"Sleep it off, Rookie. You're gonna be alright..."
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Janaina Medeiros
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

#extradirty
we're not kids anymore.
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Today's Document
🪼
Xuebing Du
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Sade Olutola
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
h
occasionally subtle

Love Begins

oozey mess
Show & Tell
YOU ARE THE REASON

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@ohwhumpydays
"Sleep it off, Rookie. You're gonna be alright..."
Tomer Capone as Frenchie in The Boys (4.05)
The Internet seemed to really like the previews I posted of NYC bullying Spider-Man, so here is that episode in its entirety. Enjoy!
LISTEN TO HER ADVICE PETER SHE WORRIES ;-;
“Spidey should drink more respecc women juice”
Could I request a snippet about a hero who keeps getting possessed by the villain, and asks their sidekick to handcuff them to the bedposts. But then, the villain arrives.
Thanks in advance :)
The possessions were getting more frequent and, according to the hero, more difficult to shake.
"I'm not agreeing to this because I'm worried," the sidekick said, twisting the handcuffs between their fingers. "I think you're fine. And it's all going to be fine."
"Duly noted." The hero tried for a smile, but it was a wan thing. Between that and the dark circles beneath their eyes, all of the cracks of the hero's usually untouchable were showing.
Nobody could beat them in a fight - the sidekick had seen that - but a threat already under their skin might be the one thing the hero was vulnerable to.
The sidekick swallowed, and they both hesitated, floundered, beneath the new territory they found themselves in.
"This is just," the sidekick added, "to put your mind at ease."
"Yeah." The hero's gaze slid away. "So long as it is my mind, right?"
The sidekick didn't know what to say to that.
"Sorry," the hero said. They shifted back, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, exhaling a breath. "Thank you, for doing this."
"Eh, you know. Perks of the job." The sidekick tried for a smile, and they were pretty sure theirs had strained around the edges too. "Tying my incredibly hot boss to a bed. It's the worst thing ever."
The hero did laugh at that, which the sidekick felt an inordinate rush of pride at. At least, it seemed to diffuse some of the tension.
The sidekick inhaled a steadying gulp of air, because they weren't entirely lying about the incredibly hot part, and moved forwards.
The hero shuffled obligingly back to the headboard and spread their arms.
Mirrors surrounded the bed on every side, propped up against the walls, angled to catch the hero's deep brown eyes in their reflection.
"You need to make sure I can't escape." The hero's tone had turned more serious. "You won't win a fight against them in this - in my -" the hero stopped, and didn't finish.
"Yeah." That would be bad. The sidekick was ashamed to feel their fingers tremble a little, and they knew the hero felt it.
Worried! Who was worried? There was nothing remotely worrying about a villain taking residence in someone virtually indestructible. This was all peachy. So what if the times the hero spent possessed were getting both longer and closer together.
The sidekick cinched the hero's left and most dominant wrist first, securing it as tight as they could without risking nerve damage. Then they moved to the other side of the bed.
The hero seized hold of their arm.
The sidekick's breath stuttered. Their eyes met.
"Hurry." The hero's voice had gone hoarse. "I'm not going to be able to hold on much longer."
"You need to let go of me."
The hero looked down at their hand, as if surprised. Their fingers recoiled.
Okay, maybe the sidekick was worried. Just a little bit.
The sidekick continued as fast as they could, leaning over the hero to reach, willing their fingers not to fumble over the key. They should have practiced this more. How likely was it that the hero could break down a steel bed frame on pure strength? Their heart hammered.
"Whatever I say," the hero began - and stopped.
The sidekick pulled back, handcuffs locked, key tucked in their fist. "I know," they said. "Whatever you say, don't untie you. Not even if-"
The hero's legs swung, locking around the sidekick's waist and yanking them onto the bed as if they weighed no more than a ragdoll. The sidekick yelped, only just managing to keep hold of the two keys, colliding hard into the hero's chest.
The sidekick's gaze snapped up to the hero's face - exactly the same as ever - before darting to the reflection of the mirror. In the mirror, their face was nearly the same, but not quite. The hero's brown eyes had turned a ghostly blue.
This was not their hero.
But the sidekick had already known that.
