#Lug Predator

[slashersthehorror]

Hugging is like medicine, it gives us hope': friends and lovers

[chloeesstuff-blog]

[wholoveseggs]

hi! ik youve done smth similar to this but i'd like to request like an enemy-to-lover elijahxreader with him just being an asshole. with eventual smut and teasing. ty!

The Gardener {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

The relationship between witches and vampires has always been fraught with complexity— a toxic mix of power and revenge. Raised to preserve nature’s balance, you’ve been taught that vampires are a perversion of life itself. You have a duty and a purpose, to eliminate all vampires. You're willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill it, even if that means falling into bed with the enemy.

♡♡ Thanks for the request beautiful anon! This is a story I've wanted to tell for a while, I hope y'all enjoy it...♡♡

3.7k words - Warnings: no smut in this one, but lots of drama, angst, violence and deception... reader is a bit of a fanatic, witches, magic, murder && vervain...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

{Elijah Mikaelson Tag-List }

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

You wiped the sweat off your brow before picking up another bag of soil. Entering through the front gates of the compound, you dropped the bag next to the others and paused to catch your breath. You took a few more steps down the hall, entering a lavishly decorated courtyard. You had always been curious about what the compound looked like on the inside; you were not disappointed. Beautiful ivy laced up the old walls, spanning over arched balconies and expensive antique furniture was thoughtfully placed throughout. It was cozy, fantastical, and a little medieval; the only hint of modernity was string lights artfully hanging about.

It was easy to get swept up in the beauty of the place, so you had to remind yourself of all the evil the people that lived here had done. It was a sobering thought and you felt a surge of righteous anger. Your mind raced back to the countless people who had been hurt by these monsters. The innocent lives lost.

The ancestors had bestowed a glorious mission upon you and you were honored to be chosen. To take down one of the oldest and most powerful families of vampires was no small feat. It was not something you took lightly.

You returned to your task and carried on with your work. Gathering your tools from your car and retrieving the last bag of soil from the trunk. It was all very heavy, and the warm Louisiana weather was making you thirsty. You lugged the remaining supplies back inside the gate, dropping them down into a pile. Letting out a relieved sigh, you leaned against the wall and took a long sip from your water bottle, then another, then a third one to finally quench your thirst. You pooled a bit more of the water into your hands and splashed it on your warm face.

"Can I fetch you a wheelbarrow?" said a smooth voice from across the courtyard.

You spun around to find an amused looking gentleman, dressed in a three-piece suit. The infamous Elijah Mikaelson. He was not exactly what you had imagined, though it wasn't entirely surprising. A good predator hides behind a pleasing facade.

He was attractive, that was certain and he had the sort of charisma that could disarm you. He was smiling, his eyes dark and intense, like he could see right through to your skin and bones.

You put on your best smile, trying to be friendly and non-threatening. "Yes, that would be very helpful, thank you," you said breathlessly, wiping the water and sweat from your face.

He nodded and disappeared down the hall. You watched him go, admiring his handsome features as he left. You had a good feeling about this, he could be your way in.

You stepped further into the center of the courtyard, straining your neck trying to get a look at the opulent rooms beyond the second-floor balconies. What you were looking for was probably up there somewhere, just waiting for you to take it.

Elijah returned, pushing a large wheelbarrow before him.

"Thank you," you said, as he handed it off to you.

"It's nothing," he replied with a soft smile.

"Are you Klaus? I'm the one you hired to plant your garden," you replied politely, extending your hand. You needed to play the part of the naive gardener, clueless to who and what he was.

He chuckled, glancing at the bags of soil piled at the entrance. "No, I'm not Niklaus, but I did deduce what you were here for. My name is Elijah; Niklaus is my brother," he took your hand and shook it gently.

You knew exactly who he was, practically learning his name not long after you learned your own. He was the poised one, the liar, the deceiver. You had been taught to be wary of him, for his soft words and empty promises always led to death.

You didn't let any of this show, smiling back at him and saying, "Well, it's nice to meet you, Elijah."

It was a simple performance, all you needed to do was maintain it, add a bit of sincerity to your mannerisms. You pretended to be flustered by his charm, reaching up and twiddling the piece of verbena you had braided into your hair.

"So do you two own this place? It's beautiful," you remarked, looking up once again at the stunning architecture. "The ivy is incredible."

"Thank you; it's been in our family for years. Would you like a tour of the place?" He said, his eyes on your twiddling hand. You immediately put your arm down.

"I would love to, but I promised your brother I would finish setting everything up before the end of the day," you replied, pointing to the pile of supplies.

"It's quite alright, I will help you."

"Oh no, it's okay, I can manage-"

"Please," he said, his brown eyes looking deeply into yours.

This almost felt too easy, a part of you was suspicious, but you couldn't deny the thrill of playing the game. If you could win the favor of a Mikaelson, it would certainly help your cause.

"Alright," you replied with a nod. "Could you show me to your greenhouse?"

"Of course, follow me," he replied, walking ahead.

You picked up your bag of fertilizer and began the task of wheeling the heavy materials across the courtyard. Elijah glanced back at you with a concerned look on his face.

"Let me," he offered.

"That's alright, I've got it," you said, pushing the wheelbarrow with a grunt.

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press the matter further. He led the way towards the back of the estate, opening the doors for you. He had a way about him, a posture and stride of a man who had the confidence to do anything.

Because he wasn't a man, but a beast, and the world was his prey. You had to remind yourself not to be intimidated, even if it was difficult. You had trained for this, prepared yourself to face the most vile of creatures.

The greenhouse was large, with old, wooden tables full of tools and gardening supplies. The sunlight shone through the glass, illuminating the rows and rows of empty flower beds. You smiled, admiring the beauty of the space. It was the perfect place to create, to nurture life. The irony of it being located at the center of the den of death made you laugh.

Elijah gave you a curious look. "Is something funny?"

"It's nothing," you replied. "I'm just excited to get started. The weather is perfect."

He raised an eyebrow, looking a bit skeptical, his eyes traveling down your body, taking in your appearance. You looked a bit eccentric, with a pair of overalls covered in colorful patches and flowers braided into your hair. It was all a part of the persona, an act, and it worked. He relaxed his stance and gave you a smile, then he took the wheelbarrow from your hands and unloaded the soil with ease.

"You didn't have to do that. If you keep helping me like this, I might have to pay you and not the other way around," you joked, setting down your bag of tools on the workbench across from the door.

He smiled, taking a step back and raising his hands playfully in mock surrender. He leaned against the door frame, surveying you as you unpacked your things. "How long have you been a gardener?" He asked.

"I've been doing this professionally since I was eighteen, but I've loved it my whole life," you replied honestly, setting the seeds you had brought with you on the table. "I own a shop not far from here."

He nodded, glancing at the bags of fertilizer and plants, then back at you. "Do you enjoy it?"

"Of course. What's not to enjoy? Being able to create something beautiful, nurturing it, watching it grow. I love it."

You were being sincere and honest this time, no need to change everything about yourself. He studied you carefully, then made his way towards you, pulling out his handkerchief and gesturing for you to take it. "You have some soil on your forehead."

You blushed, taking the fabric and cleaning yourself; that was entirely on accident, but it was working well for your act. "Hazards of the job," you said, giving him a sweet smile and handing it back to him.

He smirked, sliding the used handkerchief into his pocket with a practiced grace. "It's no problem at all; I'll leave you to your work," he moved to leave when he suddenly paused and turned back to face you. "I don't mean to be impolite, but what do you have in your hair?"

"What?" You replied, feeling the side of your head where your hair was braided. You knew exactly what he was talking about, but it was important to feign innocence. "Oh, it's verbena, one of the plants your brother asked me to grow," you pulled the flower out of your hair and twirled it between your fingers. "It's an herb, and it smells nice, too," you lifted the blossom towards him.

He didn't make any move to take it from you, and you knew exactly why. Verbena was known for repelling vampires, you had braided the sprigs into your hair and woven it into the band of your hat. They were small enough to be ignored, but they were powerful.

"Out of curiosity, what else did he ask you to grow?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hmm, let's see," you turned away from him searching for the list you had left in your bag. "Monkshood, Sage, Yarrow, Verbena, and Winter bloom," you read off to him. "Klaus told me he liked the colors together."

You both knew that was utter bull shit. All of the plants were herbs with various magical properties, especially in the hands of a witch.

"Hmmm, of course he did, my brother can be very particular," he replied, looking a bit uneasy.

"It sounds like a diabolical witch's brew straight out of a fairy tale," you laughed, and so did he, but the tension was still there.

"It does, doesn't it." He paused for a moment, as though he was debating whether or not he should say something. "The verbena suits you. You should keep wearing it in your hair."

You smiled, blushing and twirling the flower between your fingers, "Thank you, I think I will."

"I will leave you to your work. My brother will be returning shortly, so if you have any questions, please feel free to ask him."

"Thank you," you replied cheerfully, "I appreciate that."

With that, he walked out of the greenhouse, shutting the door behind him. Once you were alone, the smile dropped from your face. Your hands were shaking and the adrenaline was coursing through your body. You were scared and excited all at the same time, the rush was overwhelming. It had been a risk, to flirt so brazenly with danger, but it had paid off.

Soon you would have your prize and the ancestors would honor you for generations to come.

You had your headphones on, humming along to your music as you worked on planting a row of winter bloom. It had taken a couple of hours to organize all the flowerbeds and fill them with soil. Now, the hardest part was getting everything planted.

You felt a large vibration through the floor, then another. You stood, pulling off your headphones; a blood-curdling scream echoed through the hallway, along with a loud crash coming from the courtyard. You quickly shut off the music and crept towards the door, peeking your head out. You heard angry voices and saw the shadow of a fight moving along the walls.

You stepped out into the open, walking slowly towards the noise, your spade clutched tightly in your fist. You peeked around the corner to find a gruesome sight.

Crumbled on the floor was what looked to be a pile of bodies, blood pooling out around them. Another scream came from above. You looked up to see Klaus on the third floor, holding a woman by her neck as he dangled her over the railing. Her feet kicking erratically as she helplessly struggled.

"You know the rules, no magic in the quarter," he yelled, his voice crackling with rage, pulling the woman close to his face. "You witches think you can make moves against my family and live," he said in hushed fury. "Now I have to use you and your conspirators as an example."

The woman gasped and clawed at his arm. Her face was turning blue, and her eyes were bulging. Klaus glanced down, meeting your eyes. Then he dropped her, her scream cut off as she hit the floor, a loud crack reverberating through the compound.

Suddenly, Klaus was in front of you. You tried to use the spade to defend yourself, striking out in his direction. He laughed and grabbed it from you with extreme ease. He then planted both of his hands against the wall on either side of your head. His eyes were black with murder, blood dripping from his grinning mouth. You tried to look away from his horrifying face, too frightened to even scream.

It was him, the fabled beast, the abomination. You could hear the voices of your ancestors, thousands of voices yelling out in anger, screaming at him.

Kill him, kill him, kill him, they chanted, louder and louder until it was all you could hear.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look into his eyes and all the chanting turned to screams of fear and agony. Like they were being slaughtered by him all over again.

"Hello love, you must be the new gardener," he said, his words soft and gentle, "I'll be sure to give you a generous tip, for services rendered."

You wanted to tell him that he was the devil, the monster, the bringer of death. That you would be the one to end him. But you were paralyzed with terror, the screams and images were too much. You shut your eyes tight, trying to block it all out, but it was impossible. You started to sob, tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the dirt on your face.

"Look at me," he said softly, his fingers digging painfully into your cheeks.

You opened your eyes, your vision blurry and your head spinning. He had a strange look on his face, half amused, half concerned. He brushed away your tears with his thumbs, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"You won't remember anything about today; all you know is that you did another excellent day of work and finished all the planting," he said slowly, staring deeply into your eyes.

He let go of your face and offered you the spade. You looked down, taking it from his steady hand with your shaking one. He believed he could compel you, and you had to convince him that was true. You swallowed, taking a deep breath, remembering your training, focusing on slowing down your heart, relaxing your muscles. You couldn't panic, or you would die.

You looked back up at him, and he seemed pleased with himself, smiling brightly, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Go back to your work," he said, patting you on the shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you tried to compose yourself. You were so scared you could barely stand. You had faced the beast, and you had survived. The screams in your head were deafening, the images of the dead witches flashed through your mind, the pain of their deaths searing through your body. But slowly, all their garbled words turned into one unifying chant.

Death to all vampires, death to all vampires, you whispered, echoing their words, clutching your spade tightly in your fist.

You half walked, half ran from your car to your shop, scrambling inside. You threw your tool bag behind the counter and headed to the back room. You faced the stone wall, and with trembling fingers, you slid aside the brick that hid the hidden latch. Your hand was shaking so hard you could barely get the door open.

Once it swung open, the scent of incense wafted through the air, filling your nose. The others had already gathered, all seven of them, the other witches who were brave enough to make a stand against the vampire scourge.

