#lizard pose stretch

[vastscope]

yoga connects me to the energy of the heart space and i love it! seeing my balance and flexibility improve over the past year and half is cool most importantly my controlled breathing while transitioning into different poses is a key improvement i noticed i’m able to control the flow of my breath better

[bonelyheartsclub]

♡ Stretch - Valentine's One-Shot ♡

Written by @/buttergriffin332

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The moon was high in the sky, the stars twinkling and bright. The cold night air granted a nice breeze through the neighborhood, sending little chills into open windows and to those who happened to be up at this ungodly hour. A pleasant night to be curled up in bed, sleeping away to begin the next day. 

You were one of the many tucked away under the covers and pleasantly asleep. You’d have stayed asleep if not for the subtle chiming of your phone, the screen flashing on and shining right in your face. It seemed you had forgotten to put it on do not disturb mode. So you were roused from your slumber as you blindly reached for your phone. You moved to turn it off, but just barely caught who the notification was from. 

It was from Stretch.

‘Lemme in ;3’

You squinted in confusion at the text and watched as a second one arrived.

‘Hi :D’ 

“Wha…” You grumbled sleepily.

“Hi.” 

You yelped and jolted in your bed, sitting straight up as you gawked at the skeleton lazily peering through the window you left open last night. He just grinned as if he hadn’t just roused you from sleep and gave you the biggest scare of your life; at least, for the month. 

“Nice shirt.”

“Stretch? What are you doing here? It’s 3 in the morning.” You groaned, voice rough with sleep as you rubbed your eyes. You weren’t that tired anymore after the spook, but you certainly wished you could go back to sleep.

Stretch grunted and hopped through your window, plopping down on your bed with a sigh. “Couldn’t sleep.” He put his hands in his pockets and turned to you. “Wanna go out with me?”

You sighed and pulled a blanket over your shoulders. “Stretch, it’s the middle of the night. Nothing is going to be open.” 

He chuckled. “No, I mean literally. Do you wanna go out with me? Like for a walk.”

You tilted your head at him, confusion all over your face, and watched as Stretch’s goofy smile widened. “You, Stretch, are asking me to go for a walk?” You asked slowly.

“That’s how you know this relationship is serious. Only the very special people in my life know I walk outside in the dead of night with a flashlight when everyone else in the neighborhood is asleep.” His smile was unbelievably large at this point, and maybe it was that you’d only just woken up, but you really couldn’t tell if he was playing around or being serious. 

“I’m going back to sleep.” You huffed and laid back down. 

Stretch laughed and got up and gently pulled the blanket back. “Okay no, wait. Come on, hear me out.” He snickered and waited for you to turn back to him. “I know it’s late, but it’s a great time of night for lizard and frog hunting.” He knelt down beside the bed. 

“Why would I wanna go lizard and frog hunting at three in the morning?” You rolled over and frowned sleepily at him. 

“Because it’d be with me? And you love me?” He put on that stupid cheese smile that never fails to make you smile back, but you tried to hide it behind your blanket. “Besides, not like you’re doing anything important-”

“I was sleeping! One of your favorite things to do!” You argued. 

He continued to talk. “So why not spend this time doing something fun?!” He stood up to his full height and put his hands on his hips. “Come on, you’ll like it!”

“I like sleep, too…” You slowly sat back up and tried to bite back a yawn. 

Stretch settled down into a more calm pose, matching your energy a bit more. When he gets all excited his similarities with Papyrus really show. “We won’t be out too long, promise.” 

You sighed, caving at his eager face. “If I do this, you’re treating me to lunch and dinner today.” 

He snorted, and you almost moved to argue with him, but he waved it off. “I hear ya, it’s a deal. Lunch and dinner, on the to-do list.” He nodded and reached his hand out when you started to get up. “You’re gonna wanna change clothes.” 

“I gathered that, silly.” 

After you threw on a pair of sweatpants and a nice soft jacket, you and Stretch lazily strolled out of your house. Sure enough, it’s still the dead of night and very dark. The lamp posts were the only light source that allowed the two of you to see the sidewalk. Stretch seemed to have a specific target to walk towards, so you followed.

You soon found yourself in a more odd location than expected. The edge of a small thicket of trees that bordered the large neighborhood. You couldn’t help but laugh in denial.

“You know, if I didn’t care about you so much, I’d find it really strange that you woke me up in the middle of the night to lead me into a dark forest.” You hummed and gave a little shiver from the breeze.

Stretch snickered and pulled an item from the pocket of his hoodie and affixed it to his skull. You squinted from the bright light suddenly shining on your face and groaned. 

“Luckily, I have a means to make it not dark.” He replied and offered a second head light to you. You decided to ask why he had multiple of these later.

“You’re lucky I like you.” 

“Oh so very lucky. Let’s go!” 

Stretch was very careful with you as you both walked through the cluster of trees and bushes and whatnot. He kept a hand around yours, and the light pointed down to make sure you were never far behind and never slipped. All the while, the orange dots of his eyes flicked back and forth with each sound in the night. You could hear the hoot of an owl, the chirp of crickets, and even the occasional frog croak.

You stayed put when Stretch let your hand go and started snooping through some bushes. He rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie and dove his hands into a small, muddy puddle, and let out a shout of victory. 

You cocked your head and watched as he approached you, his hands firmly gripping a large frog covered in dirt.

“I got you a friend.”

“Oh my g-, put it down Stretch!”

He fake gasped. “You don’t like my gift?” 

“I love your gift, just not the possibility of it attacking me.” You stepped back and smacked his arm when he moved the frog closer. It was surprisingly relaxed in his hands, all things considered.

Stretch smiled. “He’s fine. He won’t hurt ya!” He cocked his head and hummed. “Can’t tell what kind it is… it’s a wood frog.”

You hummed and nestled your hands in your warm pockets. “Well, we are around trees.” You teased gently. 

He rolled his eyes and crouched back down to the spot where he’d grabbed the little guy and let him go. “Let’s hop to it!” 

Oddly enough, rooting through leaves and bushes was quite fun! Even if it was a little cold. Your fingers gently tingled in the cold night air which left you to watch Stretch more than participate, but it was enjoyable nonetheless! Anything he caught he’d give you a quick show and share a fact or two about the critter before letting it go. It was remarkable that his clothes stayed clean the whole time. 

“This a habit of yours I didn’t know about?” You asked as you were crouched with him as he set free a much smaller frog. It was various shades of brown and you were surprised Stretch saw it even with the light. 

He shrugged. “Eh… consider it a temporary hobby? A lot of these little guys weren’t in the underground, so I’m kinda infatuated by them.”

“Ooh, big word.” 

“Hush.” He pushed you with his elbow with a chuckle. 

You laughed with him and stood back up, walking with him once again. “It’s actually really cute. Even if it’s a little silly to think of you stalking through the night just to look at reptiles and stuff.” 

He hummed and wrapped an arm over your shoulders to gently pull you closer as you both strolled your way out towards the street. “I’m glad my silliness is endearing.” 

“It’s one of your best qualities.” You replied, grinning when you caught the subtle orange that spread on his face. Though he probably thought you couldn’t see it in the darkness.

He rubbed the back of his neck with one of his hands, trying to brush off the embarrassment. “W-well uh… in that case I-OH!”

In a blink, and with speed you’d rarely seen from the skeleton, he was over by a bush and quickly swiped something from the leaves. You tried to ask what was so exciting that got that reaction from him, but he spun and offered you to look instead. 

“Ooh, a lizard.” You smiled and reached out to try to give the rather large critter a pet, but Stretch pulled his hands away. 

“A gecko! A tokay gecko specifically.” He lifted his hands up to his face to look at the little guy closer. “You’re not supposed to be out here. No, you are not.” He hummed and tried to look it over without loosening his grip. 

“He’s not?” You inquired and shuffled closer to him. The little guy looked pretty. The red spots really made him pop.

He shook his head. “Nope. These little guys are actually from uh… Asia I believe? So far away from here. Obviously invasive.” He hummed and cocked his head to the side. “And usually supposed to be pretty aggressive….” His voice drifted off. 

“Looks pretty docile to me.” You observed and leaned against the skeleton, partly to look at the large reptile and partly to soak up his warmth as the cold started to bite a bit more. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. That means he was captive bred. He shouldn’t be out here.” He frowned and held the critter closer to his chest. 

You grinned. “Did you just make a new friend?” You teased, nudging him as he laughed. 

“Nyeh heh, I wish. Regardless of if he was in captivity before, he’s pretty grown up and won’t hesitate to bite to protect whatever they call their territory. Wouldn’t want any of my little ones getting hurt.” He waved his head in motion for you to follow, going back to the original task of going home. 

“What are you gonna do with him then?” You wrapped an arm around one of his own, looking at the reptile that seemed rather content in Stretch’s grasp. 

“I’m gonna make a temporary tank for the night, then turn him over to a shelter in the morning. He’s a beautiful little one, I’m sure he won’t be stuck there long.” 

You smiled. Watching Stretch dote on something the size of his hand was always so sweet to see. You knew a select few details of his past and that kindness is ingrained in his very being, despite some of the demons he obviously has, no matter how much he refused to tell you. Watching him be his authentic self in these moments reminded you of just why you fell for him.

You warmed up in the skeleton house and helped Stretch set up the temporary tank for the gecko. The little guy immediately hid under a hide away log the moment Stretch let him inside. After he was settled, you yawned and sat with the skeleton on the couch. Drowsiness had begun to weigh on you a while ago, but finally sitting down showed you just how tuckered out you were. It was only 5 in the morning, and you were thankful you didn’t have work tomorrow and had every intention of sleeping in. 

You felt the skeleton nuzzle his face against the top of your head and hum. “Happy Valentine's Day, sweet bee.”

You turned to look at him. “Valentines day?” 

“Yeah, it’s technically the 14th, even if the sun isn’t up yet. Had the whole day planned for ya…. If you’re up for that I mean.” he hummed, a shy smile tugged on his face. 

You hummed sweetly and leaned your head back to his shoulder. “That sounds lovely, but I don’t know if I’ll be waking up any time soon for your plans.” You sighed. 

Stretch rubbed your back and pulled you a touch closer. “Well, good thing I had that planned out too. Had a whole lunch and dinner date planned.” 

“Aww.” You smiled and closed your eyes. Lunch and dinner, he’s so sweet. 

…

Wait. 

“Is that why you laughed!?”

Stretch’s cackling filled the living room and you’re once again reminded of another reason why you fell for him. He really does think of everything. 

You groaned and roughly shoved yourself against him, intending to take all the warmth and comfort he could possibly have. “Happy Valentine's Day to you too, you dork.” 

[gym-x-plus]

LEG DAY - db only 😇

another one ✌️

wearing @womensbest DEFINE collection limited edition color TEAL

code PLAMENOVA to save 💸

-warm up-

2 rounds

8 alt low cossack squats

8 alt knee to chest to open gate

4 deep squat to alt sl rocks

if cossack squats are challenging for you, you can replace them by a side lunge variation and do them last within your warm up

-workout-

4 sets each

choose a rep range depending on the weight you have available & it’s difficulty for you

for example

12-16 rdls

8 front squats

12 ea. sl rdls (sometimes i like to do them assisted to target my glutes more, by taking away the stability component and being able to focus on my engagement better)

8 ea. bg split squats

-finisher-

16 ea. curtsy step downs (make more challenging by adding a weight or using a higher platform)

-cooldown-

1-2 rounds, 20 sec each

elevated pidgeon pose

elevated lizard pose

elevated hamstring stretch

standing quad stretch

©️Credit ig @vickyplamenova

#fit #fitness #fitgirl #fitnessgirl #gym #fitnessmodel #workout #squat #sportgirl #abs #glute #glutesworkout #glutegains #hip #leg #legs #legday #cardio #core #body #bodypositive #bodybuilding #bodygoals #backtraining #walking

[meshiinuma]

sighhh thinking abt being in lesbians with fem suguru ,,,,,,,

tw: suggestive

she makes you hang out in the same dressing room stall as her, telling her what you think of every outfit. especially with swimsuits because she doesn't want to be walking around with the bottoms shoved over her underwear, looking silly.

specifically today she was trying on a few swimsuits with you. suguru was toying with the tiny ruffle on the blue gingham tube top. you picked it out for her because of the cute little red bow on the top and the matching bottoms.

"it really looks okay?" she turned to where you were fiddling with your own swimsuit. "of course! you look good in anything sugu," you cooed and kissed her exposed tricep, a detailed sacred heart tattoo taking up most of her left upper arm.

she giggled, "i know," suguru turned back to the mirror and ran her hands over her hips one last time before stripping.

of course you whistled lowly at her bending down to pull the bottoms off fully. she threw them right at your face.

suguru ends up cycling through a few more, choosing which would be worn to satoru's pool party and which would be put back on the rack.

then she lands on a skimpy black bikini set.

"now i wonder who put this here..." suguru turns to you with a knowing smirk as you shy away.

"yeah...i wonder..." she rolls her eyes and starts with the top.

it goes on okay, but she struggled with making it fit right around her tits, "huff i don't think it's gonna fit right," she fiddled with the straps as you got your clothes back on, already completed with your selections.

"lemme see..." you came up behind her and tried to make the straps looser, but found they were extended as far as they could go.

"hm. maybe see if the bottoms fit?" they were equally as strappy with just one thin strip of fabric covering all her lady bits. not too far off from the top, containing two finger sized triangles to cover her nipples.

"i can try adjusting it at home if everything else fits fine, i like how it looks." yet again, she ran her hands over her body and posed like she was in a swimsuit ad made for men who'd never seen a woman as ample as her in their life to jerk off to.

suguru started to pull on the bottoms, but stopped right under her ass. in the mirror, her eyebrows were furrowed and a pout turned her lips downward.

