s humiliating. But he can’t not drink. He’s the owner of a fucking casino, so he sits, sipping a half glass of wine slowly.

[cannoli-reader]

What did you mean by Lini letting sex overcome her good judgment?

Well, she refused to share her joke about the things men are good for with Morgase until Morgase was well into adulthood (after she took the throne, which she did at 19). She says that Morgase didn't know where babies came from when Tallanvor was born, which was when Morgase was 14. It's possible Lini is exaggerating, but OTOH, this assertion comes up in a conversation where Lini is relating that she took pains to learn about Tallanvor after she observed him secretly swearing fealty to Morgase in atonement for his oath to "Gaebril" so the idea that she does not know how old he is, is kind of dubious. As Daved Hanlon notes later, the Guard/royal military establishment keeps meticulous records, so it's likely that a long-time royal retainer could get someone to show her Tallanvor's personnel file.

But even if those data are not exactly cut and dried proof, a thing repeatedly asserted by both Elayne and Morgase, the two people who know her best, is that she doesn't seem to want to admit they have grown up. Lini even scoffs at Morgase's hypothetical reluctance to discuss her romantic troubles with her old nurse, who changed her diapers and cleaned up her puke, but that kind of proves the point that she is still seeing them as little girls. I have changed the diapers of many of my nieces and cousins, but I would not remotely be comfortable discussing intimate sexual matters with them, much less wiping their butts now that some of them are past puberty.

Anyway, the main thing I was referring to with the judgment is her response to the Perrin/Berelain fake scandal. Lini went looking for Perrin, discovered he was in Berelain's tent and passed that news all over camp. Perrin blames Berelain for this, but Berelain is used to servants and the proper ways for them to behave and Perrin is not. As we see in Elayne's PoV, servants tell each other stuff to help each other do their jobs properly and efficiently. Berelain's maids, aware of her interest in Perrin, undoubtedly alerted Lini to the possibility of their sexual relationship so Lini would not be surprised and could figure that in to whatever she was supposed to be doing for the Aybarras. And Lini promptly spread the word through the camp.

Now, the obvious reasons for her actions is that Lini has given her loyalty to Faile, and is outraged on Faile's behalf at her husband's apparent infidelity. All well and good. However, as someone on Faile's team, she should be trying to protect Faile and her reputation! No matter how offended she is at Perrin's behavior while his wife and her mistress is missing, she should be keeping a tight lid on the news of his affair and even doing her best to suppress the gossip until Faile is rescued and she knows how Faile wants to handle it. What Lini has done is humiliate the person to whom she is supposedly loyal! In the eyes of everyone else, Faile's husband is a cad, or Faile is somehow lacking since her husband can't be bothered to stay faithful for an absence of longer than a day!

As Berelain points out to Perrin, he is the key piece holding their fragile coalition together. The Ghealdanin are not going to be listening to anyone but Alliandre's liege lord. The Aiel are not going to listen to any wetlander who is not entrusted with authority by the Car'a'carn directly. The Aes Sedai are sworn to Rand, and won't obey anyone Rand has not made it clear has his confidence and speaks for him, likewise the Asha'man. Everything depends on Perrin, which is why Berelain bends over backwards to support his leadership in the subsequent books, and upholds her part of the proffered truce, despite Perrin's refusal to accept and her somewhat ominous reaction to his denial. For damn sure, aside from Perrin's theoretical loyalty to his people, no one but a middle-aged, fat non-combatant, an ex officer and a bouncer are invested at all in rescuing Morgase, the person Lini is most concerned about. This, of course, is part of what must be behind her outrage: if Perrin can't be loyal to the woman who shares his name and his bed, how can Lini trust that he will do right by his servants, and do all he can to rescue the woman she sees as a daughter? But her spreading gossip that undermines his standing with his own retainers is the exact opposite of helpful. For someone portrayed as a font of wisdom and good sense, not to mention her experience and years observing human nature and aristocrats at close range, you'd think Lini would know better.