You rushed into the small room and shut the door behind you, turning to face them. They were waiting for you, looking at you expectantly.

"Report," Agnes demanded, her eyes narrowed and her hands gripping her cane tightly.

"They don't suspect a thing," you said, your voice still a little shaky. "The abominations bought my act,"

"And the ash?" Agnes asked.

"Location still unknown," you replied.

She nodded, seeming satisfied with the news, "very well,"

"How was it? Facing them, what were they like?" Your friend Beatrice asked, her brown eyes wide with concern.

"It was horrible," you replied, "they are just as ancestors say,"

"We need to plan the next steps," Maeve interjected, she was always impatient, wanting everything to happen as soon as possible.

"Maeve," Beatrice chastised. "If they suspect something is amiss, this could all fall to ruin,"

"We have a way in, that's the first step completed, we should not waste any time," Maeve argued. "Y/n can only plant a garden so slowly, when she is done we will lose all access to the compound."

Agnes was about to reply, but the door chime of the shop rang, cutting her off. "I will handle this," you said, taking a deep breath.

You looked to your sisters and nodded, leaving them and going back out into the shop. You would be right back to finish the meeting, you just had to quickly deal with a customer.

You put a smile on your face and rounded the corner, only to come face to face with one of the monsters you were just talking about.

Elijah.

He was standing by a shelf, looking at a potted plant. You swallowed, composing yourself before walking towards him.

"Mr. Mikaelson," you said as cheerfully as you could, "what can I do for you today?"

He looked up at you and smiled, putting the pot back down.

"I apologize for the intrusion," he said politely. "I wanted to see your shop, it's lovely," he gestured to the display shelves and many plants hanging from the ceiling.

"Thank you, I've spent a lot of time making it this way," you replied, feeling a bit proud.

"Your work in the greenhouse is quite impressive," he said, looking back at you, a curious expression on his face.

"It was nothing," you laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck, trying not to meet his gaze.

"I wanted to ask you something," he continued, walking around the store, looking at the various plants.

"Ask away,"

"You're a witch," he said casually, picking up a pot of herbs, taking in their fragrance.

You felt your heart stop, but you tried to remain calm. You had prepared for this, bumps in the road are to be expected.

"That's more of a statement than a question." You said as calmly as you could.

"Yes, well, you've done a very good job of hiding it, so much so that my brother didn't even suspect," he glanced at you, his brown eyes dark, almost black. "It seems strange that you would take a job as a gardener in a vampire's home."

"Why does that matter?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He stepped closer, and you backed up, bumping into the shelving behind you. Leaning down, his face hovering inches from yours, you could feel the heat of his breath on your face, and you were frozen in place.

"I like you," he whispered, "and I want to give you a chance to explain yourself."

You stared him directly in the eye, trying not to flinch or show any emotion. "It's important to protect yourself in these times,"

He chuckled, looking amused. "You speak of the ban on magic? My brother's rule of the quarter?"

"Yes," you replied simply.

He nodded, a small smile on his lips. "And how would you like to change that?"

You swallowed, the voices of your ancestors ringing in your ears. Lie, lie, lie, they commanded.

"I'm simply trying to survive," you answered, it wasn't a lie, just an incomplete truth. "I have no love for my kind,"

"Hmm," he mused, his dark eyes studying your face. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. "So, tell me, are you planning on harming my family?"

You could feel his energy, his power. He was ancient, powerful, and deadly. "Of course not," you replied, looking up at him, praying your face didn't betray you.

He didn't respond, his gaze searching yours. He was close, so close, you could smell the cologne on his skin, the subtle hints of soap and shampoo. You knew the stories, the horrors, here you were, staring into the eyes of death himself.

You leaned in and kissed him, placing a hand on his chest. It was a wild gamble, but one that you hoped would explain your nervous energy.

He stiffened, surprised at the sudden contact. Then, as if he remembered himself, his hands grabbed you, pulling you in tightly against him. You had been told over and over that vampires were monsters, cold and heartless, but the heat radiating from him was overwhelming. He was so gentle and his lips were so soft. He pulled away, his eyes boring into yours. You were sure that he could see into your soul, see all the secrets and plans you were hiding. But, if he did, he didn't say anything.

"Well," he said, releasing you and straightening his suit jacket, "I'll see you tomorrow then."

You were about to say something when he was gone. You let out a sigh of relief, slumping against the shelves.

"Shit," you whispered.

You could see your path now, the way forward to victory, to eliminate the world of vampires. You took a deep breath and steadied yourself. You couldn't fail, not now, not when you had come so far.

All that was required was that you seduce a monster.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}

[gatorbites-imagines]

ftm wally west 🙏🏽 ion even hav a plot or thought in mind he jus deserves to get eaten out like a king mhm

Infirmary munchies

Drabble

FTM Wally West x Male reader

I think ive set up a healthy way to do my project for religion and still have some free time, so yayyyy.

Mixed terminology used for Wally’s bits, cuz idk. Not sure if I wrote this good, so lemme know what yall think.

Wally groaned softly as his eyes fluttered, head pressed back against the stiff pillows that the infirmary always gave out to the league members residing there. His red hair was tussled, and his body littered in bruises and bandages, a result of his last mission that had ended him in the infirmary in the first place.

He felt lightheaded as your tongue ran up from the bottom of his cunt to the top, where your lips wrapped around his t-cock before you gave it a suck, withdrawing enough to flick the hard engorged bundle of nerves before you dove down again, burying your tongue into his wet hole like a man starved.

His body ached from his bruises, but the pleasure of your mouth moving against him numbed it, causing hot flashes to run up his spine and coil in his abdomen. Wally had to clap a bandaged hand over his mouth as you gave a particularly cruel suck, a wet slurp leaving you as you licked up the wetness that spilled out of his slit, your eyes locked onto Wallys scrunched up face as the lower half of your face was soaked in his juices.

“Y-you’re acting like you haven’t eaten in a week” he breathlessly giggled as he gripped your hair harder, an almost wounded noise leaving him as you cruelly flick his cock with your tongue, just barely scraping your teeth across it enough for him to feel and to have his hips jolting, unsure if he wants to press closer to you or pull away.

Instead of answering you lick into him with more gusto, fingers pressing in beside your tongue and pushing into his wet hole, a lewd slick noise filling the infirmary as you start to move your wrist, curling your fingers and pressing them about inside him. Wally keens as his powerful thighs flex on either side of your head, and if you hadn’t been enchanted yourself, he could probably have accidentally broken your neck with the power behind them, his second hand shooting down to grip onto the back of your neck, almost lugging you closer and pushing your face deeper between his quivering thighs.

A wet spot was gathering under him as you feasted yourself on his cunt, fingers feeling about where your tongue couldn’t reach, as Wallys stomach clenched, his abs tightening from the influx of senses you had crashing through him.

You could tell he was getting close by the way his breath caught and his gasps became shorter, his hips growing even more unsteady as they twitched and jolted, his dick twitching against your tongue as his hole clenched around your fingers. You moaned into him, shaking your head from side to side to slather your tongue all over him, your fingers pressing into that familiar spot inside him that had Wallys vision turning white and a warbled cry leaving his throat.

His entire body tightened and tensed as he came, wetness coating your fingers and tongue as you rubbed him through it, taking in the delicious sight that was your boyfriend climaxing. His freckled chest heaved as he gasped for breath, the grip on your hair and neck still tight and holding you against him as he ground against your lips and face, cunt rubbing his wetness further against your face as if marking his territory to some extent.

Finally, his body seemed to give out, his previously tense muscles going slack as he releases his grip on your head, slumping down onto the medical cot, bleary eyes looking down at you as your lick your lips like a satisfied tiger. He whined jokingly as you crawl up the bed to hover over him like a predator, his hands coming up to push you away as you try to kiss him as he snickers, your face still slick with his juices and tongue still tasting like him.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you get out of the cot as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, moving around to clean yourself up as you find what you need to clean Wally up and replace the covers on the cot so he wouldn’t have to lay in his own mess. It was only after you had washed out your mouth that Wally let you kiss him, your lips meeting in a soft and loving kiss. Some days he lets you kiss him after eating him out, but you guessed it was just one of those days. Now it was just trying to find out how to get him back into one of those medical paper dresses again before someone else barged in.

[tantei-chan01]

Animals Continued

Xxxxx

Once the World Tour is taken care of, with the rock trolls agreeing to help with the damages, the rest of the tribes return to their respective territories. There's just one issue, the wild life have gotten bolder.

Since the attack, many of their defenses have been destroyed, causing the local wildlife to get closer to the residents. There haven't been any attacks, but it does make the citizens nervous.

Techno trolls have sharks, eels, and large squid that are their natural predators. It's also the time of year for the giant mana ray migration, so they need to figure out a way to redirect them without their tech.

The Classical trolls have large preditory birds to worry about, and they're having trouble getting their eighth goats under control.

The Country trolls have many poisoness animals in the desert. Their cattle have been scared off so many times that they won't get close to the town.

The Funk trolls have to stay grounded until repairs are done on the ship, since they haven't been on the ground for so long, they're not quite sure how to deal with many of the creatures.

The Rock trolls also have a problem, with so many of the citizens in different territories to help with repairs. They've neglected their own issues with the lava crocs and boulder buzzards.

When Poppy learns of this, she sends in the one troll who can help them.

Enter Branch.

At first, Branch was a little apprehensive to leave the village, they still have some repairs to do, and it's mating season for the puffalo. The Snack Pack tell him that they can handle the reconstruction and Milton can help with the puffalo. So he packs up his bags and starts heading toward the other tribes.

Xxx

Branch spends a month in each tribe to do his job. He tackles the predators first, spending two weeks studying their habits and memorizing their sounds. Once he finds a pattern in the communication or an exploitable weakness, he makes a strategy and collaborates with the other trolls on how to best go through it. Some animals he was able to convince to move areas, others he had no choice but use force.

Once the predators are taken care of, he gets to the domestic animals. Like before, he memorizes the habits and sounds. Once he has a form of communication going, he'll ask them what they need. He then relays the message to the trolls, and they start making accommodations.

The other tribes notice how their pets and livestock seem much calmer around the once gray troll. Even the more temperamental of their creature become putty in his hands. Many have called him the 'Animal Whisperer', and the more romantic types call him an Angel.

To say thanks for helping them, each tribe gives him an animal.

Techno gave him a Low beat Turtle, similar to Suki's bugs, the have a turntable on their back. They can move on land and can create a low vibration sound that has a calming effect.

Classical gave him three eighth goats as they do better in a herd than by themselves. Their wool is fluffy and warm, making incredible blankets, pillows, and sweaters. They also have a melodious bleat.

Country gave him a dairy Bluegrass Buffalo, they're a sandy blue color cow. They make a delicious and nutritious milk and are very gentle.

Funk gave him a snug-a-lug since Branch can talk to them. He can figure out how to hug it without multiplying. And yes, Branch can make that cute little warble it does.

Rock gave him a Lava Snake, they vary in color from dark red to an ashy gray. Their hide is very tough while their underbelly is quite soft. They can withstand extremely high temperatures, and their skin can be melted to create many things once they shed. The young one likes to sleep in the fireplace.

The animals in Pop village take them under their tutelage to become Branch's bodyguards, unbeknownst to him.

[supervillainny]

Kill your darlings

For the sake of the outline, a Steddie snippet darling that may or may not be killed:

By the time the sound of an engine rolled through the air he was feeling a lot better-disposed to life, the universe, and everything. He’d migrated to the floor of the van, lying with one knee hitched up, the stained sleeping bag that cushioned the band’s amps on Tuesdays balled up awkwardly under his back, so it took an undignified bit of craning to see what the hell was going on when someone rapped their knuckles gently against the open door of his van. 

“...Harrington?” 

Harrington was standing with his hands on his hips, one eyebrow raised judgmentally at the sprawl of limbs that Eddie had melted into. 

“You were expecting someone else?” 

Eddie started to shove himself up onto his elbows but the van shifted ominously under him, so he inched himself inelegantly across the floor of the van until he could hook his legs over the bumper and carefully push himself upright. 

“I was expecting,” he huffed as he moved, “to walk back to my trailer.” 

“What’s the matter, Munson,” Harrington said, a little sing-song, a little mocking, “you never changed a tire before?” 

Eddie flicked the long-dead butt of his joint at Harrington’s head, smirking as he ducked out of the way. 

“Swear to god, Harrington, if I had the lug wrench I needed I’d be bouncing it off your cranium right about now.” 

It should probably be humiliating, how little effect that had - Harrington just rolled his eyes at the threat and beckoned Eddie to follow him with a bitchy little toss of his head that made Eddie want to set his teeth into the line of Harrington’s neck and bite down hard. It made his mouth water. It needed to fucking not. 

“So you don’t have any damsels in your whole Demons and Dragons thing?” 

“It’s dungeons. Dungeons and dragons.” 

Harrington flapped a dismissive hand. “Dungeons, demons, draculas, whatever. No damsels?” 

