#not that the museum itself was boring

[femmesandhoney]

museums are boring as fuck. i used to think it'd be fun to go with one with a friend because i love art and history but she ended up looking at every piece for 10 minutes at least so by the end i had to separate from her and ask security where i can sit and wait for her because it was torturous. i was done in like an hour (considering i've read and looked at everything i could) and she took three and a half. luckily they took pity on me lmao

you don't deserve your museum loving friend send her my way <3

[gamma-galaxy]

I’ve somehow been to four of these, which feels like way too many.

Stone Mountain is a given, since I live in Georgia. I haven’t been since like- I was in elementary school, though, so I don’t remember much other than really liking this barn-themed play area where you could earn points or something? Idk it’s been over a decade. What I do know is that they ruined a perfectly good granitic pluton by carving a bunch of dead racists into it.

I actually enjoyed Disney, but I went in 2013, before they implemented the current fast pass system (see: Defunctland).

The Mormon temple was alright for what amounts to a cult’s headquarters. They had some pretty buildings, but like- it doesn’t really hold a candle to chapels in Europe.

As for the Idaho Potato Museum…

I think this speaks for itself.

The Worst Attraction in Every State

[abdlstories777]

Krissy's cheeks burned as her time-out robot hoisted her up high, her legs dangling in the air. The nappy wrapped snugly around her waist, making her feel like an infant again. She hadn't worn one since she was a little girl, and now at 29, she couldn't believe this was happening to her. Her heart pounded as she glanced around, praying for Mummy to come to her rescue with a big t-shirt to cover her humiliation.

"Please, just let it cover the top part," Krissy thought, panic rising in her chest. She knew that even if the shirt covered some of the nappy, the bottom would still be visible to all those who passed by. The thought of anyone witnessing her soiled state filled her with dread.

"Hey there, Krissy!" the robot chirped, its metallic voice echoing through the crowded London museum. "Ready for today's adventure?"

"Please, not here," Krissy whispered, her eyes filling with tears. But her pleas went unanswered as the robot positioned itself behind her, forcing her arms high above her head like a child on display.

"Look at me, everyone!" the robot announced, oblivious to Krissy's distress. "I'm Krissy, and I wear a nappy!"

A flurry of laughter erupted around her, along with the sound of camera shutters clicking as people snapped photos of her predicament. Krissy recognized some faces in the crowd, friends she'd known for years, while others were strangers she'd never forget. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"Hey, Krissy!" the robot called out, its voice booming over the noise. "Have you done a stinky? Is it time for a nappy change?"

"Please, stop," Krissy whimpered, but the relentless machine continued its antics, indifferent to her anguish. All she could do was hang there, her heart aching from the shame, as the world bore witness to her most humiliating moment.

The cacophony of laughter and camera shutters intensified, creating a buzz that filled the vast hall of the London museum. Krissy stood there, her face burning as the robot pulled her hands behind her head, its metallic fingers cold against her skin.

"Let's see if you've done a stinky, Krissy!" the robot declared, its voice echoing throughout the historic space.

"Please, no," Krissy whispered, her voice cracking. She prayed for the ground to swallow her up, but the humiliating ordeal continued unabated.

"Here we go!" the robot cheerfully announced, as it pulled back the white tights and nappy with surgical precision. The crowd around her gasped, some in shock and others in amusement, while Krissy felt her soul shatter into a million pieces.

"Looks like someone is clean... for now!" the robot proclaimed, releasing the tights and nappy with a snap that reverberated through the air. "Remember, Krissy, I'll be checking again later!"

"Thank you," she muttered, her voice barely audible amidst the chaos. She knew that gratitude was a misplaced emotion in this situation, but some part of her couldn't help but feel relieved that she had been spared further public humiliation - at least for now.

[seirei-bh]

Jason Mendal headcanons

I wrote these headcanons for fun, however, keep in mind that there is only a few episodes of MCL NG out by now, so I may be wrong about some ideas due to later revelations. (I've also added some NSFW headcanons under the cut!)