And the rumors of Perrin's infidelity with Berelain are something Faile ends up having to deal with following her rescue, quite aside from Perrin's desperation for her to believe his innocence, and unwillingness to accept that she does. As a result, Faile and Berelain have to pretend to be BFF in public to dispel the rumors that her own servant started, while supposedly acting on her behalf. This is a huge fuckup on Lini's part. A maid is supposed to be absolutely confidential, and keep her mistress' secrets like her own. There is a reason for that.

"... she saw you at your worst, grumpy, tired, weeping in your pillow, in rages and sulks."

- Elayne, on dealing with a personal servant.

It's not just about privacy, it's a leadership thing. People expect more from their leaders. IRL there is an expression that no man is a hero to his valet. Well, people are following Perrin because they expect him to be a hero, and the same thing for Faile. The whole reason they have servants is not because they are too lazy to do things for themselves, but because there are jobs only Perrin & Faile can do, and then there are tasks and chores that many other people can do, so it makes sense for them to do those things, so Perrin & Faile can give all their attention to their unique functions and specialties. If Perrin and Faile are constantly having to clean their clothing, cook their own food and set up their own tents and furniture at the end of a day's travel, where are they going to find the time to make sure everyone else has what they need to get by, to oversee the security for everyone in the camp, and make sure everyone in the party is pulling their weight? Lini's whole purpose as a maidservant, is to help preserve Perrin's & Faile's ability to function as leaders by removing ordinary day to day burdens, just like she freed Morgase up to worry about Andor, by doing the work of taking care of babies and young children that occupies far too much of a mother's time for a Queen. The absolute last thing she should be doing is making their job harder by spreading around (as it turns out, untrue) rumors that make Perrin look worse, and impair his men's trust in his leadership. Those doubts Perrin's infidelity aroused in Lini can come up in all the Two Rivers men, their Cairhienin retainers and the other wetlanders. Perrin swore a solemn vow to Faile, but if he is going to betray her, how can his men trust that the commands he gives them will have their best interests in mind, rather than his own selfish gratification. Lini should know all this stuff, she has no excuse.

The only explanation I can see for her behavior is that she is so used to being the moral arbitrator for her charges, that she just rolled with her outrage, instead of thinking about what is called for according to both her own job and the needs of this group, which is the only thing standing between Morgase and a life of slavery.

[sillyfoxlady]

Ghosts of a Stolen Life

I was born from a cycle of violence. My mother nearly died giving birth to me. My father never showed up. My first failure.

My mother married a different man when I was 1. He became my dad. He was harsh but funny. He had a child with her. A perfect angel of a baby. Meanwhile, I was already losing favor.

They were violent and neurotic. But when you're young you don't know better. I played in a trash pit. Isolated from anyone other than family. Each day was peppered with humiliations. I accepted it, unable to do anything else. Don't think - obey.

They taught me awful things like racism and perversion. They prepped me to kill men should they try to attack - never try to disarm them, end them. They taught me to fear institutions and men alike. I became a ugly person, parroting every awful thing I'd ever heard and seen.

My teachers were cruel. Making me cry in a trash can. They'd scream at us or make us take out complaints to a tree outside. Trouble at school was another failure. I did well enough academically, but horrible interpersonally.

My parents started getting abusive. Beating us, gaslighting me, and torturing me. Telling me to eat my puke, laughing at the contents of my diary, forcing me to spend hours alone in my room on a regular basis. I tried to kill myself at 10 years old. I didn't have rope to hang myself and strung together a fish tank cord to my bunk bed. Too young to execute properly.

I was contemplating escaping into the desert, to die in the desert or at home by my dad's hand? Which was worse? My mother would smack me and choke me. He would scream and break things. They fought constantly. But it was all smiles and niceties when there were other people around.

Through their guilt, they returned to the church and insisted we children convert. They forced us to disavow anything other than christ, it was not safe to do otherwise. It made them stranger but less violent. I was convinced my father would nuclear murder my family so we could meet Jesus.