"I could crush you," the villain said, almost conversationally. Their legs tightened where they curled around the sidekick. "Snap your ribs, right here, right now. So I suggest-"
The sidekick hurled the keys across the room, as far away as possible, where the villain couldn't possibly get them so easily. One hit and splintered a mirror with a loud crack, the other hit the ground with a clatter.
The villain's expression darkened, just for a moment.
The sidekick struggled to push themselves up, to twist free, but only succeeded in somewhat straddling the hero's body. They'd seen the hero lift cars with their bare hands - of course escaping their form would no be so easy. The sidekick clenched their jaw and glared down at the villain.
"Let go of me."
"Let me go first."
"That's not going to happen."
"Ah, I see. You enjoy being top of them, don't you? Your admirable hero, who seems so above you in every way, always so in control. Don't you just imagine making all those walls crumble?-"
"Shut up." The sidekick's cheeks flushed.
"Or maybe you always pictured it the other way around." The villain's head tilted, their fingers flexing in the cuffs with barely leashed danger. "Maybe you imagined they would use all that power of theirs to simply take what they want from you, hm?"
"This is desperate." The sidekick tried to jerk free again, uselessly. "And pathetic. So-"
"They don't feel the same way about you, alas."
The sidekick stopped, even when they didn't want to, even whey they shouldn't. Nothing the villain spoke of could be reliably claimed as the truth.
"They didn't even want to ask you for help today - they hated it," the villain said. "You're their little ward, their sidekick. You need to be protected, don't you? But I'm meeting you now, aren't I? Despite their very best useless efforts to keep me out. I can feel them fighting, you know, begging me not to hurt you. But they can't do anything about it."
The sidekick said nothing.
"How does it feel to know that they will never take you seriously? Never view you as an equal? Never even consider you as a contender for their heart?"
"It feels like you're talking," the sidekick bared their teeth, "because you know there's nothing else you can do. They've beaten you. Even in their body, you will always be a parasite, powerless except for what other people can give you."
The villain went silent again.
"I'd want you," the villain said. "You're as vicious as I am, when you want to be."
The sidekick wanted to cry at that comparison, hating the thought they were more like their enemy than their mentor, especially because some small part of them had always feared that it was true. Kindness seemed to come effortlessly to the hero, just like bravery, like all those virtues that the sidekick had to work so hard to emulate.
Of course, the hero would never return their feelings. The villain was blind if they ever thought the sidekick had expected that, however much the longing ached.
"Let. Go," the sidekick said, hating that their voice shook. "You're not going to get what you want from me. You can see their thoughts? Then you know that. I have my orders."
The villain's head tilted, considering them again.
"It's nice," the villain said. "To finally meet you."
And then they used the hero's strength to wrench the bed frame in two.
Hello! Could you write a snippet on a hero x villain relationship where they're both cursed to live as long as the other one lives (which means they cannot kill each other & if one of them gets hurt the wounds also appear on the other's skin) but they used to be lovers so they kind of just hold the biggest of grudges against each other but deep down still miss the love & intimacy they once shared. Sorry if this is confusing, I can't find a better way to word it
"You know," the villain dragged the tip of their weapon across the floor, scarring through it. "This would be so-" they swung, decapitating the head off one goon and then another -"much easier-" a third crumpled to the floor, screaming, "if you could resist the urge to play the hero." They shoved the sword through the stomach of a final goon, before looking at the hero. "For five minutes."
"They were awful people!" the hero protested. "Someone had to stop them."
"We're bleeding," the villain hissed. "You ruined my goddamn coat. Again." They stopped, the tip of the blade pressed beneath the hero's chin - which, really, was just a bit overdramatic as they both knew the villain wasn't going to hurt them. At least not in any permanent way. "And getting kidnapped is a terrible example of stopping someone, fyi."
"I was gathering information."
The villain glared at them. "It's like you don't even want to be immortal."
Some days, the hero wasn't sure they did anymore. Eternity was a long time. Especially alone.
"No point being immortal," the hero said instead, with a shrug, "if I have to change my whole personality and hide in my super high security compound all the time instead of helping people or doing anything. That's not living."
The villain's jaw clenched. They cleaned the sword with deliberate spite on the hero's jeans, before sheathing it and moving to pick the hero's cuffs.
Without the villain's gaze piercing their face, the hero closed their eyes briefly. "Look," they said. "Things got out of hand. It's not like I-"
The villain hurled the cuffs on the floor with a loud clatter.