Fuck it. Fuck it. If Harrington’s fall from grace meant that he spent more time hanging out with freshmen nerds than people like Tommy Hagan - Eddie lounged against the side of Harrington’s Bimmer, the picture of nonchalance as his heart beat against the wall of his chest like it wanted to be anywhere but here. 

“You never heard the rumors, Harrington? Damsels aren’t exactly my area,” he drawled. 

There was a moment of complete stillness. It was like that strange sharp-edged sunlight right before the storm rolls in, a moment of preternatural quiet and clarity that had every single one of Eddie’s muscles coiling in readiness to move, to run. 

Then Harrington just unlocked the trunk of his car like nothing had happened. That was reassuring for all of half a second, until Eddie saw the -

“Jesus Christ, Harrington, what did you do to that bat?” It slid out of his mouth without thought, absolutely no intervention of brain. It was pretty clear what he had done to the bat - the splintered wood, the nails, the stains, oh Jesus - and it was like being dunked into ice water. Eddie flung himself away from the car, backing off on unsteady legs, and Harrington looked at him, confused for a second, and then flipped a blanket over the weapon he’d seen. Which was. Better? That was better than him grabbing hold of it, sure, but Eddie was still moving away. 

“Munson.” His palms were raised and his voice was soothing, gentle, and Eddie backed off a couple more steps and almost glanced at the ground behind him because he felt like he was on a cliff-edge, like he was teetering, like at any moment the ground might disappear. You don’t take your eyes off predators, though. Eddie didn’t even blink. 

 “Munson,” Harrington said, and then, pleading, “Eddie,” and it was a new and exciting discovery, finding out that even when he was scared out of his goddamned mind his dick was still paying attention. An icy fear-snake was slithering its way up his spine and he still knew that he’d be coming back to his name in that pleading tone again and again, later. Given a later, of course. 

“You gonna kill me?” he asked, and his voice didn’t even sound like his. “‘Cos I am not -” he bit off the word as his voice gave way, screwing up his face for a second like that could stave off the tightness in his throat - “I am not ready to die, man. I’m not fucking ready.” His voice echoed across the parking lot, registering his complaint with the universe, because it wasn’t like there was anyone else around to give a damn. 

“Eddie,” Harrington said again in that low, soothing voice, “I swear to you, that bat’s for monsters only.” 

Eddie choked out a laugh that was at least a half an inch from a sob. “Sure. Monsters and fairies and queers, oh my.” 

“Demogorgons,” Harrington said, and Eddie almost tripped over himself, stopping stock still for a second as his brain took up all available processing power to try and figure out what the fuck. 

“Demogorgons,” he repeated, his voice flat, all emotion startled right out of it. 

“I’m just here to help change your tire, man, I swear,” Harrington said, and fished inside his car - another shot of awful adrenaline - before pulling out a lug wrench and slamming the trunk closed. 

Eddie wasn’t much help, when it came to it. He mostly sat on the curb and smoked furiously through another joint, his hands trembling faintly and gut slowly untwisting as Harrington heaved and twisted and tightened and loosened. The guy hauled off his preppy jacket at one point, and Eddie decided that he basically had tacit permission to stare at the great things that tire-hauling did to Harrington’s biceps. Call it therapy.

(At one point Harrington came to sit next to him for a second, sweating lightly and radiating heat. He plucked the joint from between Eddie’s shaking fingers and took a long drag, holding his breath as he handed it back before letting it out in a slow curl of dragon-smoke. 

“I have… queer friends,” he said, handling the word delicately like he was using silver sugar tongs, and at Eddie’s startled sideways glance, firmer, “I’m not telling you who. But I - you’re safe with me, man.” 

The weight off Eddie’s shoulders had him sliding a little sideways, a second of contact that made Harrington huff out something like a laugh.) 

“There,” Harrington said eventually, pushing his hair back from his forehead and leaving a streak of grease in its place. La, Eddie thought faintly, my stockings, and choked out a cloud of smoke. His inelegant snorting had Harrington’s mouth twitching into something like a smile, and Eddie couldn’t help but return it with a wide grin. 

“Thanks, man,” he said. For the tire, for the lug wrench, for not being a homophobic asshole? Sure. Why not all of the above. 

“You’re okay getting home?” 

“Jesus,” Eddie said, shaking his head and shoving to his feet, where he - lion-tamer, circus act down to his soul - stepped forward and leaned right in close. “You have got to do something about that hero complex, man.” 

“Dunno what to tell you,” Harrington said, all sorts of soft. “Damsels? Definitely my area.” And his finger was warm when he reached up to touch Eddie’s chin, push his mouth closed with a click. Eddie was still standing there, mind nothing but static, when Harrington’s BMW pulled away. 

[marlynnofmany]

Friend-shaped

“She’ll want to pet it,” said a smug voice from the next room. “Humans will pet anything.”

“Even spiky things?” asked the skeptical voice that I recognized as Zhee. “I’ve never had a human want to pet me, and this thing is much worse.”

As curious as I was to see our newest cargo and judge for myself, I first had to finish setting out food for the animals in the next bay. I lugged in bags of dried pellets and fish jerky as the door slid shut behind me, cutting off the sound of Zhee insisting to the delivery person that there was no way under several suns that I would want to touch this new mystery animal. We’d see about that.

I stashed the pellets in the appropriate closet and pulled out a sheet of jerky for each of the three fangy monstrosities that twined around each other, trying to hypnotize me through the bars. I ignored the moving pattern of stripes that probably worked on prey from their world. Working quickly, I set the sheets down on the floor outside the cage, spaced as far apart as possible, then used a gravity wand to lift them through the bars without losing a finger. Left one, right, one, then the middle, to keep the beasties from all jumping on the same treat.

A chorus of happy growls and chewing noises filled the air. Success. I put away the gravity wand and reflected that I absolutely would have liked to scritch all three terrifying predators on the head, but I valued life and limb too much for that.

On to the next room! The doors opened and closed in quick succession. I passed other people loading and uploading various crates, but I only had eyes for the terrarium that looked like it was made of force fields instead of glass. Or maybe some room-temperature version of hard water, given that the person chatting with Zhee was a Waterwill. They had some pretty bizarre tech.

“Ah, here’s the human!” the Waterwill said happily, her voice burbly and vaguely female. “What do you think of your newest live cargo?” She extended what passed for an arm from her column-of-goo body. Beside her, Zhee spread purple pincher arms in a silent display of “ta-dah.”

Inside the tank I saw rocks, sand, a puddle of algae, and the ugliest little ball of snot and spikes that I had ever encountered. Protruding eyes struggled to focus on me like a wall-eyed Chihuahua that had rolled through the most unfortunate of trash piles.

“Wow,” I said, bending down for a closer look. “That’s an animal, all right.”

The Waterwill bobbed up and down. “And is it not, as you say, cutesy-wootsy?”

Zhee made various clicks and taps that were probably skepticism. I couldn’t blame him.

“Well,” I said, struggling for a tactful answer, “It sure is a little one. Looks a bit scared.”

“They always get twitchy when they’re moved around before egg-laying,” the Waterwill said with a dismissive wobble. “It’ll settle down when everybody stops walking by. It’s non-toxic. Maybe once it’s calm—”

The rest of her sentence was cut off by loud snarls from next door, carrying through the hall while both doors were open at the same time. It sounded like a brief squabble over fish jerky, no cause for alarm.

For me, anyway. The animal in the terrarium made a piercing squeak and tried to burrow under the rock, its spines growing visibly longer and flinging droplets of moisture as it trembled violently.

“Oh, that’s bad,” said the Waterwill, all cheer gone. “It could sour the eggs. Everybody be quiet! Move slowly!” She waved two armlets at the other people carrying boxes, who did as she asked.

Zhee was making a whistle that was probably a curse in his own language, or maybe someone else’s. “We’ll get blamed for egg troubles. Would dim light help? I’ll hit the controls.” He moved off on quiet bug legs.

“What else helps?” I asked. “Wait, there’s a manual for this, right?” Without waiting for a response, I unfolded a screen from my pocket and looked for the newest files. There it was. Easily searchable, too.

While I spent a moment on that, the room dimmed and quieted into a soothing nighttime. The other crewmates grabbed the remaining crates, left, and shut the door. I heard someone say to leave oncoming boxes in the hallway for the moment.

“It’s still stressed,” the Waterwill said. “We should have brought another one to soothe it!”

“Hang on, I found the sound files,” I said. “Here’s the soothing one.” At the press of a button, a brief gurgle played, then cut off. “That’s it?”

The animal turned toward me, then back to the rock. No change.

I asked the Waterwill, “I don’t suppose you can make that sound?” When she hesitated, I tried myself. Hard to do without any water around to gargle, but I managed an awkward warble in the back of my throat.

The animal’s shivering stilled.

“Keep doing that!” the Waterwill said with an urgent wave.

I did, feeling silly. But the animal liked it. The trembling ended, and the spines started to retract. When I paused for breath, the creature held perfectly still, then when I started again, the spines continued shortening. After a few moments, it was a slimy ball of green with eyes that stuck out, and soon enough those finally closed. When they opened again, they weren’t bulging any more.

A head lifted from the goo, with a cute little face that chirped curiously.

“Aw, look at you,” I said to it. “All calm and happy.”

It oozed over towards me, moving much like Waterwills did, without any legs. It nuzzled a hatch that I hadn’t noticed in the side of the tank.

“You said it’s non-toxic, right?” I asked, not waiting for a response. I’d skimmed the manual. The hatch opened easily for me to stick my hand in and stroke the slimy little head. It purred like a babbling brook.

“Told you,” said a voice behind me.

Zhee hissed.

I turned to see him handing over credits with a displeased tilt to his antennae. “Did you just lose a bet?” I laughed.

Zhee threw his pincher arms into the air. “It was covered in spikes! No fair changing shape like that.”

“Well, if we’re going to be fair,” I said. “I would have sacrificed a hairbrush to pet it through the spikes, if it liked that kind of thing.”

“Of course you would,” Zhee muttered.

“Righto,” the Waterwill said as she stuck the credits into a wallet pouch that floated among her other miscellaneous bits. “I can see it’s in good care here. Guess I’ll be off.”

I gave the creature one last stroke, then eased my hand out and closed the hatch, waiting to make sure it stayed calm. When it settled back into goo, I stood and joined the other two in soft-footing our way to the door. “I’ll keep an eye on it,” I promised.

“And a hand,” Zhee grumbled.

“I’ve petted worse,” I told him.

“I’m sure you have,” he said. “And I don’t want to hear about it.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character of this book. More to come!

[rippersz]

𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕴𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖘

Medusa!Larissa Weems x Blind!Reader (wlw/fluffy/mythological)