They forced me to cover for them. To pretend that everything was okay. To stop trying to get help - stop making them look bad. I developed an eating disorder, binging and purging. I started cutting myself in secret places.

In a small town you have few options, and even less when everyone can see that something is wrong with you. I had no money or grades for college. No compelling art to take me away from this hellscape. The only thing I knew how to do was obey and survive.

I joined the military, it was awful but doable. I served in Afghanistan and was complicit in the murders of men I'll never know. From behind a screen, I counted corpses and watched the families come to claim the bodies. I got worse, turning on everyone around me. I was pulled out of military for mental instability and deemed disabled. Another humiliating failure.

I started drinking heavily. A bottle of vodka or two daily. I got hooked on drugs, meth specifically. Spinning and burning the clear elixir. I was in and out of psych wards. I spiraled, down, down, and further still downward. I even got arrested for assault with a deadly weapon, although I was never charged. I lost my teeth. I wear dentures at 30.

I got clean and started fresh. Moving several times with my three cats. With many false starts and relapses. But I managed over time. I cried for years, drowning in my misery. I started taking medication, and it all became bearable incrementally. A slow unwinding of mental blocks and stunted development.

I found love by surprise and even got married - he's funny and hardworking. I'm a mother now to two kids. I got my spirituality back, even if it's in a different form now. I'm still not okay, not completely. But my story is slowly getting brighter and brighter.

I wonder at my purpose. Or what my life is meant to be. Am I simply a failure or trash or a cog in the cycle of violence? Or can I be more? I hope so, even now.

There's tension now, bleeding into every crevice. My parents want to forget and move on. But I can't. It's remnants are branded into my being. Everything I will never be, every possibility stolen from me haunts me. A version of myself never to come to light through no fault of my own. I grieve for my potential self. Who I should've and could've been.

Every time I find myself getting sucked back into the catacombs of my childhood, a tiny hand or a tender voice reminds me of the love I've managed to find and create.

I laugh every day. I smile and play with my children. I adore my husband and his family. I'm no longer trapped and abused and unwanted. I am me, finally.

[korereapers]

Title: Closer

Fandom: DnD, Original

Ship: Ohmrom von Allmen/Barkilara

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: CBT?? I guess. Very unhealthy coping mechanisms. A warlock having sex with the entity he made a contract with blahblahblah

AO3

He knows it was supposed to be a threat. A suggestion so offensive he had uncharacteristically angered his usually nonchalant devil.

Dare to repeat that, and I’ll twist your balls from the inside.

Which should have been terrifying. A god, or a devil, so incredibly strong threatening to hurt him in the most humiliating way. Take his manhood and make it the source of the most excruciating pain. The most pathetic whimpers.

Ohmrom sees himself in the fantasy, and embarrassingly enough, he finds himself enjoying it.

He thinks about the pain, about air leaving his lungs violently, his body spasming and trying to fight the sensation.

It's not that he finds pain particularly pleasurable. He avoids it like the plague most of the time, born and raised to endure it, and deciding not to. Onir knows the amount of pain he can take before losing consciousness, the amount of blood he can lose, until his sight is blurry and his legs are trembling.

He just keeps going. Takes it with or without honor. Pukes some blood. Shits some other. Gets patched up by a cleric and does it all again. Running from pain, and yet seeking it like an addict. Even if it's not what he truly wants.

He feels an inquisitive mind peeking into his own, maybe trying to discern what's making him feel this weirdly excited.

Ohmrom tries to conceal it. He really does. His mind might be simple enough for someone as powerful as Barkilara, but he has always been good at hiding. Himself, his true intentions. His cards close to his chest, even more when his deepest and darkest secrets are at stake.

Still, he knows it's futile. He feels like a child trying to cover his own face, trying not to show his eyes, in case anyone can see how scared he is. Cornered in his own mind, his own fingernails digging into his palms, consciously trying to even his breath, to make his heartbeat less loud. It drums in his ears like a battle cry, and he just sighs, closing his eyes and making himself look smaller.

