choso looks like a guy that would fall asleep with your titty in his mouth.
i’m just imagining his strong arms wrapped around you as he holds you tight, his fingers twitching from time to time in his sleep; digging deeper into your shirt that’s pushed up to the collar, successfully exposing your front.
his breathing is calm and his hair is messy. he’s warm because of the non-existent distance between you, because of the way your limbs entangle together, how you hold onto him as well.
and his lips, god… they are soft and plush as they remain wrapped around your nipple. occassionally, they’ll suckle on the sensitive nub a bit, tug it further into his mouth, lick it with a lazy and gentle flick of tongue, almost toying with it even though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose.
trying to not pay any mind to the heat that’s steadily building up below your waist, you stroke his hair and the side of his face as he sleeps; so peacefully that he could come across as an angel despite the fact that his actions are rather sinful.
at some point, a small droplet of drool dribbles down his chin from how relaxed he becomes. he wakes because of it, ever so slightly startled by the sensation it leaves behind, long eyelashes fluttering and revealing very, very tired eyes.
before you can even say anything or wipe away the thin, glimmering line the spit has left behind on his skin, he’s already back to burrowing his entire face into your chest with a content little sigh; making sure to push you even closer with the help of a broad palm pressing against the middle of your back.
Hi! Could you possibly do something soft with one of the green boys? Thank you so so much <3
I See You.
(Slightly 18+)
Pairing: Aemond x Strong!Niece!Reader;
Warnings: some NSFW innuendos and angst - other than that, this is pure comfort and fluff!
Word Count: 4k+
Author's Note: Thank you so much for the request, Nonny! I hope you enjoy this little drabble, and forgive me for taking so long to get around it :") 🤍
Aemond Targaryen hated his birthdays - to him, they were a poor excuse for his mother to introduce him to possible matches. The banquets were loud and dramatic, and he'd much rather spend his time training or reading a book.
Aemond Targaryen hated his birthdays - they focused too much on him, and he could see: he could see how everyone at Court turned their eyes away from him.
And yet you kept on looking.
The dizzying nature of the last waltz of the night left everyone in the Great Hall panting. Roaring applauses erupted from the women seated, and even Aegon whistled lowly in encouragement, as his purple eyes dilated and trailed over the wanton skirts of the highborn ladies.
“Well done, brother,” He congratulated Aemond though a slurred hic, “Even when the day is all about you, you still somehow manage not to dance a single time!”
A wolfish grin spreads across his droopy face, pulling his reddened cheeks higher.
“It’s quite a shame, really.” He hums in reserved admission, reveling in the second son’s silence, “She looked really pretty tonight, too.”
Aemond’s lips part with a growl – a quiet warning sent directly to his brother; to cease his antics and leave him alone.
Still, his eye trailed over her frail form for the thousandth time that night. The shadows of the flickering lights licked at his pale features, and the One-Eyed Prince scowled at how she spun so effortlessly in the arms of so many men that night. How he, ever the fool, stood hammered in his seat during such an ospacious occasion.
A knot tightened in his throat when he heard his strong niece giggle at the flat joke a common Lord had landed - her lack of propriety, her open enjoyment of his company, and the flowy dress she was wearing, were enough to set his heart aflame – and his blood run hot.
Even his brother was eyeing him weirdly, for he had contorted in such a way, that his body was leaning forward, seemingly ready to pounce on the Tully Lord and tear him away. His lilac orb had a predatory glint in it, one that spoke volumes about his wordless adoration for the girl before him.
Feeling his swift undoing, the Targaryen Prince excused himself from the table, with one elegant and hasty movement, not daring to spare the girl another glance. His jaw was tightly set, his long fingers clasped behind his back, digging away at the flesh of his calloused palm. All of his blood had run elsewhere, and a stinging pain started hitting him from beneath his eyepatch.
“Qrimbrōzagon,” He hissed lowly in his mother tongue, “Fu-uck…”
“It’s not really gentlemanly to curse like that, you know…” A kind, albeit teasing voice, echoed through the dark hallway.
Aemond almost froze on the spot. Out of all the times to be left alone with her, this had to be one of the worst. A cold shiver ran down the Prince’s spine; not only was he irritated at the stunts she’d pulled, but he had no good words left for anyone, not when his eye hurt so badly.