"i think..." you stepped back to give her space as she tried to jump to get the bikini bottom on, "i think my ass is too fat." suguru turned around to look at you in disbelief as the black fabric stretched around her rump.

"...i think you're correct..." you smacked her ass.

then your own hand was smacked away.

"no. later. now help me out of this."

---

suguru holds your opinions in high regard, which is why you're always there with her when she's shopping for clothes (and totally not to also fluster you)

bra shopping is even worse

actually when she's out and about she doesn't wear anything too revealing, usually a thick and loose hoodie + baggy carpenter jeans

or if she feels like it, maybe she'll walk around in a crop top and some ripped jeans that she fills out quite nicely

her carabiner is always somewhere on the left side of her and clipped to it are, 1) her car keys 2) her copy of the keys to the house 3) a lego minifig that looks like you 4) a simple bead lizard you gifted her long before the two of you started dating

whenever the two of you are going out somewhere fancy though, she dresses to the nines

once for a mildly fancy dinner party, she walked out of your shared bedroom in a strapless black dress that clung to her like oil with two slits riding up her thighs and a playful smirk on her face

the two of you were late that day

another time she picked up a gown that had sheer fabric showing everything off

the two of you forfeited going to the event completely

---

"hey."

you startled at the quiet greeting from behind you.

whipping your head around, your poor heart was eased by the sight of your girlfriend behind you.

"hi. what are you doing here?" currently you were supposed to be reshelving books at the library while suguru taught at the ceramic studio.

"returning a book. what's a pretty thing like you doing here?" she leaned closer, her arm going above your head so she could lean as close as possible to your face.

you pressed against the bookshelves behind you, "...shelving...things..." suguru giggled at the waver in your voice.

it's not your fault you get so flustered and nervous around her! she just smells so nice, like fresh herbs and pomegranate, and is so so strong...with her big buff arms that can crush you into powder or gently mold you like you're a lump of clay being thrown on the wheel.

and her lips, two-toned and smeared with something sheer and plum colored every day. pierced too, a shiny lip ring on the left side and an ashley right in the center. her tongue darted out to swipe at her lip ring. if you looked close enough, you could catch a glance of the bar that goes down the middle of her tongue.

"...you listening to me?" finally, you started to pay attention and looked up.

suguru still loomed over you, an eyebrow raised, "i was asking if you wanted to go out for lunch." right. okay.

"yeah, of course. where are we going?" you turned back to the shelves behind you and quickly put back the thick academic tomes in their rightful place.

"it's this really good brunch place, utahime told me about it."

you turned around, the cart next to you fully empty, "alright, lemme go clock out," before you could leave, suguru leaned down to give you a big kiss on your lips.

readily, you returned her affection, but became disappointed when she pulled away.

"we're in public, baby. save it for home, hm?" you pouted.

"hnng...fine." quickly you turned and swiftly walked off with the cart as suguru giggled behind you. she sounded like little bells tinkling.

---

suguru has more downtime at the studio than you do at the library, so she drops in to visit you most of the time

when you come into the studio to visit her, sometimes she's finishing a class while other times she's throwing her newest piece

she actually made most of the dishes and huge plant pots in the house

the second the two of you had fully moved into the house, suguru went ahead and made a lovely dinnerware set that you and her painted together

and then the four huge pots that litter the house

you actually have no clue how or when she made them, but all you know is that they're a bit over half your height and have such an intricate design with dragons and various japanese mythology circling the perimeter

suguru seems proud of them, so you don't mind

she often tries to have date night at the studio because she gets an employee discount

also she can sneak you in after everyone's left and give you a one on one throwing lesson

if you ask about recreating the scene from ghost she'll give you a look then lecture you about your current throwing skills (abysmal) (suguru wants to recreate it with you, she really does! it's just...she's seen couples in some of her classes try it and have incredibly wet clay go everywhere)

suguru tries to make as many functional pieces as possible, pots for her plants, little incense holders she can stick around the house, bookends, and more!

but if you show her a video of something cute (and non functional) you saw on tiktok, you bet she'll try her damn hardest to recreate it for you

---

dates are always artsy or outdoorsy in nature when it's suguru's turn to pick.

today, she's brought you out to a small wooded area near the house with a picnic basket.

"are we almost there yet?" you love spending time with suguru, but god your calves were burning.

"just a few more minutes! promise," she turned around to give you a little kiss at your hairline.

"'kay..."

suguru wasn't lying, it was just a few more minutes of walking through the mildly uneven terrain before a clearing with a huge tree in the center emerged.

"wow..." you looked up at the tree, catching a squirrel running across one of the branches.

"i know. c'mon," suguru grabbed your hand and dragged you to the thick base of the trunk.

you laid down the picnic blanket and smoothed it out as suguru connected her phone to the speaker she brought out.

once everything was set out, she kicked her tennis shoes off and flopped onto the blanket with a huff.

"now are you feeling the burn?" you asked as you spread some triple berry jam on the sourdough she baked that morning.

"yeah...gimme some of that." she leaned forward and took a bite out of your bread and jam.

"wow. rude. taking from the poor and disadvantaged." she took another bite, unperturbed.

you took your first bite as she started to dig through the basket.

"found the lemonade!" suguru sing-songed and poured a glass of her homemade strawberry lemonade for you. (you'd kill people for it. honest to god)

eventually the two of you ate through the main course (kabab tabei that she made out of some meat replacement she needed to finish. the basmati rice with saffron was pinched between suguru's fingers as she brought them up to your mouth. you wrapped your lips around the tips of her fingers and licked every grain off, holding her gaze. the potato tahdig dipped in mast-o-khiar ended up being wiped all over the lower half of your face after suguru leaned forward and stole a bite right from your mouth.) and moved on to dessert.

suguru pulled out a plate of knafeh khishneh, freshly made that morning. she pulled you onto her lap, having you straddle her thighs as she carefully cut a piece.

"say ahh," her voice became soft and sensual as she held a forkful out to your mouth.

you leaned forward to take a bite, crispy sweet goodness filling your mouth.

"oh muh goh..." you moaned around the knafeh and savoured the flavors rolling over your tongue.

it slid down your throat to your belly, "that's so good sugu..." she grinned and kissed you.

the way her lips melded to your own always made you weak in the knees, at least you were sitting down this time. suguru tastes like lemon mint tea and her pomegranate chapstick everytime you kiss her, transferring the taste over to your own mouth. it makes you almost euphoric.

reluctantly, you pulled away from the enchantress that is suguru geto.

"your turn," you whispered in her ear and carved out a slice with the same fork she fed you with.

her mouth opened wide when you brought the fork up, closing once it got close enough.

you watched, entranced, as she chewed with her eyes closed and groaned around her food.

suguru swallowed and you watched as the knafeh made it's way down the column of her throat.

"good?" you asked teasingly.

"so good," she sounded breathless.

that's how the two of you were sat as the plate slowly dwindled until there was only one bite left.

"last one..." this time she grabbed the piece with her hand and fed it to you, bit by bit.

when the last section made it onto your tongue, you licked the sugar off each of her fingers. carefully, like you were at an alter of something more holy than anything that's walked this earth.

suguru just watched you with her lips parted and chest heaving a tad.

once her fingers were licked clean, she gathered you up and held you to her bosom.

"so," kiss! "so," kiss! "adorable!" biiig kiss!

you giggled at the affection and nuzzled underneath her chin as she leaned back until the two of you hit the blanket.

---

two times a week is when you and suguru decide to have date night, one day is what one of you decide and the other is something the both of you decide on together

outside of date night, the two of you try to spend as much time together in general

waking up in the same bed, eating meals together, commuting together, grocery shopping together, etc

sometimes date night is just staying in and making dinner together

you know suguru's getting serious when she pulls out the apron made with thick canvas and dyed a deep olive green

the way she ties it around herself emphasizes her figure and unfortunately you're only human (you grab her boobs from behind a lot. it gets you banished from the kitchen)

most of the time you're able to behave yourself and help with cutting things

dinner date nights usually result in suguru making an incredibly elaborate meal with multiple courses, because of course she overachieves whenever she can

if she needs to let some food rest or cook in the oven for an extended period of time, she'll wander over to where you're sitting and melt into you

cooking so much is exhausting!!

suguru gets her energy back from kissing and coddling you, she says

you'd debate the facts of that if you didn't enjoy her attention focused solely on you that much

---

it's late. late enough that the full moon is flooding through the window and illuminating the whole bedroom.

suguru faces the window that looks out to the empty space behind the house as she peels her bra off.

you stare at the few jasmine (yesterday it was lavender, day before that was moonflower) petals that fall out of the cups, the rest staying in, and wait for suguru to gingerly pick them up from the ground.

the white of the petal greatly contrasts with the dark of the wood floor, making it look like stars bloom wherever suguru goes.

she picked them up and collected the flowers back into her bra.

tomorrow she would spread them out in the river on her morning walk.

from your point on the bed, on your side and below her, it looked like suguru was something coming down from heaven. with the way the moonlight hit her skin and made her glow, almost.

suguru turned to look at you, something sad in her face.

"hi." she sounds meek. quiet. defeated.

"hi." you wanted to help.

slowly and sluggishly she dragged herself over to the bed where you still laid.

she hovered over you, bare except for her underwear covering her lower half.

her rough hand went to the side of your face and you leaned in instinctively.

your eyes felt heavy with fatigue, but you wouldn't fall asleep. not yet. not without suguru.

silently, her forehead bumped against your own and nuzzled into you.

her lips connected with yours shortly after, no tongue though. just something chaste and light. comforting even. she still tasted like lemon mint tea. still tasted like pomegranate. something bitter and smokey was present this time.

once suguru pulled away and your eyes opened, you saw her bottom lip trembling a bit as she looked upon you.

you tried to sit up, but she delicately laid you back down.

in place of you trying to join her standing, she loosely straddled your middle on the bed.

suguru's inky hair was loose from the usual half up bun and surrounded the two of you like a curtain. like the two of you were the only people in the world.

"what's wrong?" you were so quiet the question sounded almost inaudible.

all she did was bury her head in your shoulder and kiss at any exposed skin she could find. you think you felt hot tears sliding down your neck and soaking into your top.

you kissed the side of her head and let her cry it out, holding her steadfastly.

eventually all her tears dried up and all she did was breathe heavily into you.

"i love you." she was still quiet, but there was some strength in her voice. fullness.

"i love you too." you maneuvered her to be cuddled into your side. if you looked close enough you could see the deepened eye bags under her, normally bright, fox eyes.

suguru clung to you like a second skin until you got too sweaty from the skin on skin contact.

"put a shirt on and then we can sleep, hm?" the suggestion was quiet, but she heard you perfectly fine. she can pick your voice out in a crowd of one hundred, easily.

when she moved to get off the bed and change, you shivered at the lack of warmth. suguru noticed, of course, and spared you a backward glance before taking the huge fluffy blanket at the foot of the bed and tucking you in as gently as possible.

"wait for me, okay?" she kissed your forehead and moved over to the dresser with all of yours and hers clothes.

the way suguru moves, so graceful and powerful, makes you want to get on your knees and do whatever she wished of you. you know she'd do the same for you in a heartbeat.

she flits around the room one more time, picking up a stray sock, closing a drawer, firmly shutting the closet doors. the scrunchie she wears every morning is still on the floor in the same place she flicked it off earlier.

the t-shirt suguru pulled on is actually one of yours. you only noticed after she got in bed and cuddled as close to you as possible.

"that mine?" sleep plagued your voice.

"probably," suguru sounded equally as tired.

you turned to face her fully, "what's up, babe?" your hand extended out to grab her own that rested in front of her face.

suguru's face softened at your worry, "tomorrow. i'll tell you tomorrow." she leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead.

her free hand stroked the side of your face and you sighed at the affection, "promise?" you yawned, getting cozy and cuddly under the toasty blanket.

"promise." suguru yawned after you and tucked herself under your chin.

your eyes closed and you were taken to dreamland with the assurance your lover would be alongside you.

[mergedshadows-fanartfunart]

[Image Description: 5 panels for the Merged Shadows AU in grey scale, set on Death Mountain at night. Panel 1: A woman’s silhouette in gold, stretches a hand out to Newt. "Take up your sword-" she says. Newt has his tongue sticking out, posed to pounce. "One more try..." he says. Panel 2: A lizard lays on the rock. Panel 3: Newt raises the Lizard up with a cheer "Ah HA!" Panel 4: A close up of the Lizard. "You shall be... Bob." Panel 5: A view of Death Mountain, lava and Newt both spot colored in red. A "Riiinnnng" emanates from the mountain. Newt holds the lizard on his head, "I guess I should go figure out what's up with that magic stuff huh Bob?" Newt says. End ID]

(Starting from after this page)

Newt will take other Lizard Name options if you wish to provide them. Bob is a placeholder. In the meantime, shall Newt- Ask his Dad about it, Look for the ringing in the Mine, Look for someone who might know in the Village at the base of the mountain?

[palomahasenteredthechat]

He sits in the backseat, his face in shadow.

It's taking too long. He shifts his weight, uneasy, his fingers picking at the seam of the leather seat.

It's so late it's early. He hasn't slept since getting off the plane. The tight feeling in his chest is still there, pressing on him throughout the long flight and two films and the pretend doze so he wouldn't have to talk to one more bloody person.

He feels empty.

Once on a school trip his class had come upon a lizard's habitat just after it had finished shedding its skin. They had looked upon it and marveled at the exact shape it still held, as if the ghost of the creature was still there, posed on the rock. He understands it all too well now.

What is taking so long? He's sweating, even though the air in the car is pushed to maximum cold. His head aches. His joints ache.

He thinks of summer for a moment. It will be summer soon. Something to look forward to. Close your eyes and think of Italy.