"You and only you, can make the rest of my life peaceful," ~ Madeleine Smith

~~~~~~~~

A gentle ebb and flow threaded through the leaves and water. The small waves in the river went forward, the green strands of the grass went back, and so in tune they were when the other changed direction. Forward and back and back and forward. They paid no mind to the birds - those of which flitted from one nest to the other. Nor did the rabbits or deer, grazing and passing through, interrupt their little dance. Forward and back and back and forward. The fish swam with no place in mind and the wolves were silent in their daily musings - tasked to do with whatever it was that wolves were tasked to do on such a sweet day.

The snow of the previous season had been shed; soaked into the ground over the past two weeks while the sun stretched her arms over her head and yawned with a big hello. She carried Spring along with her and spread her over the ground, making love until evening so that the fruits of their desire fell into seeds. Figs, apples, berries, nuts, and foliage dotted the bushes, the nettle, and the trees. All slowly growing ripe in their waiting, blooming in large families to match the quick growth of the flowers. White flowers, pink flowers, red flowers, yellow flowers; lilacs and lavenders and daisies and on the far side of the traveled grounds, even roses.

It was picturesque. Undisturbed. Serene in a way that many places weren’t. The breeze was constant and fresh and the sun peeked from behind big fluffy clouds, announcing her presence with a soft whisper.

And so beautiful it was that she was perfectly content with leaning beside the stone wall of the cave’s entrance; eyes trained on nothing but the journal in her hands. It was worn and old, made from leather with a latch clasp that was slowly rusting, but it was thick and good - full of notes and ideas and places and numbers. 1546 years of being alive as she was, tallying each day until the bitterness overwhelmed the distinct pride of prolonged survival and the tallies became a thing of the past. After all, there was no need to count when the days weren’t numbered.

Sure, there was a bounty on her head, but that didn’t matter. Not in the glory of a new Spring. There was no room for bloodshed on such a beautiful afternoon - and so she was not worried about a bumbling blistering fool with a great ego and dull blade. And so she was not worried about a feral creature with no regard for predator and prey dynamics. And so she was not worried about a-

“AGH!”

-woman?

Her head snapped up, rousing small hisses from the slumbering children.

The woman, she quickly confirmed, had fallen into the river. On her hands and knees, she wavered in the current and let out little sounds- huffs and grunts and even a small curse of ‘Gods, honestly!’- while she scrunched up the fabric of her skirt in her hands and struggled to her feet. Her hair, scraggly and unclean, hung over her face, wet at the ends and dry at the top.

A part of her felt the need to offer assistance, but common sense told her to stay put - and only to watch. Eventually, as time would say, the strange woman managed to trip her way over to the river’s bank and press her hands into the mud and rock. Then she scrambled up, her sandaled feet working in earnest to help lug her body over the edge and finally- finally- leave her belly up in the grass, heaving great breaths of air. Up and down her chest fell while she faced the sky. Her skirt, patterned and brown, hung below her knees and stuck to her legs; and the shirt, white and flowing and clearly a bit too big for her frame, turned see-through with the water-lined hem that rested against her sides. Her feet were bare in her simple sandals and aside from a blue worn shoulder bag- one that strapped sideways along her front- there was nothing particularly distinct about the stranger. She was just a woman returning home. Or a woman searching for something. Or a woman on a mission to provide for her family.

But whichever she was, woman with a purpose or not, she was no friend. And so she made no move to leave her cave and instead, sat, and returned to her journal.

So the breeze passed.

And the clouds strolled.

The river went forward. And the grass went back.

And for a good long while, nothing happened.

Then there was a shuffling, and a noise of effort, and a soft simmer of hisses began to rise. Feeling the slow slipping of movement on top of her head, she looked up.

The woman had gotten to her feet, apparently done with her momentary bask in the sun, and began ringing out the water at the bottom of her skirt. The bag she had was on the ground, and everything in it was spread out on the grass. From her point by the cave, a good distance away, she could see a few bits of light clothing, a comb, a small stone knife (which needed a good sharpening), and two wrapped bits of woven leaves and twine. There was no scent of meat in the air, aside from the flesh of the fauna within the forest, so she figured the woman most likely carried berries and nuts for nutrition. Which was, judging by the contents on her person, certainly not enough in an effort to run away.

The woman looked up. Her body jumped - like a spooked young doe, and her own body tensed. Silently, she told her children to hush. Then she thought, wished,-

‘Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t-’

Apparently deciding that there was nothing to worry about, the stranger kept her back turned to the cave and went back to wringing out her clothing. The hisses and movement had ceased, but the children were still vigilant - watching with perceptive sapphire eyes as the stranger then began to- oh!

She looked away, turning her head so quickly that the children jerked with her. One of the younglings instantly took the opportunity to slide along the shell of her ear and give a mean rumbling clicky-hiss. Absent-mindedly, she reached up to flick the child back into place; paying more attention to her own behavior than anything else.

The woman had reached to take off her shirt- to draw it above her midriff and throw it onto the grass. The river, mixed with the Springtime air, was a good place to stop and bathe, she supposed. It was her plan later anyway to go for a dip herself, if not to feel clean then to at least wash the little companions she carried with her. But the woman beat her to it. And in the silence as she averted her gaze, ignoring the blush of heat on her pale cheeks, the soft sounds of clothing hitting the ground some feet away filled the air. And when that was said and done, a few splashes and small shrieks - drawn from the chill of the river.

When it was quiet, and she was comfortable enough to sneak a look, she found the woman’s back turned to her still. Her hair was wet and slicked, sticking slightly to her neck as she turned this way and that and- oh. She had soap too. So that must have been in one of the two woven bundles.

‘Hm. Smart.’ But not entirely. It wasn’t good to stay long bathing out in the open. Hunters and gatherers and silly stupid mortals had a habit of coming around at the most inopportune times.

She knew that very well.

Though… since the woman was washing up near her cave… there was no harm in observing the scenery. No harm in taking interest in the sun. No, not at all. They would each have their privacy, and as long as the woman didn’t turn around, everything would be fine. And she could keep an eye out… for birds, of course. Not hunters. No no.

So that’s how it went.

The woman bathed, humming to herself, keeping her back to the cave and turning only to lather soap on another part of her body. Completely unaware of the forest creatures watching her. And one creature in particular made it her mission to watch the land, observing and peering; hearing the crackles of branches and chirping of baby birds, listening for footsteps or voices. But none came. And soon enough, the woman was rising from the river, putting on her sandals, and going to sit on the laid out skirt from earlier. She had no cloth to dry off… and so would use the sun.

‘Hm. Not so smart.’ A hiss or two from her children told her they agreed.

It was not right for a woman to be so vulnerable like that. And out in the open. If she weren’t there, the stranger could be hurt. Or worse - killed. But it was good then that she wasn’t alone, wasn’t it? That she had a guardian of sorts… who would kill her too if only she looked her way.

Did- had she fallen asleep?

Like that?

In the middle of the grass with her belongings spread around her and her body, soft and nude, bared to the sun?

‘Is she mad?’

Maybe she was. Or maybe she was just young. Maybe life hasn’t hurt her too severely just yet. And maybe Larissa was being harsh.

Hm.

Well.

It didn’t really matter either way. There was nothing else to do, and though the stranger wasn’t really ‘company’, she was still action. So there was no desire to chase her off and there was no desire to see her maimed - thus, Larissa sat. She tucked long pale legs beneath her, shifted the white chiton to fall on her shoulders just so, and kept her journal close at hand. Night was due to fall soon enough, as it always did in early Spring, so the tools for a fire were already prepared behind her - waiting to be utilized and set later. Hopefully the woman would be gone by then.

But she wasn’t.

At some point, she’d gotten up to change into different clothing; a dress hand-stitched from red dyed fabric. It was pretty, yes, but not very practical for running away.

‘But good clothing was probably the only thing she had.’

Which was most likely true, Larissa mused. Many young women, richer than most, took it upon themselves to run away. Their reason for doing so depended on who they were. The stranger in the red dress, who decided to lay on the grass and fall asleep again, was a woman of status but not to the point of being a royal. If that were the case, there’d be men on horses trailing close behind. Unless they hadn’t found her yet… and were using dogs to track her scent…

The children stirred, hissing with disdain and fear.

She watched the young woman with anxious eyes.

Such a naive thing could lead to her death, once and for all…. and how ironic would that be. A scorned woman with a passion for soft things… destroyed by a soft woman with a passion for a free life. Had they both wanted that at one point? Or was it still something they desired?

The children settled. She continued to watch the land.

But eventually, as Spring would have it, the peacefulness of the quiet had her lulling off to sleep as well. And she only awoke to the feeling of soft kitten licks at her cheekbones. The repeated lap at her skin had her groaning and flicking the offender away - only to have two more slide up and continue twice as hard.

“Ugh, what is it?” She groaned, scrunching her eyes together before pushing herself upright.

The licks turned to urgent hisses- and her darlings started writhing with anxiety- telling her to get up! And if possessed, she stood quickly and looked out into the sudden dark of night. The sun had disappeared. There was not a single light out there in the black. But there was movement. Breath.

The woman. She was still asleep. Dreaming about whatever it was that women liked her dream about.

Larissa frowned.

Well she couldn’t just leave her out there, could she? No! That was- that was… inhumane. Terrible. A fate worse than anything. And if she woke up to the screams of the stranger- if she woke up to her pain… she could risk killing everyone in sight. Literally.

A young king nipped at her ear.

She huffed. Well. It just wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t do at all.

And so she collected the fabric of her chiton in her clawed hands and marched forward to the sleeping beauty. The creatures were stiff with observation, keeping their reptilian eyes sharp and alert as she moved - quiet as a snake and dangerous as… well. Herself.

When she was finally standing over the stranger, she let the cloth fall from her hands. The woman, in comparison to her, was short. And vulnerable. And maybe she’d just take her to the edge of the nearest village… or something like that. Something far from her cave and her life. But as she finished slipping the woman’s belongings into her bag (which had since dried from her fall in the river), a whisper rumble of thunder from the clouds above had her sighing. Well. A Spring storm was usually a good sign of the incoming year, but to have one so early was… less than favorable. Her plans, too, were foiled. The children quite disliked the rain, and getting her own clothing wet was something she desperately wanted to avoid (the heavier material took much longer to dry than what the strange woman wore - so she’d have to resort to at least another change of clothes for a day. Which she seldomly tried to wear.)

‘Well. We can’t leave her out here. So as long as she keeps her back turned, we won’t have any trouble now will we?’

No, probably not. Hell for all she knew, the woman could sleep through the whole night and then she could put her back outside in the morning and she could tottle off on her way as though nothing ever happened. Or she could wake up in the middle of the night and take Larissa’s head. Yes. Or that could happen. Which would really be quite terrible. Most likely painless, but still terrible.

The thought of that had Larissa pausing. The woman’s sling bag fell limp in her hand.

Was she taking too big of a risk? Never before had she helped a stranger like that, but she was not unfamiliar with such kindness. It was hard to find in her years, but she’d witnessed the sweetest acts of tenderness amongst strangers. Usually between two women.

She frowned. Some of her children turned, peering over to look down at the sleeping stranger.

Her hair covered her eyes and her limbs were spread out like she was sleeping on the comfiest bit of cloud that ever existed. Like she had no cares at all. It was both endearing and confusing. How could a woman sleep so soundly in the wilderness? How could a woman sleep so soundly in the open? Did her lack of awareness make her an omen of danger? Or was she a passing soul Larissa could provide help for? Someone to make her feel like she was human again… Like she was capable of being good instead of being what she… was.

A flash of lightning in the distance, above the forest before her, told her it was time to hurry up. Spring held no qualms about trapping the world in a downpour, and she didn’t feel like trekking through mud before bed.

So making up her mind quickly, Larissa slung the stranger’s bag over her shoulder and bent down to pick her up. She tried to be mindful of her sharp fingers when sliding her hands beneath the woman’s back and thighs; though surprisingly, for all of her mortal weight, she was easy to carry. Strength, Larissa had figured early on into her ‘new life’, was one of the very few advantages she’d gained after her transformation. But never before had she picked up a human. And never would she do it again as she realized how difficult it was to keep from jostling them. She was just so… limp. Her head lolled a little bit and her arms ragdolled and she looked more like a young woman than an adult stranger. But nonetheless, Larissa carried her back to the cave. The children were silent, understanding somehow that they were not to wake the mortal with their clicks and hisses and little rattling sounds. As endearing as their mother found it, the human would not take too kindly to their existence - before she turned into nothing but a statue, of course.

‘Don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up,’ Larissa thought desperately to herself as she padded into the cave and placed the woman onto her bed. There was nowhere else for her to rest, and it wasn’t like Larissa was planning on getting much sleep in her company anyway, so onto the little nest of stolen blankets, wool, and pillows she went. Slipped so easily from Larissa’s pale arms - and then cared for even more when she went about gently turning her around onto her side, belly facing the cave wall, before pulling the mismatched bed coverings up to her shoulders.

The thunder and lightning from the world beyond was growing more intense by the second, striking a worried chord in her heart that had her quickly placing the woman’s bag beside her body and flitting around to get her home comfortable for the evening. The routine followed as it did every night. Gently unwind the twine that holds back the bramble, vine, and leaf-woven curtains to each side of the cave wall; being careful of the sap-gum that held everything in place. Then gently arrange the curtains, as thick and prickly as they were, to cover the entirety of the cave’s entrance. Once that is finished, move around in the dark for the corner in which the fires are conducted - then go about striking the rock and the wood and adding the sticks and gathering a flame and letting out a sigh of relief when the warm glow fills the grey emptiness of the space.

She had planned on going hunting that evening, before sundown, but the stranger stole all of her attention away; and searching for meat during a storm was a fruitless mission. They were both lucky then that Larissa had enough forethought to search for various nuts, grains, and fruits the day previous. They were stored away behind the fabric of her pillow… which was preoccupied by the woman’s sleeping head.

The world rumbled as Larissa propped herself up against the cave wall. There was never much to do besides ponder, write, sleep, and hunt… so she turned back to her journal, deciding to spend some time detailing the woman she came across. Her hand moved with sharp twirls and scritches, writing of how strange the mortal was; how innocent; how peaceful she looked sleeping in her bed, completely unaware of the monster that lurked behind her. Like a daisy in a pretty green field… soon to be trampled beneath the hungry paw of a bastard wolf; left without the gift of seeing so she couldn’t even anticipate her untimely death. It was rather sad. It was rather brutal. No woman deserved a fate such as that - for she was only running away and did not think she would be dragged into the cave of a beast.

As the embers of the flame died, the woman continued to sleep. There reached a point where Larissa thought she was dead. Despite being able to hear the warm thump of her heart, she still stood and loomed over the stranger - only to find that yes, she was still alive. Just resting.

‘Must have been quite a long journey if she’s been asleep for that long,’ she mused to herself, turning away to tend to the puttering glows of their fire.

Though as soon as the rain started, coming down in thick pats upon the mud outside of the cave, the huddle of blankets in her bed stirred, and her children stood - turning to glare at the sound. A soft swishing fell into the thunderstorm’s undercurrent as the woman moved her legs, kicked them out to stretch, groaned softly beneath her breath, and turned onto her back. She pawed at her hair, eyes still closed, and Larissa reached up to wrap her index finger and thumb around the snout of her eldest child.

‘Don’t speak,’ she quietly commanded the bunch, ‘I do not want to be the last thing she sees.’

But the crackling of the fire, paired with its warmth and light, had the woman releasing a confused hum as she shuffled onto her hands and pushed herself up to sit. Larissa watched, silent, while the stranger slowly came back to her senses and regained consciousness.

“Is there- what-” she spoke, soft voice trailing off into a myriad of inaudible questions.

The child in her grasp wriggled, having had enough of its mother’s scolding, eager to rejoin the others in their free scrutiny. She finally let it go, tapping its pale head with the tip of one finger, and then slid the journal from her lap and placed it onto the cave’s floor as quietly as she could. Spooking the woman was the last thing she wanted to do, but as she stood to her full height and gently pulled some of the loose fabric of her chiton closer to her body, the stranger jumped anyway - and instantly got to her feet.

Larissa’s heart stopped, tripping over itself as she jerked her head down.

“Wh-Who’s there?! What do you want with me?! I have a knife!!” The stranger’s voice, scared and loud, full of false bravery, was quieted by the rain and thunder.

‘You don’t have a knife. You don’t know where it is,’ was Larissa’s inner thoughts- right as the woman began murmuring to herself.

“Wait. Where is the knife…” and only when there was the dull sound of knees dropping onto fabric, did Larissa finally bring her blue eyes up.

The woman, in her absence of the knife… went looking for it. On her hands and knees… patting the ground… searching through the fabrics of the bed and slapping her soft palms against the stone of the cave’s floor… frantic and confused…

Larissa frowned.

“It’s in your bag.”

—

You jumped, letting out a harsh breath while your heart skipped up into your throat.

“Who goes there?! Who are you?!” Your voice was shrill, loud and scared as you forgot about the knife and went pushing yourself back up into your feet. “I-I know how to fight!” You yelled into the darkness, putting up your fists.

It was a lie of course- you had no idea how to fight- but that didn’t matter. As long as the person- woman?- thought you were tough enough to hold your own.

But when you huffed and puffed and bared your teeth, keeping your fists up, nothing happened. Complete silence filled the air, interrupted only by the rain and the flicker of a fire nearby. You could feel its warmth on you even in your panic - even as you stepped back and back and back until your shoulders hit something hard behind you. It was a wall; a curved imperfect wall that told you you weren’t in a cabin or home with extremely open windows, somewhere in the woods, but were instead in… in… well. You didn’t actually know. It’s not like you could see and just find out. Though despite that, you still looked around wildly - keeping your ears open for movement.

There was none.

You frowned.

“…How… are… you…?” It was a woman! The voice, spoken in front of you, across whatever space you were in, was smooth and deep. Accented. She sounded strange. Foreign. And also incredibly confused. Almost… astounded? Like she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“Don’t make me ask again,” you warned, reminding yourself that some women could be just as dangerous as men, “what do you want with me?”

“Blind…” came the soft response; so quick- it was in the air before you finished speaking; so quiet you had to strain to hear. “You’re… blind.”

Well. Yes. It was a rather defining feature; one that many noticed and took advantage of. One that people thought they could ‘work with’ and use to trick you - but you were clever. And strong. And personable in a way that many didn’t expect. The stranger across from you though… she was still just another potential danger. Still just a thing to be aware of. And so you cleared your throat and nodded, putting your hands at your sides and curling them into fists.

“Yes. I am. And what about it?” You sniffed, tilting your head up, trying to seem braver than you were.

No amount of cleverness, after all, could save a blind woman from a tricky death. If the river you had fallen into earlier was a cavern or a very deep pit, you would have been finished. Thank goodness you took advantage of it at the time.

“…Nothing. I apologize. I have- never met a blind person before,” the woman spoke, stilted and cautious. Still with an undercurrent of awe in her voice. It was peculiar, the way she was acting, but you shrugged it off. The apology was unexpected but not unwelcome. It had you squinting into the nothingness of your vision.

“Well. Now you have.” You nodded, suddenly feeling rather awkward.

—

Yes. She had. You were right.

Right and blind.

Blind. Unable to see.

The children froze, and she felt the way they looked at each other, unsure and confused. No doubt wondering ‘What issss happening?’ They were too familiar with mortal skin turning grey and hard at the smallest glimpse in their direction to understand what was happening. All they knew was their mother and solitude. And she, likewise, had no concept of how to deal with a stranger that did not want to- or simply couldn’t- kill her.

The milky color of the stranger’s eyes, although rare and odd, was beautiful. Like the wispy white of the clouds when they blanketed the moon at midnight. Light and dark at the same time… grey under a matter of circumstance. The cherry on top of the woman’s strange existence. Shocking to a new face but glorious to a trained eye. Her children observed the mortal with unending curiosity; casting violence aside as they slithered to their tallest heights and curled down, swaying their small pale heads. The situation was lost on them, but that didn’t matter. They’d understand eventually. Perhaps when the woman was gone the previous morning and she could muse over the mortal out loud to herself.

But until then,

“Are you hungry?” She wasn’t sure what else to ask.

—

You felt your stomach rumble- speaking to you as though the mention of eating had woken it up from its slumber.

“Um yes… you’re not going to poison me though, are you?”

There was a short gasp.

“Goodness, no. Why would I do that?”

She sounded so outraged- so shocked by your question- that you almost smiled. You couldn’t see her expression, but there was sincerity in her velvet voice. Like she was genuinely surprised, if not offended, that you’d ask her of all people that. It didn’t matter if you’d asked in slight jest or not; she didn’t seem to understand the consequences that came with literal blind trust.

“Some people like to take advantage,” you murmured, shrugging at the same time. Most women understood what you meant. People during that time, men in particular, saw the weak souls of the world and let their eyes light up with the chance to exert power. It was common. It was difficult. The woman opposite you, you were nearly certain, understood the sentiment as well.

“I–… yes. I realize that,” she stated, her voice growing firm. “But I’m not going to poison you. I’m not a m-” There was a soft hissing hush that filled the air, cutting into her words with a sharp strength you couldn’t ignore

What on Earth…

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” was the quick response. “I have nuts and berries I found not too long ago. Will that be enough?”

Your brow furrowed. What was she hiding?

“Um yes- yes that would be lovely… thank you.”

And with that, the stranger let out a hum and went walking around, shuffling along to grab a few things while you stood there on (what you assumed was) her bed. It was soft; pillowed with linens and fabrics and blankets that felt as though they’d come from all over the world when you shifted from one foot to the other. You frowned at the odd feeling and stepped off of the coverings- not wanting to flatten or dirty her sleeping area. It was kind of her to even put you there in the first place; though you wondered if she’d carried you herself or dragged you along. Not many women in your time, or the village where you were from, had the strength or initiative to pick up another woman and carry her anywhere, let alone their own bed. But if you were dragged along the grassy terrain outside, you surely would have felt the bumps and stops, no?

Either way, as soon as you stepped onto the hard ground of- well- wherever- you were at, you turned to the sound of movement and cleared your throat.

“And um… thank you for taking me here. Keeping me safe. You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway. So- I appreciate it.” You fidgeted; keeping your hands at your waist and picking at the soft skin around your nails.

The shuffling paused.

“…You’re welcome.” The stranger replied softly.

It was almost like she wasn’t sure what to say. Like she didn’t hear the words ‘thank you’ very often. Like maybe she didn’t come into contact with people very often. And perhaps she didn’t. How else could she have found you if she didn’t live away from civilization? It wasn’t unheard of; it was just not very common. But, as you always said, to each their own. There was no room for judgment, after all - the woman probably ran away in a similar fashion as you did. In the very beginnings of morning, before the sun even rose, with everything you could think to carry in a satchel slung across your shoulders, heading out into the world as though it wouldn’t prove to be as dangerous as the life you left had been. The only difference being that nothing could make you want to return to that - not even the scary sounds that came out of the forest at night. The woman, even if only for one evening, was a saving grace.

And still a stranger.

She puttered around some more, dragging soft things across the ground- leaf bowls you assumed- and poured water into clay cups.

“I never got your name, you know. So I can remember you.” It was a hesitant thing to say, but you figured that if you somehow made friends with the woman, you could come back to her one day if you ever needed the shelter. Or the company. The world was tough, after all; and not always did a woman succeed on her own.

That woman had, though.

That woman, who stopped her actions again and allowed the combined ambience of the rain and fire to melt into the space.

That woman, who inhaled sharply before exhaling into one spoken breath:

“Larissa.”

(Thank you for reading! Do let me know if you'd prefer the other layout/way of editing with the text dividers and character gifs. This Medusa thing may become a little series like Cannibal Larissa. Let me know what you think? Until next time, darlings - Rip x)