The man quickly composed himself, however, and shut his remaining eye firmly, before turning on his heel to greet the smiling girl.
“It’s not particularly lady-like to walk around the Keep unchaperoned, dear niece.” Aemond bit back, his remark much harsher than he intended, due to his inpending pain. “A banquet is in its midst. There are plenty of drunk men, searching for a new folly.”
“Then I should be very lucky to have bumped into you, wouldn’t you agree?” The girl suggested with a slight quirk of her head. She licked her lips tentatively, preparing to inquire after him – but sensing his dissatisfaction and lack of amusement at her usual jests, the Velaryon’s words died upon her lips, and she pursed them tightly together, until her shoulders jolted in place.
“Is… Is the scar causing you trouble again?” She asked meekly, not daring to raise her voice too much. “Is that why you left so suddenly…?”
“My scar is fine,” Aemond replied stiffly, trying to put an end to her relentless worries. “I’ve no need for your sympathy – and if you came here to laugh at my expense, you’ll be left very disappointed.”
“Laugh at you…?” The confusion was evident in her voice, and a small pang of hurt reflected in her big, brown eyes. Her brows furrowed deeply, creating two creases that ran in between them. “You know I would never laugh at you. And I would certainly never laugh at the expense of your eye.”
Aemond’s chest was heaving more sporadically by the second. It was taking everything within him not to fall to his knees and grip his face; not to shout at her to leave him and his heart alone.
“As I previously said, I’m fine.” He growled from under a stained breath, “If that would be all, niece…” He sucked in an aching gasp, one that he prayed to the Seven the young Princess hadn’t heard, and resumed his walk once again. “You had better return to your partner and enjoy his smiles. For you are wasting your time with me.”
“If I didn’t know any better, Aemond, I’d say you just insulted me in the acutest way.” She voiced out offendedly, as her hands grabbed onto her long, black skirts.
The younger Princess sprinted right after him, huffing and puffing at his cutting words. She blocked his pathway with her lythe and nimble body, and her cheeks were reddened, from both the wine and worry alike.
While she brushed away a rebel strand from out her face, the girl crossed her hands over her chest, and awaited patiently.
“That will simply not do,” She uttered with a shaking head, “I must demand satisfaction.”
Aemond came to clench his jaw painfully. His eye was boring into her alluring features; his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, swallowing thickly once every two seconds.
“Why did you push me away all night?” She demanded with a hand above his chest. “How can you insinuate I don’t care about you, when it was you who refused to talk to me?”
Her expression turned solemn, almost mourning, and the girl glanced about at her smaller feet. “What happened? Is it related to something that I did?”
Her head shot up suddenly. Her eyes widened in earnest, “If I said something unseemly, or offended you in any way, I’m sorry.” Her voice was carrying a shiver of honesty, “You know you’re my best friend, Aemond. I… I would never dare hurt you.”
“And yet on that night, you rallied with them.”
Her face fell at his cruel remark. For a while, quietness ruled over them.
Seven years separated them from that fated night in Driftmark. And yet for Aemond, it was still a delicate subject.
Her dainty features twisted into a painful sulk, and the younger girl nibbled on her lower lip, before she spoke with a broken tone. “You know this isn’t true.”
She raised her head at him, and glanced at the prince with a clouded expression. Her body looked even smaller now, recoiled into itself, and, as the Princess let out a forlong sigh, she made enough space in the tight corridor for him to pass her.
“I twisted Luke’s dagger away as fast as I could. I slashed my arm for you.”
Aemond fought her stare with a look of pure betrayal, one that the Velaryon hadn’t seen since that cursed night in Blackwater's Bay. “When you saw us all bloody, you immediately went to side with them.”
“You held a rock above Jace’s head…!” She touched her neck while speaking. “I heard a commotion and got out of bed – how could I have known the full of it, then? I only saw my brothers beaten to a pulp and you above them. And even then, I tried to help you – calm down the others!”
Her eyes were glossy with the threat of tears, but she blinked them away quickly, as she gently shook her head.
Aemond only scoffed at her explanation, and brought his right hand to a fist.
The pain was eating away at him, and there was no more holding back.
“You shouldn’t have doubted me, even for a moment.”
“They’re my brothers…!”
“And you were supposed to be mine! My friend.” Aemond swallowed thickly, “You were supposed to believe me.”