Every moment between now and then stretches on, an interminable pathway of grey. Discomfort. Anger. Disallusionment.

He thinks of Vic's words: They'll forget you soon enough.

He just has to push. Keep going. Book the next one, and the next one, and then he'll know when to stop. When it will be summer again.

[galesdevoteewife]

The Tav Ask Game

Thanks @hotnerdywizard for the tag!!💜💜💜

Name: Zilvera Nickname: Drow, Zil, Spider Height: 5′ 2" Gender: Female

Orientation: Affair with her ex-mistress. Had a myconid, think Emperor is hot, fall in love with Gale. Not sure what's the proper term to phrase this lol

Nationality/identity: Menzoberranzan

Favourite fruit: Not a picky eater. Whatever juicy, sour and sweet, like pomegranate or berries.

Favourite season: Winter

Favourite flower: Sussur bloom

Coffee, tea or hot chocolate: Poisonous herbal tea

Avg hours of sleep: 4 hours trance but always vigilant.

Dogs or cats: Dogs, cats, owlbears, lizards, dolphins... in a distance

Dream trip: Sigil, the city of infinite possibilities! And Astral Plane, she dreams of seeing the astral whales.

Number of blankets: 1, but she has a full set of towels for all kind of purpose.

Random fact: Super flexible. Stretch in weird poses when she's alone and pondering things.

Like, very weird poses lol

No pressure, only if you are in the mood to play! <3 I would like tag @xpao-bearx @linaartss @thetavolution💜💜

[manyothermusingsofmine]

And Pose || Drabble

Fandom: Xmen

Warnings: Characters talking about bigotry moments

Wordcount: 1931

Summary: There's a lot of ways to try and get your mind off things. For Nightcrawler and Gambit, their preferred distraction just happens to be the same. AN: Look I'm not a fitness kinda person but even I know this isn't proper spotting from what I've seen spotting to actually entail. -------------------------

Acrobatic routines, gymnastics and workouts helped get him out of his head, usually. Right now Kurt was doing a pull up set that, if he was honest, he didn't completely have his full focus and attention on. The repetition barely causing any needed strain to make him point his attention on something but the thoughts that lingered in his mind, a slight sigh of frustration escaping him drawing the attention of his friend.

"You alright there? You don't seem to be all in it today."

"Mh."

Red eyes flicked over to the blue mutant, as Gambit slowly lowered himself off the bar he was using to train his core; the two always keeping an eye out for each other during these sessions. And it was unlike Kurt to give such a short, numb answer- or be in such poor form. As his feet touched the floor, Gambit let go of the bar, turning to his friend.

"This isn't doing much for you, mon ami. If you actually want to get some work in, I think you're better off training your flexibility."

"Maybe..."

"What's on your mind?"

"A lot."

It said enough; he wasn't ready to talk about it. Lightly crossing his arms over his chest, Remy observed Kurt for a while.

"Well, Gambit will tell you this much, mon ami. You can either go through ten more sets of this and get nothing worthwhile done, or work on something that'll actually challenge you to focus. Your choice."

Kurt thought about it for a moment, eyes flicking away to the side. With a light sigh, he let go, easily landing on the thick mat below him and leaving to another that wasn't directly below any of the bars, but close enough to keep an eye on Gambit and have Gambit keep an eye on him. Starting a warm up first, he tried his best to focus. And thankfully, even the warm up stretches seemed to help more in clearing his mind.

"Did something happen on the run, this mornin?" Gambit asked, grabbing the bar above him and starting with pull ups himself, "because I saw you before you and Miranda went to get supplies, and you were fine."

"That obvious?"

"Know you long enough by now to know when something's up."

Kurt huffed ever so slightly, slowly building up his stretches until he felt comfortable dropping to the floor in a split, both of his legs on each side of him as he lowered the rest of himself as much as he could.

"Same nonsense, different day. You bring a duo like Miranda and me to the mall, and eventually you start hearing the whispers. Random guys wondering why she's hanging around me. Nothing I haven't heard before; at this point I almost wish they would come up with a new insult to call me instead of everything I've heard a million times before."

"So, something else must've happened, or this wouldn't be doing laps in your mind."

"Never thought I'd hear it in reverse."

"What do you mean?"

Pushing himself back up and folding his legs back together, Kurt stretched himself as far forward as he comfortably could, thinking for a moment how to explain the emotional pressure point he felt the whole day had been prodding at.

"I decided to take her to the little convenience store on third avenue."

"The one run by Monsieur Moray? Gargoyle looking fella?"

"Yeah. He seems to have gotten a new cashier, a lizard lady,” he wanted to say that that was good, as the owner had very much needed a few extra hands around the place, but he had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going. Gambit just looked at Kurt, halting his pull ups for a moment, "she thought I couldn't hear her when she asked him why I brought a regular human with me."

There was a hint, a mere tinge of annoyance to Kurt's voice, but it was enough to tell Remy that this had really pushed a nerve. Kurt pushed himself back up into a regular sitting position. His anger, while quiet, was no less boiling over; "Which, first of all, she isn't, thank you very much. And even if she was just a regular human, so what? Isn't that the whole point of what we're trying to do? How.... How does it help any of us if both mutants and humans are acting like we can't interact with each other, ever? That we're too fundamentally different to get along?"

Gambit didn't really react aside from the odd noise to indicate that he was still listening, fully understanding that Kurt just needed to get this off his chest.

"Besides, how many regular humans do you know with wine red hair and emerald green eyes?"

"Plenty of them dye their hair in wild colors and wear colored contacts for the fun of it. It don't make them mutant."

Kurt groaned in response; it was a logical answer and Remy was right about it, but it still hit him wrong; "I know that. I've been friends with regular humans before, Remy, including ones that dye their hair. If Miranda was a natural blonde dying her hair that shade of red, like she claims she is, the roots would start to show in no time."

"Claims she is? To whom?"

"Humans. Ones she doesn't want to reveal her being mutant to."

Silence fell between the two as they simultaneously decided to focus on their routines, with Gambit going back to his pull ups and Kurt slowly pushing himself up into a handstand, deciding he would try and see how long he could hold that for. It did require more focus than things had before, his mind quieting the bubbling anger in him as it was now more worried about keeping balance for as long as he could. After a few long moments, he let his feet touch the mat again, getting up and stretching.

"All I'm saying is," he guided his leg into a vertical split as he spoke, "things are hard enough without mutants gatekeeping who's mutant enough to be part of the club. She shouldn't have to come with disclaimers and peer reviewed degrees to prove she's a mutant; she shouldn't have to feel like she's not believed unless she shows how she vanishes from sight. And even if she was just a regular human; that should be fine too. That should be stellar, even. We should be getting along. That aside, I would love it if people trusted me to make my own decisions in who my friends are."

"Mh. Look, for what it's worth, mon ami.. You're right. Everything would be easier if everyone got along. 'S a shame that we don't. No one else gets to have a say in how you two feel about each other, either way."

As he arched his leg over, holding on with one of his hands and almost looking like one of the little dancers in a jewelry box, he considered Gambit's last words for a moment longer. How they felt? That had been a thing that lowkey sang around in his mind. Gambit didn't need to know about the shift, there, but when he really thought about it, what did they have? A few kisses, a shift in considering each other partners and... Not much more than that, really. It begged the question what either of them really wanted out of this, and he had been trying to figure out a way to talk to her about it. Without anyone else overhearing, preferably. But why? Why did he not want anyone to overhear if he told her he liked her? Was that not enough; did he have to come with a much heavier declaration than that, and would he scare her off if he did label his feelings as more intense than just liking her?

Seeing his own faint reflection in one of the tiled walls nearby, something in the back of his mind chimed in that these two feelings where more intertwined than that. He was worried about how she would react if he said he genuinely liked her. Because... what if she wanted to keep this where this was now? Casual, lowkey, without anyone knowing; so it would be easier to call it quits when the novelty of him wore off? His balance quivered and he couldn't correct it, fumbling out of his pose with a lot less grace than he had getting into it, landing back on both his feet and needing a few steps to the side before he felt like he had steadied himself, staring at the wall for a moment longer

What if, at some point, she wanted to be with someone who made hiding among non-mutants a lot easier? Someone less... obviously mutant. He flinched ever so slightly as the last two words weren't said by his own voice, but by the distant and cold tone of his mother. He turned back to Gambit.

"What's that even supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it says on the tin. Whether it's the convenience store cashier or some random Joe trying to impress his friends that he could totally go over and talk to the pretty lady if he wanted to; neither of them have any say in whatever is happening between you and Miranda."

"Whatever is happening?" Kurt dryly repeated, with Gambit giving a slight smirk, "by that logic it's not up to you to dictate how we feel, either."

"Which I'm not doing, mon ami."

"I sure hope you're not."

He shook everything off, knowing fully well that if he left it with that weird stumble he would undermine his own sense of confidence. Lowering himself to the mat once more, he pushed himself up until all of his weight rested on his lower arms onto the mat, before slowly but surely curving his spine and holding his balance that way.

"Anyway, I do know one thing for sure, if you're looking to impress her you should show off that flexibility of yours more."

"I'm not doing this to impress anyone, Remy. I'll leave 'using acrobatics to woo people' to you, thank you very much."

"Who says I'm doing this just to impress women?"

"People, Remy, not just women; anyone really, who's willing to toss their eyes into the room when you're doing your pole dancing routine, where the door is always conveniently open just wide enough for curious eyes."

"Hey, that's-"

"Core and strength practice, ja, you've said that before and I'm not saying it doesn't take skill and strength. I'm saying that if you didn't want to show off, you'd actually close the door instead of making it convenient for, oh, I dunno, Shadow? To look in?"

"Merde!" and with that Gambit's concentration was now broken, slipping off the bar and onto the mat a little more brick like than he had intended, slightly putting his fists on his hips. He was going to say something, but there was a strange lingering emotional tension in the room that even he picked up on, and didn't feel like prodding at too much.

"... How about we stop talking about this for a bit?"

"Fine by me."

"Two more sets, and then maybe a sparring match? I think we could both use the distraction."

"... Agreed. Sure. Two more sets, then spar. And, Remy?" Gambit looked back to Kurt, halted just second before he had intended to leap back up on the bar, "Thank you. For listening."

"Of course, mon ami."

[pratanumindpowerdevelopment]

yoga chart for losing weight of 5 kg in 1 month

A well-planned yoga routine can effectively support weight loss, helping you shed 5 kg in one month when combined with a balanced diet and lifestyle changes. Yoga not only burns calories but also improves flexibility, muscle tone, and mental well-being.

Yoga Routine Overview

Duration: 5-6 days per week

Focus: Dynamic flows, strength-building poses, and relaxation

Intensity: Start with beginner to intermediate poses, gradually increasing intensity

Weekly Yoga Plan

Day 1 - Dynamic Flow (45 minutes)

Warm-up (5 minutes):

Deep breathing (Pranayama): 5 rounds of deep inhalation and exhalation

Gentle stretches: Neck rolls, shoulder rolls, and wrist stretches

Sun Salutations (Surya Namaskar - 15 minutes):

Perform 8-12 rounds of Surya Namaskar at a moderate pace

Focus on breathing and form, gradually increasing the pace

Standing Poses (20 minutes):

Warrior I (Virabhadrasana I): 3 sets of 30 seconds each side

Warrior II (Virabhadrasana II): 3 sets of 30 seconds each side

Triangle Pose (Trikonasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds each side

Chair Pose (Utkatasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds

Cool-down (5 minutes):

Child’s Pose (Balasana): 1-2 minutes

Corpse Pose (Savasana): 3 minutes of relaxation

Day 2 - Core and Strength-Building Yoga (45 minutes)

Warm-up (5 minutes):

Gentle stretches, focusing on the spine and legs

Core Strengthening Poses (20 minutes):

Plank Pose (Phalakasana): 3 sets of 30-45 seconds

Boat Pose (Navasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds

Dolphin Plank Pose: 3 sets of 30 seconds

Bridge Pose (Setu Bandhasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds

Strengthening Flow (20 minutes):

Downward Dog (Adho Mukha Svanasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds

Four-Limbed Staff Pose (Chaturanga Dandasana): 3 sets of 10-15 seconds

Locust Pose (Salabhasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds

Cool-down (5 minutes):

Seated Forward Bend (Paschimottanasana): 1-2 minutes

Corpse Pose (Savasana): 3 minutes of relaxation

Day 3 - Yoga for Flexibility and Balance (45 minutes)

Warm-up (5 minutes):

Deep breathing and gentle stretches, focusing on the spine

Standing Balance Poses (20 minutes):

Tree Pose (Vrksasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds each side

Eagle Pose (Garudasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds each side

Dancer’s Pose (Natarajasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds each side

Half-Moon Pose (Ardha Chandrasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds each side

Hip Openers (15 minutes):

Pigeon Pose (Eka Pada Rajakapotasana): 3 sets of 1 minute each side

Butterfly Pose (Baddha Konasana): 2-3 minutes

Cool-down (5 minutes):

Supine Spinal Twist (Supta Matsyendrasana): 1-2 minutes each side

Corpse Pose (Savasana): 3 minutes of relaxation

Day 4 - Power Yoga (45 minutes)

Warm-up (5 minutes):

Gentle stretches and deep breathing

Power Yoga Flow (30 minutes):

Sun Salutations (Surya Namaskar): 10 rounds at a faster pace

Warrior Sequence: Warrior I, Warrior II, Reverse Warrior, and Extended Side Angle (Hold each for 30 seconds)

High Lunge to Plank Pose: Flow between these poses for 5-10 reps per side

Crow Pose (Bakasana): 3 attempts, hold for 15-20 seconds each

Core Yoga (10 minutes):

Boat Pose (Navasana): 3 sets of 30 seconds

Side Plank Pose (Vasisthasana): 3 sets of 20 seconds each side

Cool-down (5 minutes):

Child’s Pose (Balasana): 1-2 minutes

Corpse Pose (Savasana): 3 minutes of relaxation

Day 5 - Relaxing and Restorative Yoga (45 minutes)

Warm-up (5 minutes):

Gentle neck, shoulder, and back stretches

Restorative Poses (20 minutes):

Supported Bridge Pose: 3 minutes

Reclined Bound Angle Pose (Supta Baddha Konasana): 3 minutes

Reclining Twist (Jathara Parivartanasana): 1-2 minutes each side

Yin Yoga Stretches (20 minutes):

Dragon Pose (Lizard Pose): 2 minutes each side

Shoelace Pose (Gomukhasana): 2 minutes each side

Butterfly Pose (Baddha Konasana): 2-3 minutes

Cool-down (5 minutes):

Corpse Pose (Savasana): 5 minutes of deep relaxation

Day 6 - Active Rest or Light Yoga (30 minutes)

Light Yoga Flow (30 minutes):

Gentle Sun Salutations: 5 rounds at a slow pace

Focus on deep breathing and mindful movement

End with Child’s Pose and 5 minutes of Savasana

Day 7 - Rest Day

Rest and Recovery: Take a complete rest day to allow your body to recover. You can incorporate light walking or simple stretches if you feel up to it.