"And I know you only came to save me because -"
The villain caught their chin in a biting grip, squeezing as they dragged the hero's head to the side, so they were facing each other. The hero's breath hitched. They could see the indentation of nails forming on the villain's skin, where they held the hero.
They eyed each other.
The hero swallowed.
It had been a while since they'd last seen each other. They tended to stay close, due to the connection, but they didn't see each other. Not in person. In person always felt...the distance made it easier to forget the full force of what the villain was, what they had been, the aching familiarity of them.
Seeing the villain was like having an old fatal wound torn open all over again. Seeing the villain was the memory of nights cuddled close, of how they had so wanted a chance to be together forever, how chasing that desperate dream had ruined them.
If they wanted to pass on a message to each other, they could just scrawl it on the back of their hand and have it show up on the other's in a matter of moments. Convenient, but...
Some days, the hero woke up with kiss-bruised lips like a personal attack, and some times the villain woke up with an eager mark upon their throat. When the villain charmed and seduced, it was the hero who would buckle weak-kneed against a wall too at the onslaught of touch and feeling. Some times, the villain told their partner to do exactly what the hero had always done, playing the memories like a tune on the hero's skin as they lay alone in their bed.
They were never sure if the villain meant that as fondness or cruelty. They weren't sure if the villain knew either.
Little signs of life. Little signs of I am here and I will always be here.
They had rules. There had to be rules when anything one of them physically felt was echoed in ghost in the other - pain, pleasure, all of it thrumming in a connection that they could try to drown out, but couldn't.
Mostly, they kept to the rules. Mostly.
"I'm sorry," the hero said then, softer - because when they'd felt the first punch land, when everything went to hell, their first thought had been for the villain. It always was.
I'm sorry I hurt you.
I'm sorry I scared you.
I'm sorry I did this to us.
"I'm just - sorry," the hero said.
"You look like crap," the villain replied, and let go. "You're coming home with me until you're less of a liability."
"Actually-"
"-Wasn't a request." The villain turned, and stalked away. "Come."
And the hero was tired, and aching, and they wanted a hot bath and a way out and a way back to before it all began. They didn't want the fight that would come if they provoked the villain any further on one day than they already had. They'd done that before.
So they followed.
And they let the villain take care of them.
And they tried not to let their stupid heart think it was anything other than self-preservation anymore.
Your pieces are so interesting, I love em! Can I request a MxM: villain sorcerer seducing a prince after killing the king and queen, maybe using his magic as an aid?
"Are you going to kill me too?" the prince asked.
The sorcerer's gaze roamed from the blood, the broken bodies of the king and queen, to him.
"Can you feel it?" the sorcerer asked, after a beat. "Your magic. It must gnaw away at you."
"I don't have magic." An automatic response. An ingrained lie. The absolute lesson his parents had taught him.
The sorcerer crossed the room to his side, reaching out to slide his fingers across the shining gold circlet resting atop the prince's head. "No?"
The prince shook his head desperately and said nothing. He didn't raise a hand to defend himself, or jerk away from the devastating creature before him. Magic. Everything that his parents decreed as evil and not fit for their kingdom.
He was so beautiful, the sorcerer. Like a forest fire. Or a storm.
The prince couldn't look away.
"You must get debilitating headaches," the sorcerer said. "Looking at you," his voice was dark and delicious, "is like looking at a tiger that someone has crammed into a fishbowl. Incongruous. Wrong."
"Migraines," the prince whispered, able to admit to that at least. "I take medication for it. Every morning. Every night."
"Oh, I'll bet."
The sorcerer sank his fingers into the prince's hair, stroking the strands aside, to reveal where the circlet was forcibly welded to skin. The prince shuddered, a hitching little breath. He closed his eyes and felt the sorcerer kneel before his throne.
"They deserved to die," the sorcerer said. "For what they did to you. To our kind."
"You can't say that."
"Why not?"
"They're the king and queen."
"They're corpse dust beneath our boots. They're nothing."
The prince whimpered. Shivered. It should have been horror. He wished it was horror. Instead, the vindication burned low and confused in his gut, pleasure tinged and fanged. Every evil thing. Every terrible impulse. Every wicked bit of him.
Magic was evil.
(He was magic.)
Did not his lack of grief at his parent's death prove the awful flaw in him? Did not the way his heart hammered at the sorcerer's gentle touch, his simmering attentions, expose his treachery?