Though neither had seemed to notice, their endless bickering had brought their bodies awfully close. The girl’s heart was beating out of her chest, hammering against Aemond’s ribcage. His arms had caged her vehemently against the cold wall, and the One-Eyed Prince nearly collapsed once a sharp sting pulsed through his empty socket.
“My eye.” He uttered darkly, whilst holding her gently with his heated hand, “I thought it once to be a fair exchange for the dragon I’d gotten. But I was a foolish boy who didn’t know that I’d carry its loss with me my whole entire life.”
She was looking at him, her eyes never once faltering, with a guilty expression upon her face. “I am so sorry you had to go through this. I am so… so sorry.” A silent tear rolled off her cheek, hitting the flamboyant details of her dress, and the girl sank her teeth on her wobbly lower lip. “I would give anything in the world, if only I could take your place. I'd have traded my eye for yours in a heartbeat.”
His breath fell heavily over her lips. Aemond let out a breathless laugh, and quietly averted his gaze. Remorse ate away at him, and the young man brought a hand to his face, in order to rub his temples.
His breathing came in slow, labored pants. His body was aching, but the closeness she provided, along with the love he felt for her, grounded the Targaryen Prince, if only momentarily.
“I would have died a thousand deaths, before I’d let you take that fall for me.” His expression hardened, and he readied himself for what he was about to say. “They say I’m a crippled freak.” Aemond spat out his own insult, and he lowered his head, seemingly ashamed of it. “We can both pretend that it's not true, but no lady at Court can look at me.”
'I look at you. I see you, and you are not a freak.' The Princess desperately wanted to say.
Instead, she settled on bringing her hand out to grab his painful fist, and rub soothing circles into his white knuckles.
“That’s not true, Aemond,” She tutted against him, feeling her face fall with each of his words.
The Crown Prince tensed and shook his head harshly. She wouldn’t understand.
“Look at it.”He urged her with a desperate abandon, still gripping her gently by the elbow, not letting her escape his presence. His mind was swirling with a myriad of thoughts, each wildly uncomfortable and scared of rejection. Still, he couldn’t have her away from his grasp.
The farce had gone too far – and he needed her. He needed her so adherently.
“Look at me, and tell me what you see.” Despite his inner turmoil, Aemond’s voice was calm and composed, and he closed his right eye, as if he had already accepted the answer she was going to grace him with: an answer he’d heard so many times while in the shadows of the Red Keep, listening in to the highborn ladies’ conversations.
A salacious truth, though his spying was never intentional.
His request left the Princess confused – even so, she decided to answer it honestly. She ran her eyes over his face and body, drinking in his every detail. Before beginning, she darted her tongue out to wet her chapped lips, and quietly drew in a comforting breath.
“I see a pale man, with long, silver hair, and a beautiful lilac eye. I see a man who trains with the sword every single day - a man who has perfected the deadly craft. I see a man who always has something smart to say, about a book he read or a previous study he went through. I see a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. I see you, Aemond.”
As she drew the last of her conclusion, his niece made sure to look him straight in the eye, with the calmest of smiles tugging away at the ends of her lips.
Although her answer had taken him by surprise, Aemond didn’t loosen his hold on her. Posessively, he gripped her waist in a secure rapture, and knitted his brows in grave annoyance.
He couldn’t help himself anymore, not when her eyes focused on him, as if he were the only thing that mattered.
He couldn’t help himself anymore, when, instead of trying to wiggle herself away, the girl placed a soothing palm atop his twitching hand, pressing it down gently.
He cupped her cheek with his resting hand, and aligned her jaw to face him. His hawk-like eye glimmered dangerously, protruding to almost black.
“That’s all? Look harder.” He barked at her through gritted teeth. The poise of his composure was now cracking at the seams. “Tell me again what you see.”
The breath in her throat hitched slightly, but the brown-haired girl followed suit with honesty.
“I see…” A short pause ensued, during which the Velaryon had to purse her lips together, unnerved by what she was about to say, “I see a handsome man, with a thirst to prove himself. I see a man who pushes himself further every single day, who hasn’t known a break in his whole life. … I look up, and see a man who is dutiful and loving toward his family. I see a man who covers his eye with an eyepatch.”
Whilst she was busy breaking his resolve, she raised her hand slowly to his face, and bit her lip in anticipation, stopping at the brown leather of the piece of cloth – silently asking for permission to remove it.