Additional Tips for Yoga-Based Weight Loss:

Stay Consistent: Practice regularly to maximize weight loss and flexibility.

Focus on Breathing: Proper breathing (Pranayama) during poses helps burn more calories and improves focus.

Diet: Complement your yoga routine with a calorie-controlled diet, rich in fruits, vegetables, lean proteins, and whole grains.

Hydrate: Drink plenty of water throughout the day, especially after your yoga sessions.

Sleep: Ensure you get 7-8 hours of quality sleep each night for recovery and to support weight loss.

By following this yoga chart, you can work toward losing 5 kg in a month while also improving your overall strength, flexibility, and mental well-being.

[the-leyline-directory]

Trying to get things down for post-dawntrail Priming Silvaire. Cause he's now more balanced he is more 'human' as opposed to the voidsent primal of Mephistopheles. The wings that were once 'flesh stretched and stipped of feathers' are healed! And functional of shiny blacks [as he still has an overabundance of dark aether!]. The 'helm of bone to cage away light' also isn't there anymore :D! Other notes cause eventually I'll pick one of these poses and finish it properly;;;

crystal in core/center of chest [y'know his usual thing, crystal of light]

horns [non-zero chance I change the shape]

black feathered wings and scaling [scaling similar to bird?? talons?? that fade into scale like lizard when it gets close to skin. slightly metallic]

Hair is more white/blond and fades into blue flames \o/ also more slightly wavy like his original but that just goes in hand with the 'movement' of flames etc

facial hair etc is replaced by scaling with more details on cheekbones and across neck/chest/back

across his spine is ridges that are [pointy cause of how I draw] but they're actually safe to touch and are smoother/I an enamoured thinking of dragging fingers across them…..

has tail!! It's not a monster-mouth like voidsent, but is actually just lengthy whip like one.

his scars are highlighted by blue aether \o/ [not pictured sharp teeth/long tongue/slitted eyes you know the usual traits]

Also noted cause its poor sketching but he's more muscular than an Elezen from Eorzea! More strength stats than dex stats if that makes sense.

And a few other things but then i'm just writing them out. As said I'll clean one of these poses up eventually \o/

[recapitulation]

let me walk you through my hot yoga experience

be me

find the correct room judging by the fact that this one is hot as hell

be hot as hell (<- positive quality I like it hot)

wait around and stretch

damn it's been a long time

check clock it's 10 mins after the start time

am I missing something like am I in the wrong room

hear some chatter in the back about how they can't get ahold of the instructor

the room successfully bullies some guy into leading everyone informally

he's clearly a regular and has some sequences and phrases memorized

at other times though he's clearly winging it

"if I were taking this class I would want a shoulder stretch right here I think"

[from the back of the room] "then do it!"

it was so fun he was clearly just doing whatever. "I think lizard pose would be good here"

by 30 mins in I am sweating more than I ever have in my entire life (<- not in any way an exaggeration)

take a break in the lobby so I don't die

owner apologies to me and refunds my class

resume hot as hell operations

I was not expecting this because it was my first class but they handed out cold washcloths that smelled like lavender about 10mins before we were done

that washcloth was the most beautiful thing I had ever beheld

it was fun I am definitely going back 👍

[gym-x-plus]

home, gym, wherever workout 😇

wearing @nvgtn digital seamless leggings in taupe, code VICKY 🤍

crop top is @womensbest comfort collection in buff, code PLAMENOVA 🤍

routine details :

8 ea. hip flexor to ham stretch

8 ea. elevated side lunge

8 dynamic t-spine stretch

8 dynamic child’s pose

8 ea. assisted pistol squats

16 alt cossack squats

16 ea. figure 4 hip thrusts

16 ea. leg lifts

8 alt lizard hip openings

x2 rounds

if anything is too advanced or uncomfortable feel free to modify or skip it altogether. if unsure how to modify i’m happy to help

©️Credit ig @vickyplamenova

#Beautiful #fit #woman #fashion #gym #fitnessmotivation #fitness #FindYourBalance #sportgirl #lifestyle #motivationmonday #happy #fitnessaddict #selfie #home #love #workout #work #workinprogress #fitnessgirl #summer #sunset #sun #squats #gymrat #legday #leg #legs #strong #fitnessmodel

[vendettamuses]

Fun facts about Morsel

Morsel was incredibly difficult to train. Its owner had to use a lot of lizards and mice to get them to listen

Morsel is younger than Meatball. As a result, it ended up mimicking Meatball since it was introduced to them young. It crawls around on all fours (like a lizard, which is very funny), pushes things with its head, grabs things with its mouth instead of its hands, and screams at a threat rather than making itself look bigger.

Morsel prefers live meat rather than scraps like Meatball. It gets its fix from animals like rats, lizards, fish, birds, deer, raccoons, possums, and anything else it can catch. It doesn't hunt humans like other mimics do.

Morsel is very timid in comparison to other mimics. Rather than hiding to hunt, Morsel has learned to hide to protect itself and rest. It only ever emerges when signaled by Meatball or when its too hungry to sleep.

Morsel prefers to scream and hide from danger, like a Trimming. However, if that danger is posing a threat to Meatball, Morsel's behavior changes. It arches its back to make itself look bigger, or it might even stand and fan its hands out to look much larger like Mimics usually do. It also roars and screams. It won't immediately attack though. Morsel will try to scare the danger off to protect Meatball first. If the situation escalates, only then will Morsel attack by biting and scratching.

Morsel will rarely pursue a threat. It only ever gives chase if the threat is in what it deems to be its territory.

Morsel doesn't chase or attack with the intention of killing. But if the threat in question happens to die as a result of it defending itself, it will not let that meat go to waste.

Morsel loafs like a cat. And Meatball will snuggle into its side.

Morsel is easily distracted by lizards, light glares, and rats.

Morsel has a strange habit of staring up at the night sky.

Like Meatball, Morsel will sometimes be more active at night and stay up screaming into the early hours of dawn.

Due to its altered diet of subsisting on significantly smaller prey, Morsel tends to appear very lazy at times and will spend most of its hours sleeping to conserve energy. If it is well-fed, it becomes more active, alert, and playful.

Morsel is very protective of Meatball and will often carry the Trimming in its mouth or on its back. It stays close to Meatball at all times and maintains the Trimming within its line of sight.

Like Meatball, Morsel is very affectionate and loyal - once you earn its trust. It enjoys cuddling, warm baths, nesting in blankets, being pet, and listening to its owner talk to it. It's smart enough to know its name and come when called and will chirp or chitter as it approaches to let its owner know it is there.

Like Meatball, Morsel has a habit of chewing on non-nutritive substances when bored or overly hungry. It will chew on furniture or blankets to satisfy its urge to chew.

Morsel stretches and licks itself like a cat.

Morsel's yawns are horrifying.

Morsel will contort its body to fit on tiny dog or cat beds.

Morsel has a collar but unlike Meatball's, there is no bell on it. This is to help it hunt. (And also because Meatball chewed it off.)

[prayurvedayoga]

Lizard Pose (Utthan Pristhasana) is an intermediate level yoga pose to open your hips and stretch your hamstrings. #yoga #meditation #fitness #yogapractice #yogainspiration #love #yogalife #yogateacher #yogalove #yogi #yogaeverydamnday #mindfulness #gym #yogaeveryday #workout #pilates #wellness #health #yogaeverywhere #yogachallenge #namaste #yogagirl #motivation #yogapose #fitnessmotivation #healthylifestyle #healing #yogajourney #nature #selfcaresunday

[mechawriterperson]

Lendon sighed in relief.

“Well at least he’s okay.” Lendon said.

“Well except for us, right AMB Y/N…” Jeff said to AMB Y/N only to still see his terrorized face.

“Umm, AMB Y/N… whats wrong?” Jeff said in concern.

“Yeah AMB Y/N. WHAT. IS. THE. PROBLEM!?” Cartoon Kid Y/N said as he wrapped his arms in a rubbery way around AMB Y/N’s shoulder as he smiled widely at the scarred Y/N.

“Uh, umm… M-Mech, uh…” AMB Y/N awkwardly stuttered trying to find the right words.

Except it was hard because of the intimidating staring of Cartoon Kid Y/N’s minions were giving him. Seeing that he was too scared to talk, Cartoon Kid Y/N rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Well I guess I have to say it.” Cartoon Kid Y/N said before he breathed in.

“The Mech person was so scarred they ran away. Quite rude of them to do, I just wanted to know what was so “cool” about their journal. I wasn’t even gonna hurt them, but now since they want to play this game. Then I’ll play their game… but in the cartoonish way.” Cartoon Kid Y/N said as he sat in between AMB Y/N, Lendon, and Jeff.

“Well you did kinda came off as... scary and evil. Like kinda took over this bar a bit.” Lendon said trying to sound calm but was a really nervous.

This caused Cartoon Kid Y/N to laugh like a maniac. Jeff, Lendon, and especially AMB Y/N watched in horror as the Cartoonish Child Reader rolled around the floor laughing with insanity. He jumped up and down, moving and stretching his body at unimaginable expressions and poses.

His minions looked at their leader with a hint of sadness and concern, but was overshadowed with their serious and stern expressions.

When Cartoon Kid Y/N stopped laughing, he got up and stood still for a minute. Yet the silence was broken when he moved just his eyes to look at Lendon. Lendon terrified by that hugged his boyfriend tightly with Jeff returning the hug.

Sadly it wasn’t enough to protect him, because Cartoon Kid Y/N stretched his right arm to Lendon. Grabbing the Lizard Mobian by the neck, making Lendon gasped in shock as he tried to break free from the grip but to no avail.

It wasn’t forceful enough to kill him, but it was enough where it made it hard to breathe and hurt like heck.

“LENDON!” Jeff cried out trying to run up to help him.

Except the Cartoonish Thylacoleo Y/N stopped him, pressing shell in his seat. Making Jeff watch in horror as Lendon was getting strangled by the Cartoonish Child Reader.

Lendon watched Cartoon Kid Y/N smile sadistically. Lendon’s eyes would then widen in shock, as he watched Cartoon Kid Y/N remove the top part of his head like a bottle. The Child Reader would tilt his head to show Lendon the inside.

The head was hollow filled with seemed to be the brain, but broken and dusty. Once Lendon got a good look at it, Cartoon Kid Y/N lifted his head back to look at Lendon again. Instead of his wide scary smile, his mouth wasn’t visible because it was closed. He just starred at Lendon blankly and said.

“For Trillions years I was alone, I wanted to find my daddy to be happy. Yet my face couldn’t be seen, so I attracted many monsters. They treated me like a doll, a puppet on string to fulfill the obsessive desires. It’s a thing a lot of us here can relate…” He stated by the last part looking around the room at the Cartoonish Animal Y/N’s and AMB Y/N, who all made sadden faces due to what he was referring about about.

“Those Trillions of years with my time with those monsters made me learn something. That others want to control everything because they’re greedy and paranoid. Funny food, puppeteering, being forced to be alone in a room, and hurt made me desire one thing. Do you know what I wanted?” Cartoon Kid Y/N asked Lendon who was still in his choke hold.

“Uh… F-Freedom? URK-“ Lendon said as he gasped for air.

“Exactly! So do you know want to know what I used my freedom for?” Cartoon Kid Y/N smiled a bit.

“W-What? ACK-“ Lendon choked.

“To bring more freedom across all of Dimensionality. Taking down those controlling people who repressed freedom across 70 4th Dimensional Universes.” Cartoon Kid Y/N happily said as he raised his arms including the one that held Lendon up as he spun around with joy.

“How does that work!?” Jeff said causing Cartoon Kid Y/N to turn his head and look at Jeff.

Jeff immediately regretted that because now the Cartoonish Child Reader ran up to him before he could blink and said.

“When people desire something, they’ll go to me. I try to help them in return they help me free their world. They are free to decline, but once they make the deal… theres no ending it. Which in turn causes them to fight me with trying to control. So I choose to fight and pursuit for freedom to defend against it. Many call me villain or hero, but I’m neither. I’m who I choose to be, I choose to be the Y/N that freed an entire 4th Dimensional Universes even if it they get destroyed. My quest for freedom will never end till control no longer exists.” Cartoon Kid Y/N responded to Jeff.

Jeff looked horrified by the Insane Child’s ideolgy, but then noticed him drop Lendon. In turn the Cartoonish Thylacoleo Y/N let him go. With him immediately running to Lendon to see he was okay.