Maybe, that way, he will become invisible yet again.

I didn't think I could ever get surprised by a mortal, even less a human, and yet…

"Just. Don't say anything."

He can almost feel his brain being read like the most precious tome. His aching soul a little jewel in claws that seem to treasure it, just accepting it as it is.

Do you really want me to do it? He hears inside of his head, a buzzing sound between his ears. Would it please you?

Ohmrom thinks it would.

Your puny little god… I wonder how much would displease him to see one of his men like this.

He wants to protest. He really does. He opens his mouth, even, but what comes out of it is not a word. It's an undignified cry, his whole body contorting on his bed because, Onir be damned, it hurts. Like hell. His organs being twisted from the inside, one of his hands unconsciously holding himself, as if that could somehow ease the pain.

Amber eyes are a little wet, and he complains softly, biting his lip until it almost splits. It hurts so bad he wants to vomit. He craves the pain, because it’s the most intimate love he knows. Punishment feels more natural for him than kindness. Kindness is alien, welcomed but undeserved. A small indulgence. He knows that much.

He is being watched intently, Barkilara doesn't have to utter a single word for him to know. He focuses on the pain, on the way it lingers, on how exposed and weak he feels. He is indeed shaking, he realizes, discolored fingers trembling when he dares to look.

More?

"Please…"

It's not as brutal at the first time, but he does feel pressure on his balls, way more than it would be comfortable. Nothing similar to a hand or a claw, as it seems to be coming from the inside. His blood flow constricted, his muscles and organs reacting to Barkilara's power.

He hears a laugh inside of his head, and in his feverish fantasy, he feels that the devil is laughing at him. Humiliating him, making him kneel in the most coarse way.

The pressure is unbearable, the pain so overwhelming and his blood flow so easily and roughly manipulated he fears a heart attack. That's exactly when the pressure stops, and he swears his mouth does taste like vomit.

Enough?

And he wants to say that no, that it's not enough. That he wants to lose consciousness, to feel like a ragdoll in his hands. So utterly powerless he doesn't have to fight anymore. So that he can finally rest, in peace.

Enough it is, then.

"No… no. Wait…"

We'll keep playing, once I get another little puppet for our sweet little games. Now that I know your limits…

Ohmrom groans in frustration, the sweat on his forehead making his disheveled hair sticky.

"Wait-"

We are even. Relieve yourself. You have earned it.

He absentmindedly realizes that indeed, he is hard against his pants. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he has been forgiven, and after his punishment, he deserves to enjoy himself a little.

He feels dirty when he takes himself in his hand, so overwhelmed it takes him mere seconds to reach his peak, his body processing the pleasure in a way that makes him feel exhausted.

He groans against the pillow, too weak to even try to clean himself. What a fucking mess he is…

Ohmrom closes his eyes, his body and mind about to shut down from the exertion. He swears he feels a slow caress on his head, as if someone was combing his hair with their fingers.

A heavy and dense sadness overflows him mere seconds before he loses consciousness.

[fevers-and-emeto-oh-my]

10 & 14? for the emeto asks :)

10. Throwing up from over eating or throwing up from eating something that doesn’t agree with them?

Definitely throwing up from eating something that doesn't agree with them!! I feel like the nausea and vomiting from that is more unanticipated and therefore a lot more fun for me to play with. Over eating would have more vomit involved probably, but less angsting and anxiety over why they're puking, and we all know i'm here for the angst babyyyy.