-He loves luxury restaurants, especially Italian food, and everything expensive and exotic that is the specialty of five-star chefs.

-He has a limousine and a driver, but he only uses them on special occasions, since he prefers to drive his own car.

-If he were an animal he'd identify with a panther, a wolf or a shark

-He likes to listen to jazz.

-He made an anonymous Twitter account that he uses to insult Devemenentiel members (later Thomas found it and hacked it to permanently ban it, lol)

-He usually wears cologne, his favorites are “Sauvage” by Dior, and “Eros” by Versace (obviously very expensive and brand name)

-He doesn't feel close to his family. Most of them are unbearable to him, with a few exceptions.

-He tends to think that stable romantic relationships are a waste of time. Most of his romantic relationships in the past didn't last very long, almost all of his former lovers complained that "he was married with his job" or that "he was a self-centered asshole". He never had enough time for them and he got bored of them because they were not intelligent or interesting enough to him (something that changes with newsucrette/Ysaline)

-He likes women with self-confidence, who know what they want and are capable of challenging him.

-His poliosis was a consecuence of his Waardenburg syndrome. That syndrome also causes on him to suffers from partial deafness and has vision problems. However, he hides all this by using a very discreet hearing aid and contact lenses. Almost no one knows this except a few people very close to him, Jason hides these problems from the people at his company and any competitors to avoid look weak.

-He's afraid of one day becoming completely deaf, so he learned to read lips and sign language.

-He doesn't want to have children, partly because he doesn't have time to raise them, but mostly because he fears they could inherit the physical problems he has, like a partial or complete deafness.

-Since he was little he was always very good at maths.

-Jason pretends he was always popular, but he was quite nerdy at school, something that he decided to change later in high school and college, he went from being the nerd boy who other made fun of to being the popular boy who insulted and bullied the others.

-During his childhood and teenage years he used to dye his hair so that other children would not mess with him, but as an adult he learned to leave his natural white streaks with self-confidence and to see them as an attractive and unique feature.

-He likes the beach, the pool and going on a yacht. He hates mountains and nature.

-He likes to go to the theater and museums. He knows a lot about the life and work of artists, but he doesn't know as much about art itself, although he pretends he does.

-He has the philosophy of “the end justifies the means” and also that money does give happiness, or at least it can help buy it.

-As a child he learned to play the piano, but as an adult he has thrown away most of his former hobbies from his little free time, because he no longer has time for any of that.

-He got that tattoo on his arm because he lost a big bet once, but since Jason never talks about his defeats, when someone asks him, he says that he got that tattoo just because he wanted to and without any reason or meaning beyond the aesthetic.

-Devon was one of the few true pals Jason really respected and appreciated in the past, before “something” happened between them and they became enemies. Each of them has a different version about what really happened in mind, so that hostility due to differences in povs became increasingly stronger as the years went by. (Probably in this case it is Jason who is not right, but he is too proud to admit that he was wrong.)

-He felt attracted to newsucrette/Ysaline from the first moment he saw her. At first it was just desire and he wanted to manipulate her, but over time that feeling grew stronger and turned into love. Something that he also tried to ignore and deceive himself, denying it until he realized about the truth. He knew that maybe she would hate him, that maybe he would hurt her, that everything could end very badly, but still he couldn't resist to try it.

NSFW headcanons

-He loves bondage, specially tying your hands with his tie.

-He enjoys giving you orders in bed and see you obeying them, but also he enjoys secretly even more when you're a "bad girl" and refuse to do what he orders.

-Praise kink (both give and receive)

-He absolutely adores when you claw your nails on his back, so he has more excuses to call you “kitten.”

-Also when you grab him by his tie to drag him to the bedroom and passionately tear off his clothes.

-His favorite place is in his house, although it can be in bed, against the wall or on a table.

-Too excited by the idea of f*king you in Goldreamz's office, on his desk table sometime.

-He almost always prefers to be the dominant one, but also loves when you fight for dominance and you get to be the queen in his bed who is able to doms him.