“I see a man with a scar on his left cheek… though that doesn’t make him less alluring. I see a man who had to work twice as hard as everyone else to make up for it all, a man too proud to be handed down anything.”
To say that Aemond was taken aback by her touch was an understatement. His chest heaved with exhaustion, and his socket throbbed significantly, but his face remained close to hers. Her words confused him, but they left him craving more.
He allowed her to reach for his eyepatch, and graze her finger over the hard leather – but his hand rested atop hers, to keep it from moving any further.
“That’s all the answer you’re going to give?” He breathlessly inquired, frustration evident in his tone. His hands felt still and tense, and the girl only nodded in reply.
He was silent for nearly a minute. The Targaryen weighed his options carefully, mulling over his actions. Her delicate fingers were driving him wild, leaving goosebumps on his panging skin.
“Then perhaps I should help you.” He hushed to her, tangling a hand in her slick, brown hair.
His fingers made rapid work on the buckle securing his eyepatch, and the Crown Prince sucked in a breath, as the coldness of the air hit his throbbing blinder.
The girl’s lips parted in sorrow and shock.
There Aemond stood, a shaky hand still grazing the nape of her neck, and a tight expression on his face. Stiffly, he awaited her horrified reaction. “What else is it that you see now, my niece?”
Her inner turmoil disappeared with the submission of his question. “I see a man who is so brave and strong, despite all that happened to him. I see someone so beautiful – inside and out.”
Her hand caressed his deep, red scar and, without much further thinking, she leaned in to plant a small, tentative kiss over the wounded flesh.
Her feathered touch drove the man wild. He swallowed down a desperate moan, and fought with every fraction of his being, that screamed and urged him to take her against the cold, stone wall.
His mind was in shambles.
“That’s all I see, My Prince. That’s all that truly matters.”
Patiently, she waited for his answer, while taking his right hand in hers and rubbing his white knuckles with a devotion untoward.
Her kiss was unexpected. What was even more so, was the earnest nature of her speech and her eyes, which held no malice or ill intent towards him.
Instead, they were filled with fondness and sympathy, and Aemond would be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful for it.
He could feel his lower lip quivering as she rubbed her thumb over his busted knuckles. His body was practically shaking.
“It will never be all that matters.” He laid in thickly, trying his damnest to hold on to his usual, impassive mask.
But that facade was slipping, and even more so with her kind touch and the heat her lips had left on him.
Her face dropped at the finality of his words. The girl nibbled on her lower lip, and slouched her shoulders forward. She minced her way closer to him, and squeezed down on his right hand, forehead bumping into his chest.
“It’s all that matters to me. And to your mom, and to your brothers and sister. To anyone that shared a word with you, or has half a brain to think by themselves.” She whispered to him, while slowly snaking her arms around his waist.
For a moment, her breath caught in her throat, and she prayed silently that Aemond hadn’t thought the last of her movements brash and shameless.
She knew how hard touching came to him – in their ten years of rapid friendship, they had perhaps hugged only thrice –, but she dearly hoped their closeness would bring him the closure he needs. “Who gives a shit about anyone else?” Her voice echoed passionately.
Aemond’s lips parted with a weary sigh. His heart was beating out of his chest, and, for the first time in many years, he felt like the boy he once was. The boy he tried so hard to kill – to bury away and get rid of, for the sake of becoming a reliable pillar to his family.
But her warmth – her touch and her kindred words, made him weak at the knees.
A strained smile graced his lips, a quick quirk of his mouth, that was hidden away by his luscious strands of silver hair. The Prince inhaled her scent deeply, before diving his head in the crook of her neck and holding her – just holding her –, until his erratic breathing came to a rest.
The girl let out a relieved sigh, and engulfed him in a proper hug, swaying him from side to side. She hummed quietly in the darkness of the Red Keep, and ran her fingers through his white locks of hair, massaging the scalp gently.
Aemond’s heart jumped in his throat, and Viserys’ second son strained himself to part his face from the heat of her neck.
Their faces remained inches away, and the Princess sallied her mouth forth to kiss over his scarred flesh once again.
Her pecks were meek and innocent, a silent display of acceptance and affection that she’d learned herself when she was but a child.
She remembered how her mother used to kiss over her scraped knees and hands when she was younger, and how that never failed to make her feel better.