14. Humiliated because they threw up in a crowded area or humiliated because they threw up in front of the last person they wanted to see?(ex: crush, enemy, boss)

This one's hard because both are really appealing!! I'd have to go with humiliated because they threw up in front of the last person they wanted to see, just because i live for embarrassed whumpees and nonchalant (non-caring? indifferent to the embarrassment? it's midnight my brain is melting) caretakers. There's also so many ways to go with this one--they throw up in front of their crush, which is a huge embarrassment because who could like them being so gross like that??? they throw up in front of their boss or another superior, which is super unprofessional and oh god are they mad? are they gonna get fired? are they gonna have to clean it before they go home?? and then of course the fact that they look so totally weak and pathetic throwing up in front of their enemy, i mean really, it's like they're just handing them the win~

these are so much fun to answer, thanks for sending a couple ritz!! <3

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #085

When did you last feel fear? Uhhhhh not sure, surprisingly. Are you a fan of Taylor Swift? What’s your favorite song from her? No. There are like less than five mega old songs that I enjoy though, the top definitely being "Love Story," idc that song is great. What was the last pain you’ve had on your body? My legs primarily from my knees down are in awful pain whenever I'm simply standing up, so them. What’s your favorite way to eat rice? Hm, probably fried. What’s something that has really impacted your life? The first person I was in love with, absolutely madly so to where I lost a great deal of self-autonomy, abruptly exiting my life.

What did you last have as a snack? Fudge; Mom is making some for Christmas but she picked a couple that me and her could eat out of. Are you currently listening to music? Yeah, I discovered that a YouTube artist did the song "Gangsta's Paradise" in the style of Ozzy Osbourne and it's honestly fucking incredible lmao. It's Anthony Vincent, to give credit. What is the last song you listened to in a car? Ummmm I feel like it was something by Motionless In White. Are there any important things happening this week? Well, this isn't really "important," but it's somewhat of a big deal to me because I'm rarely on my own; Mom and Nicole are going to Tennessee to visit my brother and his family (I very much wanted to go, but there are reasons I couldn't that I don't want to talk about), so I'm gonna be on my own for close to a week. Girt wants to come over a lot though so I'm not alone, so I appreciate that. Do you know anyone who is terrified of dogs? I don't think so. What’s your favorite horror movie? The Blair Witch Project, The Crazies, and then Silent Hill, though I think that's just a bias, the movie incarnation isn't fantastic. What’s your favorite and least favorite fast food restaurant? Favorite, probably Sonic. Least favorite, fucking Arby's, just looking at their stuff makes me want to puke. When did you last sign your signature? Uh a couple days ago at a doctor's appointment bc I got a new insurance card or something. What cover do you think is better than the original song? I think the two strongest, your-argument-is-invalid examples are Disturbed's "The Sound of Silence" cover as well as Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt." Like it feels like they fucking wrote those songs, they were MADE for 'em. What’s something that excites you about the future? Inspired by the answer of the person I copied this survey from, watching my sister's kids grow up. They're my only nieces and nephew I've been heavily involved with (NOT by my will, my half siblings just live in different states), and I just love seeing the three of them grow as individuals. I always have this fear they'll grow to dislike me/maybe drop me from their lives because of how much of the black sheep of the family I am, but I try to not think of this possibility. Are you afraid of walking alone at night? Oh I absolutely would be. Where did your last kiss take place and with whom? My bed with my boyfriend. Are you a very affectionate person? YES. I love hugs