-He loves to tempt you beforehand, whispering sexy and dirty things in your ear, kissing you on the neck and caressing you softly and subtly, until you can't take yourself anymore.

-Hard. Savage. Passionate. Sometimes very fast for all the sexual tension you two can't handle, sometimes unbearably slow on purpose because he wants to hear you beg for more and praise him how good he is and how much you want him.

-You two always end on a bed after an argument. He's turned on by how beautiful you look when you're angry and how you fight back fierly. Sometimes he makes you angry on purpose because how much he enjoys the moment and what comes later.

-He loves when you tell him that you hate him. That turns him on too even more.

-Skilled with his fingers and proud of it *wink*

-Proud of his own body. Yeah, his size too.

-He loves to kiss your neck, caress your legs and grab your thighs and butt.

-He loves looking at you. His gaze is especially intense and challenging when you're riding him, and he likes to hear you gasp as he watches your beautiful face and body.

-Sometimes is a competition between the two to see who shows better skills in bed and how much you both can last (how many hours and poses). He'll give you his best sexy smirk and won't stop f*king you until you beg him, but you would never beg your enemy... right?

Extra! A few nsfw sweet headcanons too:

-If he notices that you feel too uncomfortable and nervous, he makes humorous comments to break the ice and make you laugh.

-Although he likes BDSM, he will always ask you if you feel comfortable or not with it and will stop if you ask him to do so.

-He's not very used to aftercare, but he knows that you need them, so he tries to give it to you. Plus, he likes it when you rest your head on his torso, close to his heart, and he thinks you look gorgeous while you sleep.

[astridthevalkyrie]

cw: afab reader + she/her pronouns, creepy stuff, yandere ig??, very very very brief and extremely mild use of phone as a vibrator, if you've seen gravity falls this is inspired by the soos and the real girl ep 💀

You pause and exit out of the app right as you open up the video call link, ignoring the twinge of guilt you feel at leaving during such a steamy scene. It's not real, you remind yourself, like you have a million times in the past month. A part of you wants to find the coziest corner of this library and play until you've leveled up all the memories you can and gone on all nine claw machine dates you're allowed to, but it's time to unplug.

Besides, you have an actual date.

"Hey!" your boyfriend greets as soon as the video loads up, grinning when he sees your face. "Are you in the library?"

"Yeah. Booked a room all for you," you tease, setting your phone down to focus on your laptop.

"Wow, I'm flattered. So what's been up lately?"

You sigh. "Nothing much. Same old boring stuff. What about you?"

He starts talking about his new job, the entire reason that you and he have been long-distance for the past few months. You're not going to lie to yourself—it's rough. It feels like torture, not being able to see him and hold him and kiss him. You've really, really missed him. That's probably why you've turned to dating sims of all things in the first place.

Your phone buzzes while he's talking, and your eyes flick over to the screen.

new text from alien boy <3

Your brows furrow in confusion. This app doesn't notify you about new texts, because they only come through while you're on the app itself. And you never just get texts, unless you've leveled up on affinity, which you haven't in the past half hour.

Whatever. Probably some new feature or event you don't know about yet. You turn your attention back to your boyfriend.

"—And my break will be in two weeks," he finishes his story, then smiles. "Which means in two weeks I'll be seeing you, pretty girl."

Eyes lighting up, you lean in so you can blow him a light kiss. "I can't wait. I already have the whole weekend planned out. We'll go to the park, the museum—I thought we could go canoeing if you wanted to—"

Once again, your phone buzzes.

alien boy <3: didn't we have plans that weekend?

Your stomach flips unpleasantly.

Huh?

"What is it?" your boyfriend asks, noticing your struck expression.

"N-nothing, just—this app I downloaded, it gave me a super weird notification. For a second, I thought it was, like, listening to me."

He chuckles. "Creepy. What app is it?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, not sure if you should even tell your boyfriend that you've found solace in fictional characters during his absence. "Just some stupid game."

This time when your phone buzzes, you jump a little in your seat.