Heat tugged in him like a taut string.
"Kill me," the prince said. "Kill me like you did them. Like I'm like them."
"No, my prince. I don't think so."
"Please."
"Look at me."
The prince opened his eyes. The sorcerer finally released his hair, but only to take his jaw in both hands.
"I'm sorry it took me so very, very long to get to you," the sorcerer said. "I hope you know I came as fast as I could. I hope they did not have time to ruin you."
The prince swallowed.
"We're going to do monstrous things," he managed. "I read it on a scroll in my father's study."
"We're going to change the world."
"There's going to be so much blood."
"So many screams," the sorcerer agreed softly. "All begging your forgiveness. Worshiping you, us, as the gods we are."
The prince's mouth felt parched.
The sorcerer looked immaculate still; not a drop of the gore of the day's proceedings upon him. Fit to rule. Fit to take and command and conquer. The sorcerer wasn't some mewling, pathetic thing sobbing out in the dark for the pain to stop. For someone to just take the circlet off. He'd do anything, anything, anything. The thing inside the sorcerer did not claw, begging for escape, it was free and luxurious and overwhelming the prince's every sense with their closeness.
"I'm scared," the prince said.
"Oh, you don't even have the words to describe what you are, my darling. But that's okay. I've got you."
He took the prince's hands, like he was asking for a blessing or a benediction, and pressed a kiss to the prince's knuckles. Magic bloomed around them, seeping dark and hungry and roiling.
The prince's head throbbed fit to burst. The sorcerer's next kiss claimed the pained exhalation of his breath, the moan of anticipation.
The circlet wasn't going to hold.
It was so, so obvious as the sorcerer crowded him that the circlet wasn't going to hold. It would shatter like a busted fuse and with it - with it -
"Now, my prince," the sorcerer murmured. "Shall we set you free and take our kingdom?"
Tears streamed down the prince's cheeks, sparked through with power. With the lie of his life. The circlet began to crack, one hairline fractured than the next.
"Yes. Yes."
As the magic finally exploded out of him, the prince knew, already then, that he was in love.
How could he not be?
Untamed
Well, well, well, what have we here~
Whumpee's skin prickles every time the makeup brush wipes against a bruise or cut, but they dare not move an inch. Their hands bound behind them, all they can manage is to dig their nails into their palms as Whumper brushes on the concealer, then the foundation, to their neck and face. They clench their teeth, both to avoid moving their jaw and to avoid making a peep as Whumper works on their battered face.
Whumper didn't seem the least bit stressed, by contrast. In fact, they practically floated as they walked back and forth from their makeup tray to Whumpee. They hummed an unrecognizable tune, stopping every so often to take a sharp breath in. It would be soothing if not given the situation.
The vent blows cool air up Whumpee's legs, through the fabric of their expensive clothes, giving them goosebumps. Whumpee can't tell if the shivering is from the cold or the fear.
As Whumper sits back down on their cushioned stool in front of them, they cock their head and tsk disapprovingly.
"Darling, what's wrong?" they ask. "Why are you shaking?"
They lean back a bit to observe the fine garments adorning their malnourished body, and squint.
"Are the clothes I got you not good enough?"
Whumpee stares uneasily. Did they expect an answer? Movement? Last time they'd spoken without permission, they'd been decked across the face. The silence seems to displease Whumper, and they put the makeup brush down and cross their arms.
"When I ask you a question, you answer. Are you really that ungrateful?" they ask. Whumpee's throat constricts with dehydration, and they gulp thickly and clear their throat before attempting to respond.
"N-- ugh. No," they cough, casting their eyes down to Whumper's knees. "I'm not. Thank you."
"Thank you...?" Whumper prods.
"...Thank you, sweetheart." The words leaving Whumpee's mouth made them sick, but they heard Whumper giggle a little.
"That's better!" they chirp as they pick their makeup brush back up. "Now, eyes back on me. We wouldn't want to smudge your makeup, now, would we? All that work on your pretty little face would be such a shame." They snap their fingers. "Eyes on me, darl."
Whumpee looks back up at Whumper, into their eyes, piercing, almost painful to look at. They shut slightly as Whumper smiles and sets back to work on their foundation. The humming resumes, this time in a recognizable tune-- 'You Are My Sunshine'-- and Whumpee tenses up again. Stiff as a statue; don't move an inch. Don't move an inch. Don't move an inch.