~~~~~~~~

(Tags [please know that Tumblr will not let me properly @ some accounts] : @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet )

[byullielle]

Drunk Antics // SKZ!Bf x Reader

how i imagine the kids when they're drunk. (still waiting for the day one of them drink with youngji)

Tags: Alcohol Consumption, Fluff, Est. Relationship

Disclaimer: click on the pictures for a clearer resolution ₍⁠₍⁠ ⁠◝⁠(⁠　ﾟ⁠∀⁠ ﾟ⁠ ⁠)⁠◟⁠ ⁠⁾⁠⁾

hyung line

bang chan

chan is one of the group lightweights. i said what i said. i know he seems like the drinker but i beg to differ—but really it depends on what he drinks, he can take three cans of beer with a few shots but if he goes out to a bar he tends to be carried away with 2 cocktails and a bunch of shots that render him weak in the knees after an hour and a half.

a flirty drunk. will wink at you, spew out the most flirty and corny picks to man. "wait i need to breathe, you're taking my breath away,"

"you're missing something," and when you ask what is it he'll slip your hands in yours and wiggle his brows, "my hands,"

"your lips are kinda dry," he points out and you simply raise your brows in inquiry before he puckers up, "i know what can help,"

when you get back inside you're too tired to lug around a man twice your weight so you both end up in the couch, with him snuggling up to you the best he could before ultimately dozing off to sleep.

both your backs ache the next day but you love him regardless.

lee know

minho isn't a lightweight but he chugs alcohol like its water he ends up hammered so quickly it goes from a literal 0 to 100. when drunk, he screams, he shouts and he chases small critters around until he passes out. the most chaotic drunk if you ask me.

when you pick him up he's gained some resemblance of sobriety, but he loves to babble incoherent sentence because not talking would make him feel like he'd combust any minute now.

"do you know that soonie is like felix?"

"how cute are you? i want you to be my cat,"

"what if i chase jisung around, im a predator animal," and when you correct him that he's a rabbit on skzoo basis he'll fight you.

you fondly roll your eyes at him and entertain him like a sugar rushed toddler unable to stop the motor that is his mouth. it's between an existential crisis or kids show questions which throws you in for a loop because there's "what if people didn't have gravity," to "do we really know what happens when we die?"

the moment you get home, you help him with his shoes and he heads straight to bed, unable to further lift his head and simply passes out face first. you have to roll him sideways so that he doesn't suffocate.

in the morning, he has the worst hangover you help nurse.

changbin

thinks he knows his limit but kinda goes 3 drinks over. but it's fine because once he realizes he doesn't feel too well, he'll stop. and he is the most likely to throw up after drinking. the first time it happened, it shocked both of you and he couldn't face you for a week even after assuring him its alright. however this time, he throws up and you still help him through it, now with less shame than when you both first started.

the softest drunk ever. loves caressing your face and just looking at you with unbridled adoration and love as you drive him back home. he's quite the flatterer when intoxicated and would render you a blushing mess the moment you get home.

"do you know you're the prettiest human I've ever laid my eyes on?"