It's not a text. Someone's calling you. Your shoulders almost sag until you notice there's no name on the caller id, just a small spaceship emoji.

"What the hell," you mutter under your breath, putting one finger up to the camera. Your boyfriend nods in understanding, leaning back and muting himself while you swipe and answer the call. "Hello?"

No answer.

"Hello-o-o?"

Still nothing. You almost hang up, until the barest of sounds makes your ears perk up. If you strain them and press the phone so close it's smushing your cheek, you can hear something. It sounds like someone whispering, but you can't make out anything.

"Hello? Um, your audio is super low, I can barely hear you. Hello? Can you hear me?"

With no change, you hang up, frustrated. It might be a prank call. You're in the library on a Friday night and there's barely anyone here, one of your friends might've thought it was hilarious to mess with you.

"Spam call." You shrug uneasily, slipping the phone down between your thighs this time instead of on the table. He nods in understanding, then starts saying something.

"You're still on mute, sweetheart, I can't hear you."

He makes an oh face, then leans forward a bit to use the mouse. After a few seconds, though, his eyes narrow in focus and he shakes his head. He looks up, mouthing can you hear me now?

"Nope. Can you still hear me?"

An affirmative nod. Weird. It's still showing that he's muted on your end. "What, is it not clicking?"

You see him look back up to the screen, whether to nod or shake his head, you don't find out, because the screen glitches out for a moment, and all you see is a door.

You shriek, clamping a hand over your mouth.

His face is back in front of you again, and you still can't hear him, but he clearly sees how freaked out you are, because he tilts his head up concernedly, as though to ask you what's wrong.

You didn't scream because of the glitch.

You screamed because you've visited your boyfriend at his new place before, and that door was his door.

"Can you hear me? Is your door locked?" He only looks more confused, shaking his head like you're the one who's muted now.

Your phone lights up before you can grab it and call him, and you gasp when it buzzes against your core and doesn't stop buzzing. It doesn't vibrate this much when you get a call, and there is no call on the home screen, nor text, nor any kind of notification. It feels like it presses itself into your skin more, and you grip the table with one hand at the brief jolt of pleasure before snatching it and unlocking the screen.

Before you can click the phone app, Love&Deepspace opens. You groan in frustration, trying to swipe up to no avail. Did you accidentally click on it? It wasn't even in the list of apps on your main page.

Movement from your laptop catches your eye. Your boyfriend's looking forward, but not at the camera. He's looking at—at something, and he backs up in his chair, looking terrified all of a sudden.

"What is it?" you say as loud as you can, but even if he does hear you, he doesn't respond, and instead, his mouth falls open in a silent scream.

The screen goes black, and then so does the entire library.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit." You look back down at your phone, ready to crack it if it doesn't swipe up and get out of this stupid app—

There's no one there.

Your heart stutters in its chest.

There's always someone in the Destiny Cafe.

There's no one there.

And on the little white armchair in the background, there's a dark streak of red dripping down and staining the cloth.

"What the fuck," you whisper, eyes wide. Your laptop screen flickers.

The facetime has been replaced by grey-blonde hair, that gently brushes against baby blue eyes with a soft, unassuming smile.

"You shouldn't pause me," he coos, "now, where were we?"

a/n: i hope no one tells me that people don't put their phones between their thighs while sitting bc i very much do. also. i'm talking to a guy on FT in the library tomorrow. hope i don't have gift of foresight. or maybe i hope i do muwahahaha. this is actually mad goofy and not scary at all

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Actor Matthew Settle, having personally auditioned with Tom Hanks for a number of leading roles, won the part by delivering steely performances of key scenes. During the casting process, Hanks branded Speirs “a dark character.” Settle unequivocally embraced this categorization as filming commenced in England.