The makeup was itchy and caked onto Whumpee's face like mud. They were grateful their hands were bound, or they'd try to wipe it off themselves. That didn't mean it wouldn't drive them crazy, of course, but at least there wasn't any risk of getting in trouble.
Whumper sighs as they cover the last inch of Whumpee's face, and they stand up and walk back to the makeup tray.
"You know what, Whumpee?" they say lightly, as if discussing the weather, as they browse the eye shadow. "Hold on-- look at me, maybe warm tones?-- Whumpee, you're absolutely beautiful. It's as though you've walked directly out of a painting, hmm? I could just stare at you... all day..."
Whumpee stares at them silently as they pause, collecting their thoughts. They turn over their shoulder at them, studying them hard, as though the next time they'd turn around, Whumpee would be gone.
"So I don't understand... why are you making me taint your beauty?" they ask sadly, resting a hand against their cheek. "Why would you work so hard against me? Why would you make me need to leave such ugly marks?"
Anger-- and shame?-- bubble up in Whumpee's stomach, and they cast their eyes back downwards. They feel their ears heat up with the emotion, and they wish in that moment that they could just be back in bed, even if it was next to this horrible, horrible individual. At least the blankets were warm.
"Answer me," Whumper demands, a slight note of irritation in their voice. Whumpee hears their foot tapping against the tile.
"I'm not making you do anything," they say quietly, their voice wavering as they spoke.
"Hm?" Whumper questions, furrowing their eyebrows and setting down the eye shadow pallette.
"I'm not making you hit me." Whumpee shifts uncomfortably in the small wooden chair. "I'm not making you torture me. I never wanted to be here."
For an unbearably long moment, the room was deathly silent. Whumpee's blood runs cold with regret as the reality of what they just said sets in.
But the silence is broken with soft footsteps, and Whumpee nearly jumps out of their skin as Whumper plops themselves right down in their lap and gently turns their head towards them. What was that expression? Was it anger, perhaps? Ice cold rage?
No. It was love. Affection and tenderness as they lean forward and whisper into their ear "I never asked you."
Their hands rest on Whumpee's shoulders as they lean into their chest and smile up at them, innocent, endearing. "It's okay. You're still a bit misguided. I understand, darling. I'll fix that right up for you, okay? Then nothing will stand in the way. I'll never have to ruin you again."
They rise from Whumpee's lap, leaving them paralyzed with dread at that implication.
"Now, be silent, my love. We wouldn't want to be late for dinner, now, would we? I'll finish your make-up in a jiffy."
They walk back to their makeup tray.
He didn't do anything :c
“Kid fucked up, got Holstedder killed.” - Hunters s01e02
“Jonah, Jonah, it’s all right.
It’s all right.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU (Comics), DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Tim Drake (DCU), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent Bruce Wayne Series: Part 6 of Whumptober Works Summary:
Bruce had been in his office early this morning when it sounded like every fire truck in the city was wailing down the streets. He’d asked his PA to find out what was going on and she’d reported back that a semi had drifted across lanes on the Gotham Bridge, flipped, and careened into oncoming traffic, causing a massive pile-up in both directions. He’d turned on the television at one point to see the helicopter footage; it was a mess with possibly over 100 vehicles involved. There were already several known deaths and dozens of injured motorists.
An hour later, his phone rang and his heart staccatoed in his chest when he saw the caller ID. “This is Bruce Wayne,” he said, barely keeping his voice even.
A woman on the other end of the line said, “Mr. Wayne, this is Gotham General Hospital.“
AARON TVEIT in GRACELAND | 3x04: Aha for @cemeteryklaus
I just received the most amazing art from @dyllpiccle of my protagonist-turned-whumpee, Nadeem el-Azimi! I couldn't possibly be happier with how it turned out. Especially with that look in his eyes!
Thank you again so much! The next chapter of The Jackal of An-Nadr should be out soon.
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@killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @simplygrimly
wanted to give this a like but apparently I’ve already done that before so I guess a reblog is in order now
O SHIT i forgot to post this here of all places! this was the art print i did for last year's GID zine!! @zineofgid
new edition, new art, new stories, new merch!! go check the zine shop! https://zineofgid.bigcartel.com/