Cartoon Kid Y/N watched as the two love reptiles hugged each other. He only smiled as he watched the two contemplate what they’ve experience, he didn’t even feel any guilt.

Suddenly he turned his head around to his back side to see AMB Y/N holding a chair. He was holding the chair about to hit Cartoon Kid Y/N. Yet he didn’t seem mad, but smiled and said.

“That chair is way fragile to knock a person out. Can you please hand it over so I can make it better?” Cartoon Kid Y/N asked as he smiled.

“Uh, sure.” AMB Y/N said confusingly by let him have the chair.

He’ll regret that.

Because as he did, he saw Cartoon Kid Y/N put goggles on and started to polish and reverb the chair.

When he was done the chair looked brand new.

“There, now it’s even sharp enough to cut into flesh.” Cartoon Kid Y/N said casually.

“Wait? What-“ AMB Y/N is cut off as everything went dark for him.

Later, at Mech’s place.

*Ding-Dong*

Mech opened the door, then they noticed a present in front of them. It was a simple white box wrapped in a red ribbon. There was a tag to it that read.

“To: Mech”

“From: Cartoon Kid Y/N”

The tag wasn’t the only thing that made Mech nervous. They saw how the box had pinkish stuff leaking through.

When they opened the box, they were mortified to what they saw. AMB Y/N’s head in the box having this frustrated expression. Mech’s eyes widened as AMB Y/N’s lettered eyes shifted to look at Mech’s eyes. Somehow he was still alive so then he said.

“Mech I’m not mad at you, I’m just a bit frustrated at you. Because when you left Cartoon Kid Y/N got pretty mad. When we told him about what your Journal could do, he sent me to deliver this message. Because he thinks you could go mad with power with that thing (which probably could likely happen). Some suggestions he gave you is; go back to the Fourth Wall Bar (which he took over by the way) and hand it over. If you do that I’ll get my body again (this isn’t my first rodeo). Lendon, Jeff, and the Clock Guy will be free (he’s using them as hostages). You can destroy the Journal right now and tell him that you did, he’ll come over to see if you did. If you lied and tried to attack him, he won’t hesitate to kill you. If you said the truth he’ll free Lendon, Jeff, my body, and the Clock Guy and he won’t bother you again. If you tell him that you aren’t going to destroy it and wouldn’t care if they would die. Then I wouldn’t have a body for a while, he might spare them unless they want death, but be warned if you ever bump into Cartoon Kid Y/N again… he will kill you if you grow a God Complex because of that Journal. Those aren’t options those are suggestions, you do you…” AMB Y/N said blankly.

It was quiet for a moment before Mech raised their hand, only for AMB Y/N to quickly to respond.

“Yes us Y/N’s blood is pink in color, we don’t know why. Although Cartoon Kid Y/N’s blood is usually inky. Also no, Jeff and Lendon are not okay from that. Well except the Clock Guy, he just willingly allowed them to be a hostage. He was so calm and patient about it, but then I realized it was something like this. He’s probably immortal and you probably know how terrible that is to have, because I do. Since he can see the future, he saw some outcomes where he’ll make it out alive or how he die. So he probably accepted those fates and is waiting to see what he calls (pretend I have hands) “his ending to his story” which makes me wonder what his life was like.” AMB Y/N said as Mech stared down at him.

"oh don't worry about me" *The clock guy said as i turned to face him* "w-what how did you get out??" *I asked, he laughed* "oh please, i've seen their type. I can get out anytime, plus the fourth wall is something no one can take over... not unless i give them a day of running it.... Mr. Mech you finished the prologue of your recent story... but now you must go through this predicament.."

*I stare at the floor* "listen i don't have a god complex, let alone the power to be a god, sure my dumbass journal give me the power bring universes to life but... still.. it's just stories... nothing more. I have no intention of abusing my... i wouldn't even say it's my power... i just want to create stories and do art... look whatever Cartoon Kid Y/N is doing isn't good... but i assure them that i ain't some evil sorcerer or whatever

[pennypixker]

Hilda and Cynthia - Home Invasions

The Maker's slender fingers danced across the holographic display, each swipe revealing new universes, new possibilities, new prey. The command center hummed with quiet power, screens illuminating his sharp features with an eerie blue glow as reports and footage from countless dimensions filtered through his carefully constructed algorithms. His eyes, calculating and cold, paused on a particular world—one that promised a technology that could revolutionize Obsidian's most cherished endeavor. That being the capture and containment of heroines of course.

"Fascinating," he murmured, enlarging the footage from Earth-PK, a realm where humans and strange creatures coexisted in an odd symbiosis. The creatures—Pokémon according to the scout's report—possessed remarkable abilities, yet were contained in devices no larger than a baseball.

The Maker leaned forward, his impeccably tailored suit rustling softly in the silence of his private sanctum. He replayed the sequence. A young human tossing a red and white sphere at a fire-breathing lizard. A flash of light. The creature, despite its obvious power, sucked into the device like water down a drain. Storage. Retrieval. Command. All in a pocket-sized package.

"The implications are... considerable," he said to no one in particular, though the room's sophisticated audio systems captured every word for later analysis. His current methods of heroine capture, while effective, required significant resources. Teams of specialists, custom restraints, transport vehicles, security protocols. The process was cumbersome, wasteful.

These "pokeballs" however, offered elegant efficiency.

His thoughts drifted to Shanna the She-Devil, one of their more recent—and troublesome—acquisitions. The operation to capture her had been particularly resource-intensive. The Maker recalled the footage with perfect clarity, having reviewed it dozens of times to identify areas for improvement.

Kraven had tracked her through the urban jungle studying her patterns, her weaknesses. When the trap was finally sprung, Shanna had fought with the ferocity of the jungle cats she emulated. Only sling loading her by her panties from a helicopter had cowed her enough to be taken back to Obsidian HQ.

"Computer, access live feed from Trophy Room, Subject: She-Devil," the Maker commanded.

The central screen flickered, transitioning to a high-definition feed of a glass enclosure. Inside, Shanna the She-Devil, the self-proclaimed protector of wildlife, was displayed in a rather humiliating position. Her powerful body, once so dangerous, now hung helplessly, her predicament a testament to her current vulnerability.

Her leopard-print panties were looped into a pillory that held her arms out horizontally, resembling a crucifixion pose. The panties stretched beyond any reasonable elastic limit, reaching the overhead anchor point, supporting her entire body weight and creating relentless pressure. Her long blonde hair cascaded down, partially concealing her face, yet her occasional twitching revealed her consciousness.

The Maker zoomed the camera in, clinically observing the stress patterns in the fabric, the indentations in her flesh, the trembling of her legs as they dangled uselessly a foot above the floor. Despite her current immobility, she remained a valuable specimen. Her enhanced strength and connection to primal forces made her particularly interesting to Dr. Zola's research division.

But even with subjects as valuable as Shanna, the current containment methods were inefficient. Climate-controlled rooms, custom restraint systems, round-the-clock surveillance, specialized feeding protocols—all requiring extensive resources. The pokeballs might offer a solution. Digital storage. Miniaturization. Simplified transport.

The Maker's fingers tapped a command, and the screen split to show Emma Frost in her own specialized containment. The White Queen's leotard was stretched to its limits by an automated wedgie machine, the once-pristine white fabric now discolored with sweat as a mechanical paddle rhythmically spanked her exposed flesh.

The Maker's gaze flicked to another screen, and with a deliberate tap, he revealed yet another scene of triumph: footage of Bobbi Morse writhing in her trophy cage. Catching Mockingbird had been almost too easy for Obsidian. Crossbones had caught her off guard outside of her own apartment and simply lifted her dress over her head. He used her own clothing to bag her up and had her trussed up back to Obsidian HQ. She now dangled awkwardly from her purple thong, the tight fabric bunched at her shoulders in a brutal and unrelenting wedgie.

All of these containment methods, while effective and satisfying to Obsidian's more sadistic members, required space, power, and constant maintenance. The potential of the pokeball technology was too significant to ignore.

The Maker pressed a button on his console. "Connect me to Kraven."

After a moment of static, the rugged face of Sergei Kravinoff appeared on a smaller screen. The hunter was in his private quarters, sharpening one of his many ceremonial knives.

"I have need of your unique talents," the Maker said without preamble.

Kraven set down the blade, his scarred face impassive. "Kraven listens."

"I am sending you on an acquisition mission to a parallel Earth. This one is... unusual." The Maker transmitted the relevant files to Kraven's personal device. "The inhabitants use devices called 'pokeballs' to capture and store powerful creatures. I want you to bring back samples of this technology and, more importantly, someone who understands how to use it."

Kraven's eyes narrowed as he reviewed the information. "These creatures they capture... they are worthy prey?"

"Some appear to be formidable, yes. But that is not your concern. Focus on acquiring the technology and an operator. The dimensional transport will be ready in two hours. Standard acquisition protocols apply."

A predatory smile spread across Kraven's face, revealing teeth filed to points. "As you wish. Kraven will bring you what you seek. The hunt begins."

The transmission ended, and the Maker returned to studying the footage from Earth-PK. He watched a trainer command a captured creature to battle another, the instant obedience, the perfect control.

He switched back to the feed of Shanna, admiring her toned body and bountiful proportions. Imagine what could be accomplished with technology that could digitize, store, and control such specimens with the press of a button.

The Maker's hands weren't numb as he typed additional notes into the mission parameters—they never were—but he felt a warmth in his chest, an uncomfortable heat that he recognized not as guilt, but as anticipation. The Obsidian organization was about to enter a new era of efficiency.

And the heroines of the multiverse would suffer for it.

—

Hilda, the 18 year old brunette trainer, crept through the undergrowth, wincing as twigs snapped beneath her boots with the subtlety of firecrackers. The forest path to Celestic Town and Cynthia’s gym lay just fifty yards to her right, a well-traveled route that promised encounters with other trainers—encounters she wasn’t emotionally prepared to face. Not after what happened last time. Even now, three weeks later, she could feel phantom pains where her underwear had cut into her flesh as she dangled from that oak tree, legs kicking uselessly at the air while passing trainers pointed and laughed.

The memory made her thighs clench involuntarily. She’d been so confident that day, challenging the trio of trainers who called themselves the Victory Sisters. Three battles, three losses. Her Pokémon had fought valiantly but simply weren’t experienced enough. That should have been the end of it—a handshake, some pointers, maybe a little good-natured ribbing about her battling style.

Instead, the oldest sister had smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and said, “You know the stakes when you challenge us, right?”

Hilda hadn’t known. Nobody had told her.

Before she could process what was happening, the three sisters had surrounded her. Her arms pinned, her legs kicked out from under her, and her shorts yanked down to reveal the white cotton panties with little pink bows that her mother had insisted were “practical but still feminine.” The sisters worked with the efficiency of a pit crew—one holding her down, another yanking her panties up with vicious force, the third looping the stretched fabric around a low-hanging branch.

“A reminder of what happens to losers,” the middle sister said, giving Hilda’s rear a stinging slap before they walked away, laughing.

Hilda had hung there for hours, the elastic digging trenches into her most sensitive flesh, her face burning with humiliation as trainers traveled the path beneath her. Some pitied her, others took photos, but none helped. Not until nightfall, when the thin fabric finally surrendered to gravity’s insistence, depositing her in an ungraceful heap on the forest floor.

Hilda shuddered at the thought and adjusted the straps of her backpack, moving cautiously through the underbrush. Her brown hair bounced in its messy ponytail, a few loose strands clinging to sweat on her forehead. She tugged at her red tank top, which clung tightly to her petite frame and seemed determined to ride up at the slightest provocation. Her denim shorts were no less obstinate, cutting into the tops of her thighs with every awkward step. These were the best clothes she could find after losing her last pair to the sisters.

“Just a few more hours of hiking,” Hilda whispered, tugging her baseball cap lower over her eyes. “Then I’ll reach Celestic Town and challenge Cynthia properly. No more ambushes.”

She patted the six Poké Balls attached to her belt, taking comfort in the presence of her team. They’d trained hard these past weeks, growing stronger together. This time would be different. This time—

A sound like tearing fabric filled the air, followed by an electric crackling that made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Hilda froze, one foot suspended mid-step as a shimmering distortion appeared in the air before her—a ripple in reality that expanded into a swirling vortex of blues and purples.

“What in the world?” she breathed, instinctively reaching for Pikachu’s Poké Ball as she backed away.

Before she could retreat further, a figure stepped through the portal. Hilda blinked, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks. The man—if he was a man—stood at least six feet tall, his lean body covered in ritualistic scars and tribal tattoos. He wore a vest that appeared to be made from an actual lion’s mane, and various weapons hung from a belt around his waist. His dark hair fell in wild tangles past his shoulders, framing a face that might have been handsome if not for the predatory intensity of his gaze.

Hilda’s mind raced through her mental catalog of Pokémon. Was this some rare, humanoid type she’d never encountered? Some legendary creature? The man-thing’s eyes focused on her, narrowing with interest.

“Um… hello?” Hilda attempted, her voice embarrassingly small.

The creature tilted his head, studying her like she was an interesting insect he’d found on his boot.

That settled it. This had to be a Pokémon—some bizarre, fighting-type she’d never heard of. Maybe even a new discovery! Excitement temporarily overcame her fear as she unclipped Pikachu’s ball from her belt.

“Okay then,” she said with more confidence, “let’s battle! Go, Pikachu!”

She threw the Poké Ball with practiced precision. It burst open in a flash of light, materializing her faithful electric companion in a battle-ready stance, cheeks already sparking with anticipation.

“Pika-pika!” the yellow creature chirped, sizing up their unusual opponent.

The man’s expression shifted from curiosity to something resembling amusement. He spoke, his accent thick and his words oddly formal.