and I will tell you I love you every opportunity I get. I will petname tf outta you too if it's something that doesn't make the person uncomfortable. I am just such, SUCH a massive believer in vibrantly expressing how much you care for people. Are you mentally strong? There are some LOVELY people who make me question it, but when it boils down to it, yes I fucking am. I'm here and alive and learning by MY determination alone. Are you physically strong? It's honestly absurd how physically weak I am, like it is humiliating how much I literally cannot do because I don't have the muscle. Name one thing you wish you could change about your life right now. I wish I had an income and was happy with my form of work. What do you usually eat for breakfast? Usually cereal. Did you have a good year? You know, it was far from the best, but ultimately, I think it was okay. I've had a lot of self-discovery and there's been a lot of effort put into bettering myself and trying to learn to love myself. Did your appearance change in any way this year? Besides hair color, no, not really. What album came out this year and has been on heavy rotation since then? "Zeit" by Rammstein jesus FUCKING christ Favorite new TV show? Girt and I finished the only current season of Extraordinary Attorney Woo a few days back and we are now both desperately awaiting the next one, which won't be coming for a few years apparently. :( It was approved, though. It was a FANTASTIC show. Which new ship/fandom has taken over a lot of your time, attention, and tears? ha ha ha ha ha nervous laughter there's this band Do you carry matches or a lighter? No, no reason to. Do you keep socks with a hole in them if they are your favorites? ABSOLUTELY NOT, I hate socks already, but holes in socks are fucking insufferable to me. Have you ever frightened someone on purpose? Not as a tease, but seriously. No, that sounds very mean. Something you were surprised to learn about your parent’s childhood? Oh I have no idea. Have you ever destroyed another person’s belongings out of anger? No, that's incredibly shitty. Which painkiller do you use? Usually just Ibuprofen. Something you taught yourself how to do? Use Sony Vegas acceptably well for video editing. I am SUPER far from a pro, but I can do quite a bit. Are you guilty of texting while driving? I would literally rather never touch a phone again. Never. Have you ever caused a lot of noise in a library? No, even as a child I thought it was disrespectful. Have you ever called in at a radio station & dedicated a song to someone? No. Are you a bossy person? Absolutely not, I'd feel so gross. What social media platforms do you use? Facebook, Insta, and Tumblr are I think it. What is one of your favourite sitcoms? That '70s Show. What pet names do you use for your friends/loved ones? Girt, a lot. For friends, "hun(ny)," "dear," "darling," and "love" are commonly used by me. What pet names do you like to be called? Most I can think of are fine. One that does come to mind that I know some people like but makes me want to hurl is "princess," like just don't. What was the best concert you've ever seen? Only seen Alice Cooper live, but it was excellent. Do you have any hobbies? Well yeah. I like browsing online, playing games, writing, reading, drawing, taking photos, editing photos and other stuff, watching YouTube, chatting with my loved ones, and I would very much enjoy being outside and going on walks if my legs weren't total garbage. When was the last time you stayed in a hotel/motel and where was that? I legit don't think I've stayed in a hotel since my sister and I still did dance and we went to a competition by the beach. Does your hair have natural highlights in it? Yes, even when it's not dyed. What was the last decision you had trouble making? Something I talked about in therapy a few days back that I don't want to discuss. What is one type of fruit that you'd like to try that you've never tried before? Dragonfruit immediately comes to mind. It looks so interesting. Have you been told by a doctor that you are a rare medical case? Uhhhh I don't believe so. Who was the last person who came to visit you? Girt, yesterday. What is your favorite version of the Bible to read (if applicable)?