"you know, when you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're concentrating, you look so pretty,"

"but your pretty any time of the day regardless,"

so on and so forth.

when you get home you help him brush his teeth per his request. while you run the brush through his mouth his hands are on your waist, drawing comforting circles around with his eyes closed. "binnie, baby, you have to spit it out," you cajole the nth time because his brain is getting fuzzier by the minute. you manage to put him in pajamas after and despite you normally being the little spoon, its his turn, curled up against you, face nuzzled by your chest as he dozes off peacefully.

hyunjin

he's a silly little guy when drunk. a kiss monster too. he loves pressing kisses all over your face, on your hands, on your lips and you could mildly taste the tequila on his lips. before you could even drive off you're already making out with the man. you have to stop him and he gets all sulky but you promise more kisses when you both get home.

hes inseparable from you when drunk, having both of you waddle back to your front door because he's clinging onto you like a koala bear. he isn't the most vocal when drunk because he already feels like shit after letting the drinks settle but is whiny.

you give him the promised kisses but only pecks and gentle presses lest you wanna end up in disaster with a drunk person. he will conk out when he gets dressed in his pjs and you just cuddle with him as he dozes off. most likely to wake up in the middle of the night or early morning and then goes back to sleep.

maknae line

han

jisung is the lightest weight amongst all 8 of them and he knows it. he can't take more than 3 bottles of beer before tapping out. the moment he feels anything beyond tipsy he's ready to head home and simply relish in your embrace. there's something about being drunk that he doesn't particularly like, and he doesn't like falling asleep intoxicated either.

his introverted nature and social anxiety works double time when intoxicated so you try your best to make it there as quickly as you can. he's a little weaker to pressure when drinking especially when with JYP.

so when you get home a movie and some snacks to fill his tummy are ready and you watch a round of Ponyo and Howl's Moving Castle before he's ready for bed. he gets a bit restless when intoxicated so he politely requests you to be the big spoon for tonight and play with his hair as you help him off to sleep.

you two don't wake up until noon and its alright since by the time you're awake, breakfast is ready for you. it isn't the most complex breakfast but eggs and bacon would suffice. "thanks for picking me up last night,"

"not a problem honey,"

felix

chaotic drunk, only comes second to lee minho. there's something about felix that just entertains you when he's drunk because unlike minho you do less of the picking up the pieces and more of partying in the car with felix. you guys sing your heart out to lady gaga and ariana grande on the ride back home and it turns into a dance party when both of you are getting ready for bed.

he also requests that you put a face mask on him and have some snacks before you head to bed. and you do, you give him those shitty animal print face masks and start dancing to slayyyter while heating up some dino nuggets you find in your fridge.

this is how the 'bro' side of felix comes out, in contrast to his sweet and gentle loving he loves tackling you to bed and tickling you because the alcohol gives him such a rush. both of you pass out on the bed sprawled against each other after the face masks and wake up with your head hanging off the bed, with felix completely on the floor.

seungmin

softie + "no im not drunk" drunk. doesn't wanna bother you so doesn't message you to pick him up, and that usually leads him to denying he's drunk when you say you're picking him up. although when he's extra tired he'll just give in.

he tries his best to not act drunk, not taking your offer to help him in the door and unlocking it, insisting that 'he could still do it,' but fails miserably, the key slipping from his hand and he'll just stand there with a pout like a lost puppy and you simply can't help but fondly laugh at his clumsiness.

once you get in, he starts to brush his teeth and get himself in pajamas before you give him a glass of water. he has to hold your hand while drinking the water which is one of his cutest drunk habits before you guys go to bed. he wordlessly pulls you to his arms and presses you against his chest then its lights out for him. not the most chaotic affair to say the least.

i.n

competitive drunk. and given jeongin's chaotic history, he has definitely drank underage before. he'll make sure to challenge all his hyungs who can drink most and it'll ultimately backfire against him because he is the strongest drinking out of all of them but is also the flimsiest drunk. he cannot walk, for the life of him, and in minutes he's stumbling all over the place.

it is a challenge for you to take him back to the car but with enough chanting of "left, right, left, right," you manage to get in the car with minimal casualties (aside from that trash can he nearly knocked over).

his brain is working just fine, its really his motor skills that are put to the test because he could barely lower the car windows, having to do it yourself. getting him in the house is another challenge because jeongin isn't light by all means, especially his added muscle mass overtime but you power through it and by the time you get him to bed, you're sweating like crazy.

what a big baby, but he's your big baby.

if you wanna send in a prompt or an ask or just say hi feel free to do so!!

[inkyquince]

There's something about freakishly tall men. Towering over. Freak tall men. Using their height against you. You have absolutely no hope of getting away from hands pining your hands above your head, thighs pressed against your crotch, mean mean mean. MEAN freakishly tall men.

So Bailey, but freakishly tall. So so mean, so so freakish. The way he's leaning over his poor little orphan, his body curving unnaturally, hissing in their face.

Morgan. A towering beast in the sewers, following close to his prey, silent despite how fucking big he is. Of course you cannot get away, he's too fucking big, just lugs you around. Picking you up around your middle, huffing his hot breath against the top of your head, dragging you around no matter how much you squirm, your feet never touching the floor.

Veteran Guard, a fucking monster as he stalks the halls of the prison, cap nearly brushing the ceiling of the narrow halls, filling up the entire fucking space. You have no hope of getting away from him. His eyes gleaming from under his cap, a predator, can grab you and pin you down, and encompass your entire body. Lying on top of you, suffocating you, broad chest pressing against your shoulder blades, his legs extending over yours, his breath hitting your temple as he pins you down.

Also all of these men, would fucking have you ragdolling as they grip your waist and bounce you up and down on their cock, unrelenting as they pound your hole, ruining it as they just use you endlessly. You can barely even hold onto their shoulders as they break you in for them.

[slashersthehorror]

( YES ) ✨👏😍👏✨ ( YES )

💐🌼💐

[chloeesstuff-blog]

✨💘✨ Cage & Davie ✨💘✨

[bestworstcase]

Grimm behavior reassessment thought: y'know that sister training session called on account of Rather Tanky Ursa? Could Ruby & Yang have avoided that fight if they'd known to treat the big lug like careful hikers would an 'ordinary' bear encounter? There were a few 'pause & rear/roar' moments on its part which I guess *could* be read as 'hey stop that' or 'my turf, leave'.

yang’s character short has always interested me bc the ursa was there the whole time they were sparring.

like. yang throws a punch, ruby panic-flies into the bushes and then passes out:

on this screenshot i’ve marked ruby’s approximate path in red and circled the clump of bushes the ursa emerges from (using the logs laid around the perimeter as markers):

note the very dense foliage around the grimm; he’s completely hidden. yang gets concerned when ruby doesn’t respond, startles when she hears a twig snap in the area circled in yellow, this is what she sees:

and then he stands up:

which. ok. he’s a really big guy. there is no way he crept up on them and got that close before making a noticeable sound, and most grimm behave like pursuit predators besides—they wander around in the open and give chase when they come across prey. (although there are exceptions: the pack of apathy at brunswick drag the lamp around a corner and go dark to lie in wait, for example.)

the point is, he’s there, but yang can’t see him until his eyes illuminate because he’s lying down in the bushes. his markings are also ‘off’ and only begin to glow as he stands up.

we’ve seen grimm Do That a couple times:

and we’ve also seen in v8 that just because there don’t seem to be any grimm nearby doesn’t mean they aren’t there:

<- same thing happens in the mine. dozens of centinels pop out of the ground when the geist signals for them to screen his retreat deeper into the mine. which suggests that grimm may spend a lot of time… not hunting. unseen, hidden just under the surface or in the densest thickets, crevices, whatever. and no one knows because when grimm aren’t on the hunt they don’t attack unless provoked.

the big guy was just There! taking a nap! and he didn’t aggro until yang got spooked by ruby’s silence.

he also doesn’t seem to be all that interested in attacking after his initial charge and swipe; he knocks yang across the clearing and then turns away, until yang shoots him again:

i do think it’s really interesting that WOR: grimm implies that grimm are most strongly drawn by violence, not negativity per se: “what is perhaps even more unsettling is the basis of their attraction,” and the accompanying image is

a person killing another person with a rock.

i think—much more so than real animals—grimm are kind of emotional mirrors, in that they reflect the energy they’re shown. one thing that stands out to me about both salem and cinder is that while there is obviously an element of magic or kinship or both behind their influence over the grimm, from both of them we see these occasional moments of tenderness toward the grimm; cinder’s very gentle and soothing “shh, this is your home now” when she calms the wyvern, and the way salem softens when she caresses the goliath’s face in the v6 stinger:

and i wonder if there isn’t a meaningful correlation there. the two characters in the story who demonstrably have the ability to communicate and work with grimm are also the two characters who, in private moments when no one else is around to see, choose to be gentle with these creatures. is salem able to command grimm the way she does by magical compulsion or is she their leader, as raven put it, whom they follow because she’s kind to them and protects them.

[echotums]

You Become Her (COMM)

CW: Weight gain, stuffing, force feeding, slobbification, bloating, extreme humiliation/degradation/teasing/bullying, fat shaming, force feeding, slob, gas, burping, farting, mentions of popping, indigestion, some sweat and scent kink, dumbification, 2nd person POV, gender neutral reader.

Gwen gains some weight and you can't hold your tongue about it. Gwen decides there's only one way to teach you a lesson.

Gwen, your friend, has been very spotty lately; flaky with your plans. And to you, it’s getting a bit ridiculous. How hard is it to hang out with your friend? Apparently extremely difficult, if you’re Gwen. You roll her eyes at the thought. You wouldn’t be surprised if your plans today fell through too. You’ve been waiting for your friend for half an hour and still, no sign of her. It was supposed to be a simple hangout, just window-shopping and eating dinner together. You had even chosen a later time so Gwen couldn’t use waking up late as an excuse.

As you check the time for the fifth time in a row, you utter sarcastically, “can’t wait to see what today’s excuse is.” If you’re getting stood-up again, you hope it at least gives you a good chuckle.

Just as you are about to give up and go home, you spot the telltale pigtails in the crowd to your right. Straightening up, you cheer to yourself. Finally! You’re still going to give Gwen a piece of your mind for being so flaky, but maybe a little less now that she’s finally deigned to leave her house.

Quickly, you school her expression and make it seem like you never spotted Gwen, pulling out your chapstick and fixing it. It won’t do to look too excited to see her. You have a reputation to uphold. Being stood-up a handful of times has given your self-proclaimed reputation a few scratches, but nothing that can’t be fixed.

Quick footsteps approach you, then, and you smirk as you hear a tentative peep of your name, followed by a warm and… sweaty palm falling on your arm. You swivel and take a step back, quickly wiping the dampness from your arm, sneer on your face.

“What do you think you’re-?” You look up then, capping your chapstick and pocketing it. Placing an indignant hand on your hip, you give an incredulous look to…

“Gwen? Is that you?” Your hand shoots up to your mouth as yo gasp, eyes wide.

You get a tentative nod in response and a shy, “h-hi.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you, holy shit.” You breathe. And it isn’t a mystery why that would be the case? Where Gwen’s usual dainty little figure used to be is a fat mess. Well, maybe not fat, just chubby. But in your eyes, they are one and the same. Big and gross. Gwen’s bulging with rolls and folds of lard, positively dripping in it. Not to mention the disgusting sweat stains drenching the crevices of her newly softened body. Her clothes barely fit, too; bursting at the seams.

You can’t help the next words out of your mouth, “is that why you wanted to go clothes shopping? Nothing fits?” You raise your head high and circle Gwen like a predator, eyeing her from top to bottom. Gwen quivers in response. “Or is it the promise of dinner that got you?” It’s mainly meant to be an observation, but as cutting as your words are, it’s no shock that they make Gwen’s cheeks flush. You can't help but feel a rush of power through you, you ask, “seriously, what happened to you? You blew up like a balloon!” You place your delicate hands on the newly formed gut Gwen is lugging around. It’s a soft double belly, stretching the seams of her dress ridiculously. Although…

“You’re totally sucking in, stop that!” You poke your finger into Gwen’s softened side, right between two warm rolls. Gwen squeaks and… “There we go. You’re fatter than I thought!” You cackle, catching the exact moment Gwen stops sucking her gut in. It protrudes against her dress and causes it to lift a little higher on her body. You hum to yourself as you cup the bottom roll of it, lifting and dropping; jiggling the sack of chub obscenely.

Gwen, for her part, looks positively mortified, too shocked at the sudden turn of events to do anything but stand there and take it. A part of you revels in this. After months of dodging you, you have finally cornered Gwen into a position beneath you. “Is this why you’ve been so flaky?” You start, voice a mockery of comfort. “Were you embarrassed you got so fucking fat?” You feel your anger rise and slap Gwen’s belly, delighting in her stuttered denials.

“I-I! I’m not fat!”

But you just laugh. “Yeah? Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Your tone turns gleeful then, pleased at the humiliation the girl is being put under. “I mean, I knew you were never the brightest, but you can’t be that stupid. Look at this huge gut you have! You look pregnant.” You pinch the fat there, bouncing it between your palms. The power coursing through your veins is intoxicating, worth ignoring the little voice in your head telling you you’re going too far. You can’t help the almost devilish smirk that overtakes your face. You splay your hands lower, grabbing at huge love handles and widened hips.“And your ass is barely covered by your dress!” You slaps the slightly exposed flesh, watching the lard-packed flesh jiggle wildly. You feel bumps beneath your smooth palms and grimace. “Eugh, and so much cellulite on your fat ass and thunder thighs. Nasty.”

A few passersby have noticed the exchange, some just grimace at the clearly too-small outfit Gwen is wearing and move on, while one or two sneakily look on as you dig into her. You can't help but smirk. A part of you has always envied Gwen. So tiny and pretty in her doll-like beauty. And now look at her! An absolute lardass begging to be made fun of. And so you do.

“Look at your face, Gwen! It’s all round now. You have a double chin too, ugh, gross!” You pinch the sagging bit of fat under her chin. “Your face used to be so pretty, too!” You laugh, holding your flat belly at the wet look in Gwen’s eyes. “You look like a pufferfish!” You blow your cheeks out to show what you mean. The laughter grows muffled then, but quickly bursts free when Gwen tries to deny it again.

“No! Stop that!”