Aemond’s stare never once left her face. He gazed at her through a hooded eye, and, despite the pain that only aggravated with the pressure of her rosy lips upon his face, the Prince relaxed his whole body, still gripping her hand in his.
“Does it hurt you when I kiss you there…?” The girl asked quickly, menging their breaths with a quiet pant, “Please tell me if you’d rather me cease with this… I do not wish to cause you pain.”
Aemond’s body came forward still, and the man pressed the girl further into the wall. His hand brushed a strand of hair away from her huffing face. His mouth was slouched open, and his eye was boring into her face, her lips.
Truly, he did not expect her to react in such a way. She wasn’t repulsed, nor scared of his face. She did not look away from him, and she even kissed over his marred scar. She kissed him, like it was nothing out of the ordinary, as if it was the most natural thing.
She kissed him, with so much kindness, that it left him shaking, shuddering in pained pleasure.
“Yes…” he hissed through the wanton choke of a moan. “It hurts. It hurts so, so good.”
Her eyes widened in shock, and his niece tried to pull away. Her eyes were bearing him guiltily, and she bit down on her bottom lip in exasperation. “You should have told me…! I’m so sorry –” She began to say, but was interrupted by Aemond’s disapproving groan.
He found himself trembling, on the verge of frenzy. Her wet lips had been so warm, and they had felt so good, that the man couldn’t think of anything but her. The absence of her lips pressed against his skin was torture.
“No…” He muttered softly, trying to think beyond how much he needed her in his arms and how perfectly they fit together, “Don’t you dare stop kissing me.” He asserted with a small whimper, his voice thick with pain. “Never stop kissing me. Don’t you ever stop.”
“Okay, okay…” She murmured against him, pressing her lips on his cheek again, gracing him with downy and peppered pecks.
“Ivestragon issa konīr iksos daorun pirta rūsīr issa.” He let out pleadingly, swaying their hugging bodies from side to side.
“Ao issi vok.” She replied immediately, and so, so close to his mouth. “Aem, ao issi vok. Nyke jaelagon ao could ūndegon aōla rȳ issa laesi.”
He let out a choked-out sob, and lowered his head atop hers once again. His hands touched her tenderly, greedily, all over the place. His body felt like it was on fire.
They say that Targaryens are accustomed to the damaging flames, that they revel in and enjoy the heat.
Even so, she felt like wildfire – seeping in his every pore.
“Ao issi vok.” The Princess repeated again, nodding for good measure. “And if you don’t believe me, take me, for example. When you look at me, what do you see?”
A rare smile spread across his lips. His eye bored into hers with so much love and adoration, that the younger girl nearly felt her knees give out.
His gentle hand caressed her lips, and Aemond angled her jaw to face him upwards. A quiet request was made, which the girl gleefully answered.
Silken lips pressed against each other, moving so perfectly together, that both mouths opened in a cathartic moan. Aemond held her passionately, pressed flush against him, and both his hands caged her in between him and the hard-faced wall. What started out slow and sensual grew out into tongue and teeth, gasps and promises lost in the decadent darkness.
At last, when they parted, Aemond drew her hands to his mouth, kissing them with pure, unadulterated love.
“Nyke ūndegon ao.” He answered her forgotten question.
He could see the end of his torment.
Translations:
"Qrimbrōzagon" = Curses/Fuck;
“Ivestragon issa konīr iksos daorun pirta rūsīr issa.” = Tell me you see nothing wrong with me;
“Ao issi vok.” = You are perfect;
“Aemond, ao issi vok. Nyke jaelagon ao could ūndegon aōla rȳ issa laesi.” = Aemond, you are perfect. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes;
After falling into the river on Mirage Island, Drew develops a mild phobia of drowning and large bodies of water. He hides his fear well whenever he and the Johto gang happen to pass by a river, but sometimes he has feverish nightmares where he falls and drowns over and over until morning comes. He doesn’t tell anyone about them, but, a few weeks into their journey in Johto, the gang find themselves camping beside a river. Drew is unnerved by the river’s presence, and falls into an uneasy sleep.
May wakes up in the middle of the night after hearing Drew shaking and muttering in his sleeping bag on the other side of the campfire. It doesn’t take her long to realise what he’s dreaming about. Silently, she slips out of her sleeping bag, pads over to where Drew is lying, kneels beside him, and takes his hand. Drew immediately calms down; he is no longer shaking, and the feverish muttering has stopped. May holds his hand until he slips into a deeper, dreamless sleep, before slipping away to her own sleeping bag again.