“The little mouse comes to challenge Kraven? This is most unexpected entertainment.”

Hilda’s confidence faltered. Pokémon didn’t speak—not in human language anyway. Which meant…

“You’re not a Pokémon?”

“Kraven is the greatest hunter in any world. And you, little prey, have something I seek.” His eyes flicked to the Poké Balls on her belt.

Fear returned, flooding her system with adrenaline. “Pikachu, Thunderbolt!”

The electric rodent leapt forward, releasing a crackling bolt of electricity that should have dropped any opponent to their knees. Instead, Kraven moved with inhuman speed, sidestepping the attack and closing the distance between them in a single bound.

Before Pikachu could recharge, Kraven’s hand shot out, gripping the Pokémon by the scruff of its neck and lifting it to eye level.

“Fascinating creature,” he mused, seemingly unaffected by the jolts Pikachu still generated. “But not what Kraven came for.” With casual ease, he tossed Pikachu aside; the Pokémon landed with a soft thud against a tree trunk.

“Pikachu!” Hilda cried, reaching for another Poké Ball, but Kraven was already upon her.

His hand clamped around her wrist with terrifying strength—enough to paralyze her but not to break bones. He plucked the Poké Ball from her fingers, examining it with keen interest.

“This device,” he said, turning it over in his free hand. “This is what The Maker desires. And you, little one, will explain its workings.”

“Let me go!” Hilda twisted in his grasp, her boots scrabbling against the forest floor. “I’m a Pokémon Trainer! You can’t just—”

“Kraven takes what Kraven wants,” he interrupted, his smile revealing unnervingly sharp teeth. “And today, Kraven wants you.”

In a fluid motion born of years spent subduing wild beasts, Kraven swept Hilda’s legs from under her while maintaining his grip on her wrist. She hit the ground with a startled “oof,” her cap flying off. Before she could catch her breath, Kraven flipped her onto her stomach, one knee pressing into the small of her back.

“No! Stop!” Hilda’s fingers clawed at the dirt as she tried to drag herself away, but the pressure on her spine increased.

“The prey always struggles,” Kraven observed clinically. “It is the nature of the hunt.”

His large hands gripped the waistband of her jean shorts from behind. With a quick, brutal motion, he yanked upward.

Hilda screamed as the denim compressed against her most sensitive regions, pain immediate and agonizing. The rigid fabric had no give; she felt seams straining.

“These do not stretch as Kraven anticipated,” the hunter muttered, momentarily perplexed by the resistance of the material. He adjusted his grip and pulled again with significantly more force.

The sound of ripping fabric echoed through the forest as the jean shorts surrendered. The back seam split first, followed by the side seams, the destruction of the garment exposing Hilda’s underwear—small white panties with delicate pink trim that contrasted sharply with the violence of the moment.

“Ah, better,” Kraven said, discarding the torn denim and immediately seizing the far more pliable underwear. “Now we see the true prey.”

“Please, don’t—” Hilda’s plea was cut short by her own gasp as Kraven yanked her panties upward with brutal efficiency.

The elastic stretched as it was forced between her buttocks, the fabric digging into her flesh with excruciating precision. The pain was immediate and overwhelming, sending bright spots dancing across her vision.

“Good material,” Kraven commented, as if discussing the quality of rope or netting. “Strong. Flexible. Will serve our purpose well.”

He maintained pressure on her back while working the stretched fabric with practiced ease. Hilda felt her legs manipulated, bent backward at the knees until her feet sat near her buttocks. Then, in a maneuver she couldn’t fully comprehend through the haze of pain, Kraven threaded each of her feet through the leg holes of her own underwear.

“The jock-lock,” he explained conversationally, as if teaching a hunting technique to an apprentice. “Most efficient for immobilizing prey when proper restraints are unavailable.”

The wedgie, already excruciating, reached new heights of agony as her panties were forced to contain both her lower body and her now-trapped feet. The fabric cut into her waist, her buttocks, and her ankles, creating a self-contained restraint system that rendered her legs useless.

Tears streamed down Hilda’s face, carving dirt-streaked trails as humiliation burned hotter than pain. Her body trembled with agony and the growing certainty that whatever awaited her beyond that portal would eclipse any previous torment.

Kraven produced a length of rope from one of his belt pouches, binding Hilda’s arms against her sides. With her legs immobilized by the jock-lock wedgie, the additional restraint completed her helplessness.

“The prey is secured,” Kraven announced to no one. He gathered the fallen Poké Balls from Hilda’s belt, examining each briefly before storing them in a pouch. Then he knelt beside her, rolling her over to study her tear-streaked face.

“You will serve Obsidian well, little trainer. The Maker will be pleased.”

Hilda could only whimper, her body a map of pain under the merciless grip of her underwear. Kraven hoisted her over his shoulder with casual ease, balancing her bound form across his broad back. The movement sent fresh waves of agony through her as the wedgie shifted and settled, finding new ways to torment her.

“We return now,” Kraven said, striding toward the still-swirling portal. “Your new life begins.”

As they approached the dimensional gateway, Hilda made one last, desperate attempt to call for help, but her voice emerged as a strangled sob. The last thing she saw of her world was Pikachu, regaining consciousness and staggering to its feet, too late to save its trainer from the hunter’s prize.

Then they were through the portal, and Hilda’s world dissolved into swirling blues and purples, carrying her toward a fate that would make her previous humiliation seem like a childhood game.

—

Hilda’s shoulders ached from the unnatural position, her arms stretched above her head where steel cuffs secured her wrists to a hook in the ceiling. Her legs dangled uselessly, toes barely brushing the cold metal floor of what appeared to be a laboratory crossed with a medieval dungeon. Harsh fluorescent lights revealed equipment she couldn’t identify—some clinical and sterile, others medieval and menacing. A small round man with wire-rimmed glasses circled her like a vulture examining something not quite dead, his pen scratching notes on a tablet as he muttered in an unfamiliar language.

After exiting the strange portal, the wild hunter had tossed Hilda to an awaiting group of men in scrubs and face masks. They quickly removed her tank top and dragged her, sobbing, into their laboratory. Now she dangled in just a thin white bra and panties, the fabric barely protecting her from the chill of the air or the eyes of her captors. Her long brown hair had come undone during their rough treatment, wild strands falling into her face.

“Please,” Hilda begged, shivering from cold and fear. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

The short man peered up at her with dispassionate interest. “You will continue to tell us,” he said matter-of-factly. “Much more.”

He tapped a command on his tablet, and Hilda’s world turned upside down—literally—as the hook holding her wrists descended along a ceiling rail while another caught at the waistband of her panties. Within seconds she was hanging by both ends, bra and underwear pulled taut between two metal clamps like an elastic suspension bridge.

Her entire weight shifted onto those makeshift supports, sending bursts of pain through her shoulders and hips as both articles of clothing dug viciously into her skin. She gasped, tears welling in her eyes as humiliation burned hotter than discomfort.

“Subject continues to demonstrate remarkable resilience to conventional interrogation methods,” Dr. Zola said, switching to accented English as if suddenly remembering she was present. “Perhaps this indicates something about the physiological adaptation of humans in her universe? Fascinating hypothesis. Requires further testing.”

He spoke as if she weren’t there, as if she were a specimen under glass rather than a terrified girl stolen from her world. Hilda tried to summon defiance, but hours of questioning had worn away her resistance like water over stone.

“I’ve told you everything I know,” she croaked, her voice raw from screaming. “I’m just a trainer. I don’t know how the Poké Balls are made.”

Dr. Zola paused his circling to peer at her over thick lenses that magnified his eyes to unsettling proportions. “Yes, yes, so you have said. Repeatedly. But you see, I find it difficult to believe that someone who uses a technology daily would have absolutely no understanding of its fundamental principles.”

He approached a control panel set into the wall, adjusting dials with the precision of a concert pianist. “Perhaps you require additional motivation to access those buried memories.”

What followed was a cycle of torment designed with scientific precision. When Hilda couldn’t answer a technical question—which was nearly every question—Zola activated the underwear system. Sometimes it bounced her repeatedly, the elastic snapping against her most sensitive areas with rhythmic cruelty. Other times it spun her, leaving her nauseous and sore from the blurred motions and fabric violating her rear.

And when those methods failed to produce the detailed schematics Zola desired, he introduced the water.

“Temperature as a stimulus has proven highly effective in memory retrieval,” he explained as a large tank was wheeled beneath her dangling form. The surface of the water was covered with a thin layer of ice crystals. “The sympathetic nervous system’s response to extreme cold often bypasses conscious resistance.”

The hook system lowered until Hilda’s lower body was submerged in freezing water. She screamed as the cold knifed through her, a thousand tiny daggers stabbing at once. Just as the numbness began to provide relief, the system yanked her back up, the underwear hooks pulling with particular viciousness.

“The transition between temperature extremes is especially effective,” Zola noted, making another entry on his tablet. “The subject’s neural pathways experience confusion, making them more susceptible to suggestion.”

Down into the ice water. Up with a wedgie that felt like it might split her in two. Down again. Up again. The pattern continued until Hilda couldn’t distinguish between the pain of cold and the pain of her underwear cutting into flesh.

“Please,” she sobbed between immersions, “I really don’t know how they work. We just buy them at the Poké Mart. Nobody makes their own.”

Zola sighed, pausing the cycle. “Disappointing, if true. However, I have made some progress reverse-engineering the samples Kraven acquired.” He gestured to a workbench where the Poké Balls from her belt had been disassembled, their components spread out in precise rows. “The quantum storage matrix is particularly elegant. Whoever designed these in your world has a remarkable grasp of dimensional physics.”

He approached the bench, lifting what appeared to be a partially assembled prototype. “My working theory is that the device creates a localized subspace pocket where matter is converted to data, stored, and then reconverted when released. The compression algorithms alone are worth studying.”

The laboratory door hissed open, and Hilda turned her head enough to see the tall, slender figure who entered. Unlike Zola’s disheveled scientific appearance or Kraven’s wild hunter aesthetic, this man moved with the precise control of someone accustomed to absolute authority. His tailored dark suit remained unwrinkled despite the laboratory’s humidity, and his sharp features betrayed no emotion as he surveyed the scene.

“Progress report, Doctor,” the man said, his voice cold and smooth as the ice water.

Zola straightened immediately. “Maker! I was just explaining to our guest that despite her limited technical knowledge, I’ve made significant headway with the prototype.”

The Maker approached Hilda, studying her suspended form with the detached interest one might show a moderately interesting paint color. “And what have you learned from her?”

“Unfortunately, it appears she is merely a user of the technology, not a creator. Her understanding is superficial at best.” Zola adjusted his glasses nervously. “However, I have developed a working prototype based on my analysis of the original devices. It should function for a single capture, though the storage stability is untested.”

“Acceptable risks for a field test,” the Maker decided. “Contact Kraven. He will return to this world and acquire this ‘Cynthia’ person. The prototype will provide an excellent opportunity to test both the technology and its effects on human subjects.”

Hilda sobbed quietly, her body trembling from cold, pain, and the knowledge that she had just condemned another person to this nightmare. The hooks lowered her into the freezing water again, but she barely registered the cold. Her guilt burned hotter than any physical sensation.

“What of this one?” Zola asked, gesturing to Hilda with his tablet pen.

The Maker considered her dispassionately. “Keep her intact. If the other subject proves uncooperative, having a familiar face to threaten may prove useful. And she can verify the accuracy of any information we extract.”

“Very good,” Zola nodded, making another note. “I shall prepare the prototype for Kraven immediately.”

—

Cynthia adjusted the hem of her long black coat, smoothing invisible wrinkles as she waited for her next challenger. The Celestic Town gym stood silent around her, its ancient stone pillars and battle-worn arena floor bearing witness to thousands of contests over the decades. Her blonde hair fell in a perfect curtain over one eye, the rest cascading down her back in a waterfall of pale gold that contrasted sharply with her all-black attire. She was the region's most feared and respected gym leader for good reason—her team was nearly unbeatable, her strategies flawless. The challengers who earned her badge truly deserved it.

"Another no-show," she sighed, checking the antique watch strapped to her slender wrist. The trainer—Hilda, according to the registry—was now two hours late for her scheduled challenge. Unprofessional, but not unexpected. Many trainers lost their nerve when faced with actually battling the champion.

Cynthia ran her fingers along the six pokéballs at her waist, each containing a partner she'd raised from infancy. Her Garchomp alone had sent countless challengers crying back to Pokémon Centers, their teams fainted and their confidence shattered. Perhaps Hilda had heard the stories and decided to train longer before attempting the challenge.

The gym itself reflected Cynthia's dual passions for battling and archaeology. Ancient artifacts lined the walls in specially designed display cases, protected from the often explosive nature of high-level Pokémon battles by reinforced glass. The battle platform rose from the center of the room, surrounded by stadium-style seating for the spectators who often gathered to watch her matches. Today, those seats stood empty, dust motes dancing in the shafts of light that speared through the high windows.

Beneath her long coat, Cynthia wore her signature outfit—a black top, matching pants, and comfortable heels that somehow never impeded her movement during the most intense battles. Few noticed the yellow thong she preferred for its comfort during long days at the gym, visible only as the faintest outline beneath her fitted pants. Practical undergarments were essential for a professional of her caliber.

Cynthia had just decided to call it a day when a sound like tearing fabric echoed through the cavernous space. She turned, one hand instinctively reaching for Garchomp's pokéball, as reality itself seemed to split open near the gym entrance. A swirling vortex of energy appeared, blues and purples spiraling into a tunnel that led... elsewhere.

"What in the world?" she muttered, her usual composure momentarily disrupted by the unprecedented phenomenon. In her years studying ancient Pokémon and artifacts, she'd never encountered anything like this.