But you keep going, “how dumb are you? Stop denying it. You’re an ugly, fat slob now!” Lithe hands gesture toward the sweat stains under Gwen’s pert tits. “I mean, how did you get so fat but gain none of it in your tits?” You fondle the little breasts, snickering meanly. How shameful Gwen is now. “You really should take better care of yourself, fatty.”

That seems to be the last straw for Gwen, as she pulls away, eyes wet but furious. “You’re such a bitch!” She growls out before stomping away. And stomping is right, even her steps are heavier now that she’s chubby.

“Aw, c’mon, Gwen! It was just a joke!” You laugh, smug at having beaten Gwen in this way. The two or so onlookers watch with you as Gwen waddles into the crowd, disappearing. You just roll your eyes. “Ugh, dumb cow can’t handle the truth.” Gwen will come around eventually. She always does. Everyone does with you.

Except… This lasts longer than you would have thought. You thought Gwen would come around after about a week. But as the two-month mark passes and you receive no word, you get slightly worried. It can’t be because of what you said, right? You were just telling her the truth. If anything, she should be grateful. And if Gwen was so upset over your words, then she would have used them as motivation to get back in shape. Hopefully, that’s what she’s doing. As much as you like being so much prettier than her, it’s bad for your reputation to be seen with a blubbery mess.

Oh, well. Not your problem. You’re not the one the size of an actual whale.

It’s another month before you hear anything. It’s in the form of a note. It’s smudged and has grease stains on it, but the message is clear: an invitation to Gwen’s house, an apology for ghosting you for months on end. It leaves you smirking; you deserve an apology after having to put up with Gwen’s shit for so long. And after you went out of your way to help her, too.

And so you are quick to heed the contents of the letter, heading over on the specified date and time to Gwen’s house. When you arrive, the lights are off and the door is unlocked. Strange.

“Hello?” You call. You get no response. But you sense movement in the shadows of the room. Heading to the dining and kitchen area, you say, “Gwen? Is that you?” But garner no response.

Suddenly, you sense a presence behind you. But before you can even investigate, you smell something… sweet in the air. The moment the scent hits your nose, you begin to feel woozy. “Oh, n-no. Gwen?” Is all you can get out before you fall unconscious. The last thing you see is a large, hulking figure standing over you.

It seems to you that only moments pass before you awaken. Your body is heavy, tired; as if you haven't slept in days. It’s strange, a whiplash of sensation that leaves you disoriented, blinking and swaying where you sit.

…Sit?

A surge of panicked energy rushes through you, frantically urging you to check your surroundings. You’re indeed sitting now, but when you attempt to stand, you find that your hands are stuck behind you, held there by glowing binds. Magic. Attempting to kick your legs proves just as fruitless. The bindings, though reasonably loose, do a great job of keeping you where you’re being forcibly kept.

Worse than anything is that you’re naked. You want to cover up and hide, squirrel yourself away like Gwen has been doing for the past half-year. As confident as you are, you recognize a bad situation when you see one. And this is one such thing.

The cold air makes you shiver, leaves you bending your shoulders and knees inward to preserve heat. This is the definition of awful.

“Hello? Gwen? Anyone? Help!” Your cries are distressed, begging for aid that hopefully comes. There is a buzzing in your mind and limbs, the fatigue of before making way for panic.

Then, as if cursed with nothing but pure, bad luck, you hear a heavy stomping coming from in front of you. Looking up, you watch as a large, menacing shadow lumbers toward you in a slow waddle. With each step, the figure seems to wobble like jello, heavy breathing following soon after.

“Um, hello?”

It doesn’t take long for fear to make way for curiosity. The waddling movements and soft shapes piled high to make the figure in front of you not as threatening as you thought it was. The soft grunts accompanying each ponderous step just pique your interest more. That is, until the figure gets close enough for the smell of grease, food, and sweat to permeate the area.

You are quick to try and cover your nose, tucking your face to the side as you scrunch your expression into something filled with disgust and revulsion. “ugh, ew!” You clench your eyes shut and try to hold your breath, allowing the… creature to come into the light. Now, you can hear the slapping of skin on skin. And with one final, thunderous step that shakes your chair, the figure seems to stop walking.

Disgruntled at the proximity of the awful smell, you reluctantly open your eyes and breathe in, coming face-to-face with piles and piles of flesh.

The figure is dripping in lard and sweat, a parody of the human form in how cartoonishly obese it is. Cellulite riddles massive, tree-trunk legs that lead to a horribly round ass. It’s a shelf of a thing, you bet you can rest a plate or a small object on it. Jeez, the figure even has thigh-rolls and cankles. Even its feet are fat!

Your eyes continue their horrified journey upward to a massive gut and a roll just under that, preserving the nude being’s modesty somewhat. A double belly sags nastily over front, creating huge love handles and obscuring what is supposed to be a waist. It seems… bloated, packed tight above and below, making these terrible gurgling noises, as if fighting with something; a disagreeable meal, perhaps.

A hand comes down to slap the giant, blubbery gut then, a large belch and fart releasing a moment later. The hands are chubby, looking as if they’d be unable to form a proper fist if they tried. Forearms roll and fold over onto its wrists, connecting to bingo wing arms, rolling at the armpit. There reside two flabby, sagging tits. They sway and jiggle with every movement, sliding off the glutted bloat of its gut.

Finally, your eyes come to rest on the creature's face. There is no neck to speak of, simply a multitude of chins that seem to never end. Twin jowls roll off onto said chins, pursing the thing’s lips and squinting the eyes. The face of it is swollen and fat, bursting with lard.

And through your inspection, you’re unable to stop yourself from feeling sick at the state of it. Clear indigestion, sweat, food stains, cellulite, and stretch marks littering each blubbery inch. It keeps burping and farting, adding to the terrible odor.

The only reason you are able to recognize who it is, is due to the two greasy pigtails that are on the thing’s head. Or, the woman’s head.

It’s Gwen.

“Gwen?” You exclaim, shocked beyond belief. “What the fuck happened to you? You look terrible and smell just as bad!” And isn’t that an understatement? Gwen is just about the ugliest thing you have ever seen! You didn’t even know such an awful-looking (or smelling) person could exist. Yet, here Gwen is, as horrible as a nightmare.

Gwen doesn’t respond. Properly, that is. She does laugh, though. A brainless sounding thing, in all honesty. The look on her face seems much the same. It’s as if her mind has been emptied of every intelligent thought, eyes blank and face slack. Gwen grunts and lets out a large, rumbling belch into your face, leaving you gagging. Case in point.

You call her name again, tentative this time, unsure if Gwen can even understand you with the state of her deteriorated IQ. Another laugh in response, but this time, Gwen speaks, “terrible, terrible. Big, dumb Gwen looks terrible.” She burps again, slowly plodding her way behind you. “Big, dumb slob. Dumb, dumb, dumb.”

What?

Taken aback, you jump as you hear rustling behind you. A second later, two sagging tits flop over your shoulders. They’re sticky and huge, revolting. You try to jerk away, yelping, “what the hell, Gwen? What’s gotten into you? You’re being gross.” But Gwen doesn’t seem to listen, instead, resting her pile of chins on your head as she squishes your slim face between her floppy tits.

“Stupid, gross Gwen and her nasty tits. Just being gross, gross. Smells bad, ugly and fat.” The words are prattled off dumbly, Gwen’s voice low and empty. They’re spaced out by bursts of gas from either end, too. You can hear them happen, with how close her gut is. But the words are… close to what you were thinking a moment ago, and being called out on it, having your words put out there makes you feel… kind of bad.

And so you backpedal. “W-well, I never said that, exactly-“ you're cut off by Gwen taking a step back and burping on you again. You feel the hot breath on your neck and hear the way it slowly peters out.

You squeal and thrash, “stop it! I-“

So focused on trying to get away from the gas that Gwen released onto you, you fail to notice what Gwen is up to until it’s too late.

“Mmph?”

A soft tube has been forced into your mouth. Looking up at it, you deduce it’s connected to the ceiling and, following the tube, you notice a huge machine buzz to life. It’s a giant vat, seemingly filled with gallons upon gallons of liquid slop. If the transparent window into the vat is to be trusted. You try to shake your head and dislodge the tube, but every time you do, it seemingly follows you, as if enchanted by something. There is a faint hue radiating from it and the vat, now that you really look closely. More magic, you realize.

Oh, you are so screwed.

Still kicking up a fuss, you glare when Gwen waddles in front of you, slowly walking closer and closer until her obscenely glutted gut is pressed right against your face.

This close, you can hear and feel the indigestion happening within. You hear gas bubbles build and expand before being released into noisy expulsions that leave you grimacing. It’s as noisy as a bubbling cauldron but ten times as disgusting. It vibrates your face a little, gives you a grumbled warning before a bubbling fart is released. Gwen sighs in relief, giving her belly a satisfied pat. All you can do is sob in disgust.

“Such a big belly, ugly and fat. No one would want Gwen now!” Gwen cries. She takes a step back and looks down at you as best she can. Her chins seem to be providing some resistance. And the angle just makes her look even worse. Gwen’s right, no one would want her now. But you would never say that. To her face, anyway.

Gwen smiles suddenly, vindictive; the only bit of complex thought or emotion that has passed through her in the short time she and you have been together here. “Gwen knows how you feel. Think Gwen is dumb and fat and worthless.” A nasty burp follows her statement, trailing off into smaller, airy ones afterward. “Gwen will make you feel like that, too. Show you how funny it is.”

You feel the hand of ice-cold fear grip your chest. A moment for it to sink in, and then you’re thrashing, muffled shouts coming from around the tube. You don't want to be fat! You’ve worked so fucking hard to keep your body as slim as it is, you don’t want that to be ruined! You’re hot, smart, perfect! Gwen can’t ruin this for you!

But, unfortunately, that’s what Gwen seems keen on doing. As a moment later, a glow surrounds her chubby hand. She says, “soon, you will be just like-“ Gwen chokes on a burp, slapping her gut afterward as if to stop it. “Just like big, dumb Gwen!” The machine behind her hums to life, and you squeal.

When the first bit of the slop touches your tongue, you want to puke. It’s a thick slurry, tasting of butter and sugar, oily but sweet. It’s just off. It’s as if Gwen poured actual grease or lard and pure sugar into it.

You try your best to stop yourself from drinking it, but you soon find yourself choking, forced to swallow the sludge puffing your cheeks out. It’s heavy going down, slowly, begrudgingly sliding down your throat and settling like rocks in your stomach. It instantly sends your insides into a tizzy, gurgling loudly in protest at the strange mixture. Your tummy feels heavy and bloated, and it’s only been a few seconds. It leaves you moaning sickly, watching Gwen warily.

Gwen, for her part, is back to her new, brainless self. She takes a couple more steps back again, able to look at you without fighting her chins for movement as much. “Dumb, dumb, dumb. Gwen sure is dumb!” She fiddles with her greasy pigtails, cackling to herself like she told a funny joke. “Will you have big boobs like Gwen? A nice ass? Will you have a greedy gut, too?” Gwen questions, fondling her dirty fat rolls.

You want to protest, to scream and hit and run. But all you’re able to do is swallow and whimper, to watch the slob in front of you seal your fate into a similarly monstrous being.

It hasn’t even been that long but you feel sick. Your belly is groaning, blushing red and huge, begging for it to stop. The slop settles so heavily in your gut, expanding it with each swallow. Seeing such a round and glutted gut on your tiny frame sickens you. That’s not supposed to be there, you’re supposed to have a flat tummy. You never eat so much that your stomach looks like this. But here Gwen is, forcing you to.

You try to get Gwen to stop, making muffled noises against the tube, trying to tell her you feel you may be sick or explode! But Gwen seems to mistake your pleas as the opposite.

“Do you want more? Don’t worry, soon you’ll be even bigger than me! Look, your body is already changing!”

It’s then that you become aware of a growing warmth and stretching sensation taking over your body. Looking down, it takes only a second for pure horror to settle in your chest.

The thin planes of your body have begun expanding; puffing out like dough in the oven. Your thighs slowly begin to touch, making your body hang off the chair slightly. Your inflated belly nestles itself onto those thighs, warm and soft. Though it is heavy, filled with Gwen’s concoction. The hard dome of it gurgles nastily, making you shiver in disgust. It seems to be working overtime, churning the magic slop directly into fat. The noise is loud and constant, making Gwen laugh dumbly; much to your embarrassment.

“Ohh, your belly sounds mad.” Gwen places a sweaty hand by her ear and listens to the raucous noises. “What’s that? Your belly wants more?” She makes eye contact with you, and despite your muffled protests, she smiles. “All right! More food for your greedy belly, coming right up!” And so, the speed at which the slop enters you increases drastically, causing some choking at first.

It’s agonizing, the uptick in speed causing cramps almost immediately. It’s left your guts all bubbly, causing air to build forcefully within your expanding guts. You can’t burp due to sucking down the fatty sludge, so all that’s left is to… you grimace, trying your best to hold it in, but after a dreadful cramp, you let yourself release a loud fart. The relief is short-lived, as mortification takes over soon after. The expulsion of gas seems to be timed perfectly with an expanding sensation in your ass, leading to you watching helplessly as it begins to sag over the sides of your chair.