She does this every single time Drew has a nightmare until he finally stops having them all together.
okay i fucking love this cover, specifically for the symbolism
Levi isn’t this injured anywhere in this volume, or even the battle. and Isayama isn't the type of author to "clickbait" as such.
so Levi's injury appears to lie in his shoulder... as if he had wings... (“wings of freedom”!!) (“So your wings are the real thing after all, Levi.” -Erwin in ACWNR)
one of his "wings" has suffered a blow for effectively ordering Erwin and a bunch of screaming new recruits to ride to certain death. he literally and figuratively has blood on his hand. one hand, because Erwin is the one who ordered the recruits to charge, making them a pair.
If you’re still doing request, is it OK if you either
Describe writing a panic attack?
Or
Describe someone who has gray eyes?
-> a link for gray eye descriptions: x
How to Write a Panic Attack
Physical Symptoms of a Panic Attack:
pounding or racing heart
sweating
chills
trembling
difficulty breathing
weakness or dizziness
tingly or numb hands
chest pain
stomach pain or nausea
feeling lightheaded
tense muscles
dry mouth
constriction in the chest
feeling like they're being choked
Other Symptoms:
heightened vigilance for danger and physical symptoms
anxious and irrational thinking
a strong feeling of dread, danger or foreboding
fear of going mad, losing control, or dying
feelings of unreality and detachment from the environment
Triggers for a Panic Attack:
something unexpected (ex: a phone call)
a reminder (objects, smells, locations, specific phrases, etc. that can be tied back to a traumatic experience)
stress (from work, a relationship, family, etc. that has been building up)
silence (ex: being alone in a quiet room. The silence can amplify a sense of isolation)
flashbacks (a trigger that causes the person to flash back to a traumatic memory)
out of nowhere (sometimes panic attacks just get triggered by seemingly nothing)
Writing Prompts:
-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.
He couldn't breathe. Oh God, he couldn't breathe and he was going to die.
She knew the panic was building up, but it crashed over her like a tsunami that swept her off her feet. The pull threatened to pull her out to sea and it was all-consuming.
They felt the panic begin to wrap its arms around them like a shadow.
"Is it okay if I hold your hand?"
"Don't touch me-- don't touch me!"
Her mind was running at a million miles a second but she couldn't pinpoint a single thought.
"It's okay. You're safe."
An icy hand had reached through their ribcage and was squeezing their heart. They couldn't breathe and they didn't know what to do to regain their breath.
"My chest hurts. It hurts."
"I can't!"
They were a crumpled heap, stowed away in the corner as tears streamed down their face.
She felt like she was on a boat out at sea, the room swaying and adding to the nausea that was washing over her.
He felt like he was having a heart attack.
They gasped for air but each breath felt shallower than the last.
She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, beating like a panicked drum to the rhythm of her fear.
He felt like he was standing on the edge of a building.
They couldn't move. It was like someone was holding down their limbs, the panic rendering them utterly frozen.
stay completely still until "danger" has passed; i.e. anxiety lessens
listen for something to ground me; e.g. a pet snoring or childhood clock ticking
shouting in fear or rage within the dream wakes me up, and then I lie there wondering if anyone heard me (one time I kept trying to yell while awake until I calmed down)
PSA: never discuss private affairs in your DMs, especially contraception and abortion. Social media moguls will absolutely sell you out to the government. There are already cases of people being charged based on evidence in their DMs.
i love how delusional some articles of clothing are, like you read the tag and its like “hand wash only/tumble dry on low” son you are a cotton tshirt. youre going in the warsh and whatever happens in there is in gods hands
Love when whumpee turns up completely out of the blue. Nobody knew they had been taken/attacked/in an accident/etc., as far as they knew whumpee was fine.
Whumpee just walks into an otherwise perfectly normal situation with the living shit beat out of them, swaying dangerously, eyes unfocused.
Everyone present is shocked. Someone jumps up to catch whumpee before they fall, helping them into a chair or easing them to the ground.
“Oh my god, Whumpee, what happened?!” | “Who did this to you?” | “How did you even get here?” | “Shit, you’re hurt.” | “Here, sit down before you fall down.”
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