Do you have family that you wish you could see more? Absofuckinglutely. Only my very immediate family lives anywhere near me. What was the last emoji you used? Probably the crying one, I probably overuse it lmao Do you feel the need to be popular? In general, no. I would like to be a popular photographer, but that feels different than "normal" popular to me, idk. What is a good present for you birthdays? Meerkat-oriented ANYTHING is failproof and my loved ones know that, haha. You could also donate to my tattoo fund or just pay for a small one to make my fuckin week lol. What is a rule or boundary you have for yourself, that you have followed? I made a promise to a friend and myself that I would never check up on Sara's socials again and I've kept it since I made it. I have SUCH a hard fucking time letting people go, even those who don't deserve a second of me, and it was problematic that I felt the need to just check on her, but it only ever hurt me. So I stopped. Have you ever played Battleship? Yeah, that's actually a "board" game (quotations cuz that's a weird way to describe it) I really don't mind, it's pretty fun. Girt and I used to play it a lot at the old house. Do you wear skulls on your clothes? Yeah, very regularly. Do you like to record yourself? NONONONONONONONONONONONONONO Do you like the color hot pink? Hell yeah I do. Do you like watching wrestling? Absolutely not, I'm sorry, but it's dumb and cringey as FUCK to me. Like holy shit the acting is so goddamn bad and more dramatic than I was at age 12. I know because my niece and nephew actually like to watch it so have seen my fair share. Aubree actually wants to be a professional wrestler when she grows up and while I will support her dreams to the very fucking end I am very much hoping she changes her mind, lol. Would you rather a giftcard to Starbucks or Olive Garden? OG, I fucking love that place. What kind of people do you respect? "Ones who don’t ‘demand respect’, when they really mean obedience." <<<< THIS. I also have very deep respect for people who basically calmly lead a moral crusade, vigorously advocating for positive change while remaining peaceful and amiable and just willing to prove their point without violence. I respect vegans and vegetarians a lot, like I think that takes A LOT of discipline and a very deep appreciation for all life, and I also respect popular people who don't grow a big head, instead remaining grounded and modest. There's plenty more, but I don't feel like making a massive list. What shampoo do you have in your tub? It's some strawberry-scented Suave bottle. It smells amazing. What color is your shower curtain? Or is it glass/plastic? The shower in the hall bathroom has a white curtain, while Mom's bathroom shower has a door. Do you like to draw with pen or pencil? Pencil. Pens stress me out 'cuz you can't erase. Do you like to draw on lined paper or does it bother you? I'll do it if I have no other option; it's definitely not my preference. Are you stuck in the past? I feel like I'm a prisoner to it, at least to the old me. I'm so unwilling to forgive myself for many things, and it's very much negatively affecting my life and opinion of myself. I've changed and grown so much, but... in my head, I'm stuck on this "you're fucking trash" belief. Tell me about the worst sunburn you've ever had? I got it while at the beach with Colleenn, her husband, and their son; we were sitting under an umbrella and oddly enough, I think I actually got the worse burn on my shoulder that was facing AWAY from the sun. It was so severe it actually qualified as sun poisoning. It was fucking excruciating. My other shoulder got it pretty rough, too. Do you feel embarrassed a lot? I am pretty much constantly feeling embarrassed over one thing or another. What is the most important thing in life, quick answer? For me, I think my pursuit of happiness/peace with myself. I just want to confidently feel that so bad. Is black lipstick your favorite? It sure is. Do you like combat boots? bro they fuckin HOT, I'm a boots whore Would you ever get back with one of your exes? Nope, sure wouldn't. Man, 2015-16 Brittany wouldn't have believed that for a second, well guess what hunny Do you sometimes feel dissatisfied with your love life? No, I am so happy with Girt. Are you friends with your neighbors? Not "friends," no. The man who lives to our right is lovely and has helped Mom with getting some heavy things into the house, and they usually wave at each other if Ma passes him in the car, but I wouldn't call them "friends." Mom knows our other next-door neighbor too and thinks they're fine. Are you super generous? I think so. I sure try to be. Above anything else though, I think I'm most generous with my time. If you need to talk to someone, you fuckin got me. Do you feed the strays in your neighborhood? No; we don't really have strays anyway. Do you think old houses are creepy? I mean they can be, but I think they're cool and fascinating more than anything else! Have you won any trophies/ribbons? Which are you most proud of, if any? Lots for academic excellence, as well as for dance and sports. I'm most proud of my plaque that I can literally see from here that was for me graduating HS in the top percentile of the entire graduating class. It hurts to see sometimes though, like I wonder what the fuck happened to my level of intelligence after high school... Do you type home row or with two fingers? Home row. Have you ever cheated on your bf/gf/wife/husband? No, and I never would. It's just so, so very disrespectful of your partner's trust. Don't hurt people you supposedly love like that, man. What kind of outdoor activities do you like? Taking pictures of nature, exploring, swimming, sitting in the shade if it's cool enough and just chillin. In a movie would you be the villain, hero, or main person? You mean like, what role I would pick to play? Villain almost for sure, I genuinely think I could play a convincing villain. If you could get anything in your trick or treat bag, what would it be? Reese's anything, haha. Even as a kid, that was my favorite to get. Do you like to drive a car? No; I haven't driven in like, maybe two or even three years. I have a debilitating fear of being behind the wheel. I could never, and I mean NEVER, live with my fucking self if I ever caused a wreck and killed somebody. It is just the way smarter option for me to not drive, at least for right now. I feel super bad about not driving and therefore not being able to go anywhere on my own (public transport isn't really a big thing around here), but it's the better, safer option. What is your desktop background? A really cute and vibrant picture of a meerkat.