A man stepped through the portal—if "man" was the right word. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, his muscular frame adorned with tribal markings and what appeared to be a lion's mane fashioned into a vest. Various weapons hung from his belt, and his wild hair framed a face that spoke of hunts and kills stretching back through years of violence.

Cynthia's hand closed around Garchomp's pokéball, but she didn't release it yet. As gym leader, it was her responsibility to assess threats before acting. This could be some elaborate entrance from a flamboyant challenger, though her instincts screamed otherwise.

"Welcome to Celestic Gym," she said evenly, her voice betraying none of the caution prickling along her spine. "Are you here for a challenge, or is this a social call?"

The stranger's eyes—dark and predatory—swept over her with an evaluating gaze that made her skin crawl. When he smiled, his teeth seemed unnaturally sharp.

"Kraven has come for a challenge, yes," he replied, his accent thick and unfamiliar. "Though perhaps not the sort you are accustomed to facing, Cynthia."

Something cold settled in Cynthia's stomach. "So you have heard of me, yet how do I not know of you?"

"The little bird sang sweetly," Kraven replied, taking a step forward. "Hilda sends her regards."

Cynthia's eyes narrowed. So this man had something to do with her missing challenger. "Where is she? What have you done?"

"She is... contributing to science," Kraven said, his grin widening. "As you will soon be doing."

That was enough. Cynthia's thumb pressed the release button on Garchomp's pokéball. "I don't know who you are or where you came from, but if you've harmed that trainer—"

"Kraven comes not to explain but to collect," the hunter interrupted, reaching for something attached to his belt—not a weapon, but a pokéball.

It looked wrong somehow—the design slightly off, the coloration inconsistent, as if someone had attempted to recreate the device without fully understanding its function. Before Cynthia could process what was happening, Kraven hurled the device toward her with unerring accuracy.

"What are you—" Her question died as the ball struck her chest and burst open.

Unlike a normal pokéball that would release a creature in a flash of light, this one seemed to consume. Cynthia felt a horrifying sensation as her body began to dissolve from the point of impact, breaking down into particles of light that were sucked into the device. She didn't even have time to scream before the world around her disappeared.

And then—darkness. Not the absence of light, but the absence of everything.

Cynthia floated in a void that stretched infinitely in all directions yet felt crushingly small. Her body existed as data now, as information patterns suspended in virtual space. She could still feel, still think, but everything was wrong. Her perception had been fundamentally altered.

"Hello?" she called, or tried to call. Did she have a voice here? Did she have a mouth? She couldn't tell if the word had actually formed or if it was merely an impulse in whatever passed for her mind in this digital prison.

The space around her—if "space" was even the right concept—began to shift. The void compressed, folding inward like a universe collapsing. What had been endless emptiness became confinement, pressing against whatever constituted her form in this realm.

Panic bloomed, primal and overwhelming. Cynthia had faced legendary Pokémon, criminal organizations, and apocalyptic threats without flinching, but this—this fundamental violation of her physical existence—broke through all her carefully constructed composure.

She tried to move, to struggle against the compression, but her body responded in fragmented, unpredictable ways. Parts of her seemed to retain their physical properties while others dispersed into data streams. The sensation was like being simultaneously everywhere and nowhere, intact and dismantled.

The compression continued, the virtual storage constricting around her digitized form with relentless precision. It squeezed against her awareness, creating pressure without pain, constraint without contact. The closest analog in her experience was being buried alive, but even that comparison failed to capture the alien nature of her imprisonment.

"Let me out!" she screamed into the void, her words existing only as data packets lost in the stream of her own deconstructed consciousness. "Help! Somebody help me!"

No response came. No indication that anyone could hear her. Just the endless compression as the pokéball's storage system optimized her data footprint, squeezing her essence into the minimum space required.

But the more she struggled, the more the virtual space seemed to resist, adapting to her efforts and increasing the compression. It was as if the pokéball recognized her attempts at escape and responded by tightening its hold.

"Please," she begged, her once-proud composure shattered by the fundamental violation of her existence. "I can't breathe in here. I can't move. I can't—"

Could she even breathe in this state? Did she need to? The questions only intensified her panic. She'd been reduced to information, to code, yet somehow retained the sensations and fears of her physical form. It was a contradiction that her mind couldn't reconcile.

The compression pulsed, squeezing tighter before briefly relaxing, only to constrict again. Each cycle felt like the system testing her limits, determining how compact her data could become before corruption occurred. She was being optimized, processed like any other captured creature.

Cynthia screamed again, a data-stream of terror and rage that dissipated into the void without impact. The proud gym leader, the woman who'd faced down legendary Pokémon without flinching, reduced to a prisoner in a pocket-sized hell of someone else's making.

And the worst part—the absolutely unbearable realization—was that whoever controlled the pokéball now controlled her fate. She would remain compressed in this digital limbo until they chose to release her, if they ever did. Her existence had been reduced to a toggle switch in someone else's hand.

The virtual storage constricted one final time, reaching what seemed to be its optimal compression state. Cynthia's consciousness fragmented further, portions of her awareness shutting down as the system determined them non-essential for storage purposes.

As the darkness claimed more of her mind, one last coherent thought formed: if she ever escaped this prison, she would ensure that whoever had done this to her would experience the same terror, the same violation, the same crushing sense of helplessness.

If she ever escaped. If.

—

The laboratory air crackled with anticipation as Kraven placed the modified pokéball on the examination table. It vibrated occasionally, small tremors that suggested something inside was fighting to escape—or perhaps fighting to maintain its coherence against the prototype's unstable containment algorithms. The Maker studied the device with clinical interest while Dr. Zola hovered nearby, fingers twitching with the barely contained excitement of a scientist on the verge of either breakthrough or catastrophic failure. Neither outcome particularly concerned him, as both would yield valuable data.

"The capture was successful," Kraven reported, his voice a low rumble in the sterile space. "She had no time to resist. One moment the mighty trainer stood ready for battle, the next—" he snapped his fingers, "—she was gone, sucked into the device like water down a drain."

The Maker nodded, his expression betraying nothing. "And the portal technology functioned without complications?"

"Dimensional transition was stable," Kraven confirmed. "No pursuit. No witnesses."

"Excellent." The Maker turned to Zola. "Your assessment of the containment stability?"

The rotund scientist adjusted his glasses, peering at readings displayed on a nearby monitor. "The quantum matrix is experiencing some degradation at a rate of approximately 2.7% per hour. Not catastrophic, but concerning for long-term storage." He pointed to a fluctuating waveform. "See here? The subject's data pattern is demonstrating unusual resistance to standard compression algorithms. Most fascinating."

"She is a fighter," Kraven said with something approaching respect. "Even digitized, the prey struggles."

"Will the degradation affect retrieval?" The Maker asked, ignoring Kraven's observation.

Zola hesitated, his fingers dancing nervously against his tablet. "Theoretically, no. The reconversion process should still function. However, I must caution that this is a prototype. The materialization sequence may not proceed with optimal precision."

"Meaning?"

"There could be... glitches. Data corruption manifesting as physical anomalies." Zola's eyes gleamed behind his glasses. "But that is how science progresses, yes? Through practical experimentation."

The Maker considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Proceed with retrieval. I want to assess the technology's viability before committing further resources."

"Of course!" Zola practically bounced with enthusiasm as he approached the examination table. "We should maintain safe distance. Initial energy discharge may be substantial."

The three men moved back, positioning themselves behind a transparent safety barrier. Zola activated a mechanical arm that lifted the pokéball from the table and positioned it in an open area of the laboratory.

"Initiating retrieval sequence in three... two... one..." Zola pressed a button on his control panel.

The pokéball split open, releasing a blinding flash of energy that forced them to shield their eyes despite the barrier. A high-pitched whine filled the air, oscillating in pitch as data attempted to reconvert into matter. When the light faded, the results were immediately—and catastrophically—apparent.

"Oh dear," Zola murmured, eyes widening behind his glasses. "Most unexpected."

Where they should have seen a fully materialized woman, there was instead a bizarre partial manifestation. The conversion from digital to physical had stalled midway, creating what appeared to be a superposition of states. Cynthia's posterior and upper thighs had fully materialized in the physical world, the smooth curves of her buttocks clearly visible. But the rest of her body remained caught in some liminal space, a flickering, translucent suggestion of form that seemed to exist partly in their reality and partly elsewhere.

It was as if her backside was stuck through a hole in the fabric of reality, while the remainder of her struggled to complete the transition.

"Fascinating," The Maker said, approaching the anomaly with scientific curiosity. "The materialization prioritized certain body regions over others."

"Hmm, yes," Zola agreed, circling the partial manifestation and taking readings with a handheld scanner. "The conversion algorithm appears to have established a materialization priority queue based on mass density. Most interesting."

Kraven tilted his head, studying the phenomenon from a more practical perspective. "She is trapped between worlds," he observed. "Half here, half there."

Indeed, the only solid, fully materialized portions were Cynthia's buttocks and upper thighs. The rest of her body appeared as a ghostly outline, visible but insubstantial, flickering in and out of full perception. Another notable detail quickly became apparent.

Her clothes hadn't fully materialized with her. The only garment to survive the transition was a thin yellow thong that had stretched itself tightly between her cheeks, wedging deeply. The rest of her clothing must have been deemed non-essential for digital storage, rendering it omitted from the conversion algorithm.

"It appears the conversion process had difficulty with non-biological materials," Zola noted, pointing his scanner at the materialized portion. "Her clothing did not successfully transition."

"Release me!" Cynthia's voice cried out, echoing strangely as if coming from multiple directions at once. Her head emerged briefly above the outline of her body, eyes wide with rage and panic before flickering back into intangibility. "Do you hear me? Let me go!"

Kraven smirked, amused by the sound of their captive's distress. "Even in this state, her spirit remains unbroken."

The Maker observed the struggling form with an air of clinical detachment. "Fascinating. She retains full awareness and consciousness across both dimensional states."

"You bastards!" Cynthia's voice resonated again, filling the laboratory with a raw mix of fury and desperation. "You can't do this to me! I swear I'll—"

Her threats dissolved into incoherent noise as she flickered rapidly between partial materializations. Her visible limbs kicked uselessly against the floor, while the virtual portions pulsed with frustrated energy.

Zola adjusted his glasses and chuckled softly. "She is quite animated for someone in such a precarious condition."

"Perhaps we should give her some assistance," Kraven suggested with a predatory grin. He approached the partial form and reached for Cynthia's thong, wrapping his fingers around the flimsy material.

"Don't you dare—!" Cynthia's protest cut off in a squeal as Kraven yanked the thong upwards with brutal force.

The wedgie sent shockwaves through her glitching form, briefly pulling more of her body into reality before snapping back from the digital realm. Her head reappeared momentarily, mouth open in silent outrage before vanishing again.

"There," Kraven said, admiring his handiwork as he kept the thong taut. "That should encourage completion of the transition."

"Indeed," The Maker agreed, gesturing for him to continue. "See if further stimulation resolves the materialization lag."

Kraven obliged eagerly, jerking up on the thong again and again in a series of vicious tugs that left Cynthia's legs flailing helplessly. Each pull wrenched more of her translucent outline into physicality but also drove the fabric deeper until it nearly disappeared between her cheeks.

With one final yank, Kraven pulled so hard that the delicate material snapped with a loud twang.

Cynthia's upper torso burst fully into reality, arms flailing at last in solid form but now entirely exposed above her still-materialized buttocks.

"NOOOO!" Her scream resounded through both planes as she realized that she was almost nude except for scraps of yellow fabric clinging to her hips.

"Fabulous!" Zola exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight at their success. "A perfect field trial!"

Cynthia glared at them through tear-filled eyes, trembling with humiliation and rage as she curled into herself, hands trying futilely to cover what little remained of her modesty.

"You monsters," she sobbed through gritted teeth as she struggled against the hopelessness of her situation. "I'll make you all pay for this...

"You will help us perfect this technology," The Maker interrupted, "unless you prefer to remain in virtual storage indefinitely."

Cynthia's defiance wavered, the threat of being trapped back in the pokéball silencing her fury for a moment. She glared at them, hatred burning in her eyes, but she knew she had no choice. "Fine," she spat, her voice a mix of venom and reluctance. "I'll tell you what I know. But when I get out of here—"

The Maker turned away, his interest in her threats already waning. "Once we have the information we need, make her available to the agents," he instructed Kraven. "A trophy in the break room should be sufficient motivation for the others."

The hunter nodded, a smile playing on his lips at the suggestion. "As you wish."

Zola examined the readings on his monitor, pleased with the outcome. "I will begin implementing her suggestions immediately. It seems we are close to a fully functional system."

Cynthia felt a cold dread settle over her. They had no intention of letting her go, even after she cooperated. Once they had perfected the pokéball, she would be nothing more than another trophy to them, a captive to torment at their leisure. Her body trembled with rage, but the realization was clear: she had traded one prison for another.

—

The Maker stood in the doorway of what Obsidian's agents had begun calling "The Half-Life Lounge," his sharp features illuminated by the room's ambient lighting. Three weeks had passed since the initial pokéball experiment, and what had begun as a technological failure had evolved into something far more insidious. The break room hummed with low conversation and occasional laughter as off-duty agents relaxed, drank, and entertained themselves with the room's unique features—features that moaned and whimpered and occasionally screamed when subjected to sufficiently creative attention.

The lounge itself was designed for comfort, with plush seating, a well-stocked bar, and subtle lighting that created an atmosphere of exclusive decadence. But no agent came here for the furniture or the premium liquor. They came for the attractions mounted at strategic locations throughout the space.

Mounted between the bar and a richly upholstered sofa were two familiar forms, each suspended in that peculiar state of partial reality. Hilda and Cynthia's lower halves—pantied, bare-legged, and intimately exposed—protruded into the physical world while the rest of their bodies remained trapped in flickering, digital limbo.