Gwen laughs at you again, coming back around to settle behind you, placing her hands on your slowly softening stomach. “And you said Gwen was a slob! Looks like you're going to be the gassiest slob of them all soon!” She presses down again and giggles childishly when you release more gas in response.

Ashamed, you look down, Which honestly feels a little like a mistake. You notice then a pad of fat protruding where your sex once was; a pocket that seems to be set on sealing away any chance of intimacy with anyone again. As if to mock you, your belly surges forward, plopping on top of it and widening into budding love handles. Though your newly formed fupa still remains visible.

Stupid as she is now, Gwen seems to pick up on this. She croons out, “aw, are you sad no one’s gonna want to fuck you anymore? Don’t worry, you still have me!” She punctuates her sentence with a large belch at the end. “Or is Gwen too fat and dumb for you?” She sneers. When you just look up pathetically, she snorts. “Don’t worry. Soon you’ll even be too fat for Gwen! No one likes fatties, right?”

And a part of you wants to nod, because that’s kind of been your thought process up until today, or until Gwen showed up a little chubbier. At the receiving end of that statement now, though, you feel nothing but dread.

Because, yeah; no one likes a fatty. And that’s exactly what you’re becoming.

The fat on your arms begins blooming, causing sweat to build between your pits and tits. The blubber of your forearms and biceps roll onto each other, slowly tightening the restraints around you there. Your calves, too, are testing them; expanding into cankles that leave you feeling like a middle-aged parent rather than the hot young thing you are… or was. The only thing hot about you is the space between your growing folds, causing sweat to build and slowly streak its way down your rolls. And, fuck, the fact that you have rolls now disgusts you beyond measure.

You think even your feet have fattened. Your hands too, by the looks of it. Porky fingers that make your manicured nails look like pins in a cushion. You’ve seen people with this same look and muttered behind their backs, sometimes laughing in their faces. You’d say what a bad look it was, that they shouldn’t try to look pretty. Because fat as they are, beauty is impossible. And now, watching your dainty wrists disappear with inflating lard, you realize you’re no prettier than they are, now.

You’ll never be pretty again.

And, as if to drive that point home, Gwen exclaims, “Oh, looky! Your face is getting fat, finally! Gwen was scared you’d still have a pretty face. Dumb, silly me!”

She’s right, you realize with a nauseous gulp. Looking down is becoming more difficult, an inflating feeling taking place under your chin and on your neck. Your cheeks have begun to feel heavy and your vision a little squinted.

“Haha, you look like a pufferfish! Let’s see how many chins you have. One, two, three… Three chins! That’s more than Gwen!” And Gwen looks genuinely happy at this, her eyes sparkling in delight. “Hehe, I may be dumb Gwen, but you’re the ugly fatty, now!” She pinches your sagging jowls and flops your numerous chins to rub it in.

It doesn’t take long for the bindings to become painful, digging into your growing blubber. It hurts as much as your massive stomach, and as much as the chair digging into your ass. A thought occurs. If you can break the bindings, maybe you can escape! You know that means you’ll get fatter, but, it’s better than nothing.

With vigor, you begin gulping the slop down faster. It burns your stomach, stretching it horribly, forcing you to fart in order to relieve some of the pressure. Your plan seems to be working a little, your body expanding, your tits slowly dipping lower toward your sides, sloping off the bulge of your belly. You mourn their loss of perk silently.

Gwen, the idiot she is, however, mistakes the increase of consumption for something else. Something that leaves you cold. “Oh, is the ugly fatty trying to make their boobs and butt bigger? They are kinda small…” Gwen mumbles, batting at your small, hanging tits and poking at the cellulite-cratered ass. You try to guffaw, offended, but Gwen seems to have found a home in this insecurity, digging right in. “The ugly fatty with their tiny tits and flat ass, who would want them now? Even the fat on your crotch sticks out further!” Gwen shakes your fupa, quickly wiping her hand on your arm. “Ew! The ugly fatty’s so sweaty. The only fuckable hole people can see now is your belly button! But that’s nasty. Who wants to fuck a mountain of lard?” Gwen asks, lifting your rounded belly by the navel.

The lifting and dropping makes an obscene sloshing noise. One that Gwen can’t seem to get enough of. She shakes it up and down, side to side, laughing all the while. “Your belly is so noisy! Seems like the ugy fatty ate too much.” And then she begins slapping it, listening to the tight smacks it makes. She delights in this, too. “Haha, like a drum!”

It’s all so distracting, so embarrassing, that you almost don’t notice when the magic bindings begin to snap. The fat around them bubbles forth like rising yeast, the ropes creating aching dents in the puffy flesh. And finally…

Snap!

The bindings are off.

You cheer to yourself and Gwen takes a surprised step back. It gives you plenty of room to move. Except…

You can’t.

You cannot move. You’re stuck.

Dread begins building in your chest again. No, no, you can’t be too big for this. Still hopelessly swallowing the slop on instinct, you wobble your arms around comically, flailing your legs alongside them. It makes your formed bingo wings sag and slap your side rolls grossly, leaves your belly and fupa slapping onto your thighs loudly. You’re so engrossed in trying to get up, that you don’t hear the chair struggling until it’s too late.

The chair collapses underneath you, leaving your whole body rippling wildly in every direction. Your lard takes what feels like forever to stop jiggling. And even then, it doesn’t truly stop; still growing every second, your belly’s gurgles literally vibrating the skin of your gut with their strength. The massive shift in weight causes you to fart embarrassingly loud, too.

Gwen and you stare at each other, completely shocked, before Gwen laughs. It’s mean, jovial, relieved; filled with schadenfreude.

“Maybe you should be the dumb, ugly fatty.” Gwen states succinctly, walking to your front. Walking. Gwen can still walk. You can’t. You are now fatter than Gwen. And with the size she is, what hope do you ever have of changing that?

Still, you flap your arms hilariously. They stick up at a funny angle now, your blubber literally too voluminous for them to rest normally. You can’t even look down anymore, your face is so fat. But you can still see your belly with how big it is. It’s remained a large, uniform blob of fat, settled grossly on your chunky thighs and flabby fupa. It grows and grows, filling painfully with fattening slop.

Gwen sees the hopelessness settle on your expression, it would seem, as the teasing picks up again.

“The ugly fatty will never be pretty again! You’re too fat for that now.”

“You’re a worthless blob now. No one will love your useless fatass.”

“Every fat person you ever made fun of would laugh at you now!”

“I’ll be the hot friend now, compared to you!”

“Nasty slob! You’re nothing but a fat piece of shit.”

“Dumb, ugly fatty. Thought you could escape. You’ll be my fat pet forever!

You slowly begin to mentally resign to that fact. But you quickly begin to doubt it. Your belly is overfull, dangerously so. It feels like it’s not digesting fast enough, like your stomach is going to explode. It begins roaring dangerously, shaking the room, almost.

Little by little, your stomach inches ever further, reddening, creaking loudly. You wonder how much more you can take. In fact, you feel you have reached your limit, and that with one last swallow-

Nothing. Only the sputters of an empty machine.

And only then, with the relief that you won’t fucking explode, do you feel the weight of everything settle. You feel drunk, almost. Dazed and stupid. The moment the tube finally, finally falls from your lips, the first thing you do is belch loud enough to burn. And once you’ve released one, they keep coming. Burp after burp, followed by loud farts escape you, preventing any speech whatsoever. But you try.

“I’m… sorry,” you wheeze, belching between words. “No… more,” another two burps, “jokes.”

You expect forgiveness, Gwen’s taken everything from you at this point, ruined you beyond measure. What more damage can she do?

You get a sinister little giggle in response. “Oops! Gwen forgot to joke about her fat ass!” She pats her own, round butt in response. “Butt, butt, butt. Gwen sure has a fat butt!” She smiles, “unlike the ugly fatty’s flat one.” A moment for the jab to settle into your bloated flesh, then, “let’s make the ugly fatty’s ass as big as dumb Gwen’s, hm?” You can quite literally only belch in response.

“Now, where did Gwen put that other hose?”

[quolafish]

Place to Stay (Yandere!Shigaraki x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: violence, injuries, shigaraki is baaaaad, fighting, blood, cursing

Previous Part 2 / ? PART 3

The man stared at your vase. Your dad had loved making vases, and for your 20th birthday, he had gotten it signed by the number one hero All Might for you. Your role model, after your father of course. The stranger stared at it with a burning stare, ironically making you shiver, before passing out.

You were afraid to move him. You weren’t confident in your healing abilities at all, so you stayed still and stiff as a board when his head fell into your chest with so more force you fell backwards with him.

He groaned softly, his red eyes looked bleary. The man’s face was bloody, beaten, and bruised. You reached out with your healing touch, but his glassy eyes dipped to a close, before his face was obscured by your breasts and he let out a gentle sigh. You called out to him. If it weren’t for his quiet breaths, you’d consider him dead. Maybe your healing abilities were better than you thought… you didn’t think your quirk had some kind of calming effect.

Yes, you were afraid to move him. Despite his thin frame, he was tall and lanky, and his weight pinned you the ground of your room. So you couldn’t, regardless.

Sighing softly, you were stuck with this man on top of of you. For a few moments, you simply stared at the ceiling, not really sure what to do. All you could do was think. He had refused the hospital when you called 911, and despite the large stomach wound you magically patched up, his clothes were torn and bloody and sticky. He smelled like iron, and his greasy, sweaty hair stuck to your jaw and neck.

His breathing was gentle, and soft. Nothing like before. This man headbanged on your window, staining the glass with his bloody, five-fingered handprints. He was also sick all over your floor. In this moment, he seemed peaceful, and his breathing slew all the more when you gently ran his fingers through his knotted hair. You massaged at his scalp lightly. He shuddered.

Oh… was he awake?

He lifted his head up from your chest with a groan, showing you that poor, broken face. Blood dripped from underneath his shaggy, pale blue bangs. He looked pale. Sickly pale. You gently slipped your fingers underneath his bangs, and his relaxed sigh was your relief that your power was working.

“Are you okay?” You whispered to him. Gently.

He looked at you. He blinked. Twice. In a second, he tore away from your touch and grabbed your wrist in a crushing grip. All five-fingers curled around your skin. You gasped, whimpering out. He was on top of you in a different way, like a beast, like an angry predator pinning down his prey.

His eyes went wide. His grip loosened, then it tightened and you screamed out. He cursed, it was hissed and rough and the word fuck rang in your ears.

“My quirk..!” He gasped out, like his heart was just ripped out of his body. You were quirk, and you jammed your foot against his stomach, lugging a sick cough from his throat as his back hit the hard, wood of your floor. You jumped on him, sitting on his stomach, and he groaned and looked at you with crazed, bloodshot eyes.

“Hey! You better behave!” You snapped at him. “I saved you!”

“Gah…! You shoulda let me die! That bastard… that bastard stole my QUIRK!” He yelled, all spit and rage. You furrowed your brows at him, pursing your lips. Your body trembled despite you having the upper hand right now, and despite your quirks only healing ability, you held your hand out to him like a weapon.

“Don’t make me…” you started.

“What?” He sneered. “Heal me again?!”

“Maybe I will, it seems to calm you down!” You said, threateningly. He bursted into laughter, a ratchet, cruel sound making your ears the chalkboard the sound scratched upon.

“Oh yeah, cause that’s so damn scary. I’m gonna shit myself! Do it, you blasted hero!”

Your hand glowed a gentle yellow. He cursed a hero like the world meant villain… who was this guy?!

“Tch, idiot.”

He threw you off him. For a man of his stature, he was stronger than he looked. You scrambled to your feet, as he stalked you like prey. His red eyes shone in the darkness of your room, so cruel the moonlight streaming into the room barely touch them. You stepped back until your back hit a table, a glass vase shattering to the ground. You looked down and you could see the reflection of his feet walking closer to you, the image multiplied in the shimmering shards.

He slammed his hands against the wall your back was pressed against. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look into his horrible eyes.

“This is a trap,” he whispered lowly. He may not have a quirk, but he was physically stronger. And your quirk only could make him stronger.

You saw a glint of light in his hand, moonlight reflected off the glass shard he held near your face. That particular shard had a bit of the signature written on it, a cursive black ink reading All Might…

Maybe this man didn’t like the number one hero.

“Blasted heroes…”

[forgeline]

Some of them want to be abused. Wild Bill’s 1968 GMC truck was built by Finch Performance to be driven and driven hard. It’s powered by a 570HP Chevrolet Performance LS7 crate engine from Scoggin Dickey Parts Center and rides on a Finch Performance Apex Predator chassis, 335/30ZR18 BFGoodrich g-Force  Rival S Tires, and 18x12 Forgeline forged three piece GF3 Open Lug wheels finished with Pearl Gray centers & Polished outers!

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