[beyejun]

how much more humiliating could this get? as if puking in a bar restroom wasn't miserable enough, he realizes by the waft of perfume and the sound of her voice that it's a woman who's caught him in such a vulnerable position. somehow it feels worse, emasculating almost. but yejun can't focus on those feelings, not when the burst of crowd noise that came with the opening of the door suddenly sends a new wave of pain under his skull. he heaves once, twice, and ends up just spitting mucus into the toilet.

"sorry," he feels the need to apologize to the stranger who may be the only person in the world who hates this as much as he does right now. "i wish that was the problem. would you believe i haven't had a single drink?" the young man sighs and manages to lean back, against the cool wall, and closes his eyes in search of some temporary relief. a hangover wouldn't hurt this much.

at least she doesn't need the toilet. he should make an effort to get up off the bathroom floor (he feels gross already), but he's not quite there yet. a few more minutes, maybe the worst of it will pass soon. if he could simply will it away, he would have by now. no one wants this headache less than he does.

"my life is a fucking joke," he almost laughs, more of a chuckle really, just incredulous regarding his own situation. "did you ever hear the one about the drummer who gets migraines?" he takes another deep breath, trying to breathe through the pain. "i know i sound crazy but do you think you could turn the light off when you're done with the mirror? it helps." just a little bit, but a little bit is all he can ask for when it gets this bad.

accidents happen-- that's what yuji tells herself. even now, when a patron at the bar gets a bit too rowdy with the rush of energy, flailing about his arms and knocking his drink over. splashback and spillage didn't save her clothes, mismatched splatters that she'll lament over later. it's not unsalvageable, but it's wet and it's sticky when she was perfectly dry a few moments before.

at least he has the gall to look sheepish and apologize, and she feels vindicated a little at the grimace he gives her when she wipes off the mess from her leg with tense limbs. she smiles easily though, waving it off with just an accident, no worries even though yuji knows she'll lament about this. she can't be too mad, because he does look chastised even if yuji doesn't scold him like she wants to. the smile drops from her face once her back is turned, slipping off her stool to head to the bathroom to assess the damage properly. she pulls a portion of her shirt up so she can peer at it, lips twitching into a frown.

"just my luck," she murmurs to herself, heaving out a sigh as she drops her hand from her shirt and rummages through her purse. it's not the worst thing to happen, but it's annoying at the very least. yuji shoots a look towards the stage as she meanders away from the crowd.

upon reaching the bathroom, she opens and shoulders it open-- half of her attention on the door and half of it on trying to find a stain remover in her bag. one quick sweep of the room that pauses at the form hunched over the toilet. yuji freezes in place, blinking quickly in sucession.

he croaks out an apology, and yuji's brows furrow, the words processing as her head tilts at him. she stays quiet for a moment, just staring-- before she gives a hum, moving instead to the sink and mirror to the side.

"i don't need to use the toilet. just the mirror. no need to stop on my account." she says instead after a moment of silence, already scanning the stain on her reflected shirt with a frown. her eyes drop down to her jeans, and with a huff, she pulls her purse around so she can find that damn stain remover. once located, she tugs it out and turns on the tap water, eyes moving to the reflection of the stranger above the toilet.

studies him for a moment, uncapping the cleaning pen before dotting it along her clothes. she can't really make out his features, pressed to the porcelain and his hair covering his features. her tongue clicks, refocusing her attention on her clothes, she calls out to ask casually, "have too much fun?" there's a wry bit of joke to her tone, a huff of air leaving her nose in a stifled laugh.