"Help! Let us go!" Hilda's voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once, carrying a mix of panic and humiliation.

"This is inhumane! Please stop!" Cynthia's voice joined the pleading chorus, tinged with anger and desperation.

But Hilda's legs kicked helplessly, her dainty white panties wedgied deep between her cheeks. The fabric stretched with each spasm, accentuating her vulnerability. Beside her, Cynthia's thighs strained against her thong, the yellow fabric a vivid mark of her captivity.

Two agents lounged nearby, drinks in hand as they admired the spectacle before them.

"Haven't seen the new one yet," said a burly operative with an Obsidian logo tattooed on his bicep. He took a long swig from his glass and nodded toward Hilda's struggling form. "She screams nice."

"All part of the Maker's latest sale pitch," replied his companion with a grin. "Portable captives. Best parts only!"

Both men laughed and approached the captives eagerly.

"Please! No more!" Hilda's cries intensified as they closed in.

The tattooed agent grabbed a fistful of her panties and yanked upward with relish. Hilda's legs flailed wildly, kicking at air as her wedgie dug deeper into soft flesh.

"Aaahhhh! Stop it!" Her pleas resonated through the room, mingling with Cynthia's renewed protests as two more agents joined in on their fun.

"Look at this," one said, grabbing at Cynthia's remaining thong and pulling it high above her waistline. The flimsy material cut sharply across her skin as she twisted futilely against its bite. "She's practically gift-wrapped for us!"

The blonde gym leader bucked against their attentions, but every movement only seemed to excite them further.

Another agent smirked as he watched Cynthia struggle. "Still thinks she's too good for us," he remarked before delivering a stinging slap to her exposed cheek.

The impact echoed through both dimensions, sending shudders through her flickering body.

"AAHHH!" Her scream filled the lounge like music to their ears.

Hilda was faring no better; more agents had gathered to enjoy the spectacle, ensuring that neither captive went unattended. One held both of Hilda's ankles in a firm grip while another delivered sharp smacks to her now-pinkened cheeks.

"Such spunk," he commented between swats that left her thighs trembling. "Let's see how long it lasts."

Hilda writhed against their hands, each jolt sending waves of humiliation coursing through her body.

"Owwww! It hurts—!" Her cries were almost drowned out by laughter from the gathered crowd.

Cynthia could feel every tug and slap even as she remained trapped between worlds, unable to fight back against their relentless assault. She cursed herself for ever thinking cooperation would spare her this indignity.

The Maker stood in the corner of the room, noting the damsel’s twin predicaments. Dr. Zola appeared at the Maker's side, tablet in hand as always. "Ah, observing our successful prototypes in action, I see," he said, adjusting his glasses. "The user satisfaction metrics are quite impressive."

"Indeed," the Maker replied, his eyes cataloging every detail of the scene before him. "You've done remarkable work refining the technology. The initial failure has proven more valuable than success might have been."

Zola preened slightly at the rare compliment. "Scientific advancement often comes from unexpected directions. When I realized the quantum superposition issue, I decided to embrace it as a feature rather than a bug."

"I understand you've managed to perfect the pokéball technology," the Maker said as they reached a quieter corner of the lounge. "Yet you chose to maintain this... partial manifestation state."

"Ah, yes," Zola's eyes gleamed with scientific pride. "I did fulfill half my promise to our test subjects. I can now extract them completely from the virtual world if desired." He gestured to a row of modified pokéballs displayed in a glass case on the wall. "These new models allow for perfect digitization and reconversion. The quantum entanglement issues have been resolved."

"Yet they remain in this state," the Maker observed, watching as an agent who had apparently lost a bet was forced by his laughing colleagues to lick the welts on Cynthia's reddened flesh.

"A deliberate design choice," Zola explained, swiping through data on his tablet. "After studying agent interactions with the prototypes, I realized there was significant demand for this specific configuration. Full materialization would require dedicated containment facilities, feeding protocols, waste management—all resource-intensive. This solution keeps the subjects in a manageable state while providing the, ah, essential features that our personnel desire for recreation."

The Maker processed this information with the same dispassionate analysis he applied to quarterly performance reports. "And you believe this technology is ready for wider implementation?"

"Absolutely," Zola nodded eagerly. "I've streamlined the production process for the modified pokéballs and refined the selective materialization protocols. We can now specify exactly which portions of a subject manifest in physical space. The current configuration—" he gestured to the exposed posteriors of both women, "—is merely one option. We could materialize only hands for certain tasks, or faces for interrogation purposes."

The Maker's lips curled into what passed for a smile on his austere features. "Show me."

Zola led him to a control panel discretely built into the wall. With a few taps, he adjusted parameters on a display screen. The effect on Hilda's manifestation was immediate—her buttocks and thighs briefly flickered, then resolved into a slightly different configuration. Her entire torso apparated above her pelvis and soon her bare chest was made available, her bra clad breasts swelling in the air.

The agents who had been amusing themselves with her stepped back in surprise, then approached again with renewed interest to explore the newly available territory.

"Complete configurational control," Zola explained proudly. "We can adjust the manifestation in real-time based on specific requirements or preferences. The subject remains fully aware throughout the process, of course. Quite disorienting for them, I imagine."

The Maker studied the system for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. "This technology represents a significant advancement for our damsel acquisition and management protocols. The resource efficiency alone justifies full implementation."

The agents took the Maker's approval as encouragement to renew their attentions. Hilda was flipped onto her back, her legs once more pulled into a jock-lock by her own pink panties. Every inch of her exposed body was fair game for the assembled men, several of whom pinched at her breasts while others resumed their spanking and wedging.

"Get off me!" she screamed, but the demand only fueled their enthusiasm. She felt completely helpless, overwhelmed by sensations from every direction.

Cynthia found herself in a similar predicament. Her bruised skin tingled as it faded in and out of existence. The agents took full advantage of each phase shift, ensuring that even momentary relief was replaced by new torments. They laughed as they tugged in time with her flickering manifestations, relishing the power they held over such a proud captive.

"I've got a better use for this one," announced the tattooed agent, unfastening his belt with practiced ease. The burly operative had spent the last twenty minutes torturing Cynthia with a series of increasingly painful wedgies, but now his interests had evolved. "Time to see if this dimensional glitch affects internal sensations."

"Fuck yeah," agreed his partner, a wiry man with a scar across his left cheek. "Been wondering when someone would try that."

Cynthia's protests turned to screams, sounding almost life like through her quantum entangled state. The agent positioned himself behind her materialized posterior. "No! You can't! Don't you dare—AHHH!" Her voice shattered into a ragged cry as he thrust forward without warning, penetrating her exposed backside with brutal efficiency.

"Holy shit," the agent grunted, gripping her hips firmly. "It's like she's tighter because half of her isn't even here." He established a punishing rhythm, each thrust sending ripples through both her physical form and the flickering outline of her upper body.

"How's it feel, champion?" taunted another agent, slapping her reddened cheek as the assault continued. "Still think you're better than us?"

Cynthia's body convulsed in both dimensions, her screams becoming choked sobs as she endured the ultimate violation. The sensation was horrifyingly unique—she could feel everything happening to her physical half while simultaneously experiencing the distorted echo of those sensations in her digital existence. It was as if her nerve endings had been doubled, creating feedback loops of pain and unwanted stimulation.

"My turn next," called another agent, already preparing himself.

Meanwhile, across the room, Dr. Zola approached the control panel with a smirk. "Let's try another configuration, shall we?" His fingers danced across the interface, adjusting Hilda's manifestation parameters.

The young trainer's materialized buttocks and torso flickered briefly before stabilizing in a new configuration. Her lower body vanished back into the digital realm, replaced by her head and shoulders appearing in physical space at waist height, her expression one of confusion quickly turning to horror.

"What's happening?" Hilda gasped, disoriented by the sudden shift. "Why can't I—"

Her questions were cut short as an agent grabbed a handful of her brown hair. "Perfect timing," he sneered, using his free hand to expose himself. "Open wide, Pokémon girl."

"No! Please don't—mmmphhh!" Hilda's pleas were silenced as Reeves forced himself into her mouth, her eyes widening in shock and revulsion.

"Fuck, that's good," Reeves groaned, maintaining his grip on her hair to control her movements. "The Maker really outdid himself with this tech."

Hilda gagged and struggled, tears streaming down her face as she was violated from a position that shouldn't have been physically possible. Her head existed in reality while the rest of her remained trapped in both her jock lock wedgie and the digital limbo, unable to fight back or escape.

"Look at her eyes," laughed another agent, circling to get a better view of Hilda's face. "She really thought being a Pokémon trainer was tough? Welcome to the real world, sweetheart."

The lounge had transformed from a site of casual torment to something far more sinister. Agents formed lines behind both captives, eagerly awaiting their turns. Some recorded the proceedings on their devices, others placed bets on which girl would break first.

Cynthia's screams had faded to whimpers as the third agent took his position. Her once-proud demeanor had crumbled under the relentless assault, leaving behind a shattered woman who flickered between dimensions like a dying light bulb.

"P-please," she sobbed between violations. "No more... I can't..."

Her pleas fell on deaf ears as the men continued their entertainment, high-fiving each other and comparing techniques as if discussing a sporting event.

Hilda wasn't faring any better. Each time one agent finished, another immediately took his place, giving her no respite. Her face was streaked with tears and worse, her eyes growing increasingly vacant as her mind sought escape from the horror of her situation.

From his position near the bar, the Maker observed the scene with clinical detachment. The technology was performing beyond expectations, and the morale boost among his operatives was an added benefit. Efficiency and entertainment—a perfect combination for Obsidian's purposes.

"Dr. Zola," he said, turning to the scientist who was busily recording data on his tablet. "I believe we're ready to move forward with full production."

Zola nodded eagerly, his eyes darting occasionally to the ongoing spectacle. "I've already prepared the manufacturing protocols. We can begin mass production of the modified pokéballs within the week."

"Excellent." The Maker's gaze returned to the captives, noting the way Cynthia's body spasmed with each new violation while Hilda's eyes had gone almost completely blank. "And what of marketing? I assume you've considered the commercial applications."

"Of course," Zola replied, pulling up a presentation on his tablet. "I've drafted proposals for several product lines. The 'Portable Pleasure' series for recreational use, the 'Interrogation Interface' for intelligence operations, and the 'Trophy Collection' for clients with more... display-oriented interests."

The Maker nodded, pleased with the thoroughness of the planning. "And you've addressed the stability issues? We can't have merchandise randomly phasing back to full materialization during use."

"Completely resolved," Zola assured him. "The quantum locks are now permanent unless deliberately overridden with the proper authorization codes. The subjects will remain in whatever configuration we choose indefinitely."

A particularly loud cry from Cynthia drew their attention momentarily. The once-proud gym leader was being used by two agents simultaneously now, her materialized portions reconfigured to allow for maximum access.

"She's breaking nicely," observed the Maker. "The strongest ones always provide the most satisfaction when they finally surrender."

Zola smiled, adjusting his glasses as he made another note. "Indeed. The psychological data alone is worth the investment in this technology. We're learning so much about the limits of human endurance."

The Maker turned away from the scene, having seen enough to confirm the technology's viability. "Prepare a full presentation for the board," he instructed Zola. "I want production timelines, marketing strategies, and profit projections. This represents a paradigm shift in our damsel management systems."

"Of course," Zola nodded eagerly. "And what of these two prototypes? Shall we return them to full storage or maintain them in this state for continued... testing?"

The Maker glanced back at the captives—Cynthia sobbing brokenly as she was violated for the dozenth time, Hilda's vacant eyes staring at nothing as her disconnected body parts were used like inanimate objects.

"Keep them as they are," he decided. "They serve as excellent motivation for the agents. And it would be wasteful to discard functioning test subjects when they clearly still have use."

"Very good," Zola made a final note on his tablet. "I'll ensure they're properly maintained. Regular nutrition via intravenous connection to their digital portions should keep them viable indefinitely."

The Maker nodded and turned toward the exit. As he reached the door, he paused for one final observation. The lounge had descended into something resembling a depraved party, with agents drinking, laughing, and taking turns with both captives. Music now played from hidden speakers, providing a surreal soundtrack to the ongoing violations.

"A new era begins," he murmured to himself, satisfied with the day's developments. "Portable damsels. Available anywhere. Anytime."

The door closed behind him as he departed, leaving Cynthia and Hilda to their fate as the first of many such trophies Obsidian would collect using their new technology. Their screams and sobs continued unabated, echoing through both physical and digital realms—a symphony of suffering that would soon be replicated across the multiverse as the Maker's vision expanded beyond even his own ambitious imagination.

In the darkness of the dimensional void where parts of them still existed, Cynthia and Hilda could sense each other's presence—two shattered souls connected by shared torment. No words passed between them, only the mutual understanding that this was merely the beginning of their eternal nightmare.

And somewhere in the infinite multiverse, other heroines went about their lives, blissfully unaware that they too might soon find themselves reduced to digital data and physical fragments, trapped forever as playthings for the agents of Obsidian.

“The Maker said I’d be trapped like this forever if I didn’t help him,” Cynthia fumed silently. “I should have known he’d never honor a deal.”

Hilda remained suspended in her own personal hell. The endless wedgies and groping hands reduced everything else to white noise. She couldn't even tell what world she was in anymore; it all blended together into one nightmare of humiliation and pain.

“I thought I was so smart leading Kraven to you,” she whispered miserably. “I’m so sorry Cynthia.”

The two women exchanged glances across dimensions and physical spaces, sharing an unspoken understanding of their shared fate: there would be no escape from Obsidian’s grasp this time, no relief from the endless cycle of degradation they'd been sewn into. Not unless they could somehow find strength—whether from within themselves or through some miracle—to fight against this insidious prison without walls.