[...]Ron conveyed to Dick. “This TV business is all smoke and mirrors anyway. They can put my nametag on some guy and pretend it is Sparky. They are faking the combat scenes with a stand-in playing Sparky, so why not finish it up that way? I am just not up to the hassle and pressure of an interview. This is not what you want to hear, but I want to be candid about my situation.” Few were more disappointed in Speirs’s decision than Matthew Settle. Many of his fellow actors forged enriching relationships with the veterans they portrayed. Settle was denied this luxury. “It seemed as though he wanted to shy away from the whole process of Band of Brothers,” Settle later noted of Speirs. “He wasn’t quite sure in what light it would leave him.” Because filmmakers lacked Speirs’s direct input regarding his more controversial traits, they “presented the idea to the audience and let them decide whether or not he had killed prisoners and perhaps his own men,” said Settle. “I think that was tastefully done. But perhaps that was why he wasn’t open to being spoken to.”

The absence of Settle’s mysterious character in episode one of Band of Brothers permitted the actor to discover his character in other ways. While the rest of the cast shot the series introduction in England, Settle retraced Speirs’s steps across Europe on an odyssey of his own. He visited France, toured museums, and sought out sites where Speirs had fought. Settle ventured into the Bois Jacques, discovered Easy Company’s foxholes, and was warned to watch out for live ordnance as he did so. At Foy—where Speirs embarked on his iconic run—the actor traversed the wide field and was amazed to see dwellings in town that still bore scars of battle. He ventured all the way to the Eagle’s Nest in Germany. “It made it really come to life for me,” Settle said of the journey. “I’m very happy that I was able to do that.”

Deprived of the ability to converse with Speirs, Settle searched for perspectives on leadership in battle. In addition to reading several Ambrose books, he leaned on Captain Dale Dye—the film’s technical advisor who himself was a decorated combat veteran. “You gotta help me find this guy,” Settle implored to Dye. “Who is he? What’s his tone?” The subsequent coaching greatly benefited his performance: “I had a natural finality that served his character well.” On film, Speirs was stern, direct, and honest. Settle relished interpreting the Speirs mystique—a colorful balance of bravery and secrets. He naturally considers the Speirs scene at Foy his favorite of the miniseries.

[...]A 1,000-person tent was erected on site for a gala and the screening of a ninety-minute compilation of Band of Brothers scenes. Amid all the activities, Matthew Settle finally conversed with his character in the flesh. “When I actually met Speirs, he seemed like he was stoic and quiet and passive,” Settle recalled. “He definitely seemed like a person that may have been hurt once or twice in his life.” The actor’s observations of Speirs during the debut itself were even more affecting. “I sat next to him and Winters as they watched the invasion on screen together,” said Settle. “I honestly just watched the two of them. I couldn’t help myself…. It was powerful. They were reliving it.”

Settle regretted that his interactions with Ron were so fleeting. “I never really got into any deep conversations because Speirs was always very hesitant to talk about anything deeper than just the weather. A lot of the vets would approach him and he would say, ‘Which war?’ I don’t know if he was pretending not to remember them or what.” Speirs’s question was likely an earnest effort to distinguish those who served under him at different stages of his career. Self-consciousness of his hearing loss further precluded him from active conversation.

~ Jared Frederick & Erik Dorr

[gepardling]

I saw your blog and I love your writings sm🫶 Glad to see a fellow Gepard simp (JGKFKRJSHA HE'S SO HOT)

Going to my request, if you are fine with smut requests, is it okay for me to request husband!Gepard and spouse!gn!reader, featuring breeding kink and manhandling? It's up to you how you want to write how the story goes, surprise me 👀

Anyways, make sure to take care of yourself as well, stay hydrated, and thank you sm!!

happy anniversary w/ gepard.

desc. : im so srry for my mini-hiatus, my schedule is spaghetti ;p my mind was lowkey still buzzing abt the museum event, n i needed a good hook for da story okay !! to me, marriage means becoming a family, so i used dat to set the scene :) am also working on improving gn!reader smut so i hope i did good here ( wc : 1.9k )

tags / cw : nsfw, gn!reader, pretty fluffy i think, oral, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it!), top!gepard, bottom!reader, aftercare, manhandling, breeding (I HOPE I DID THESE RIGHT, I'M SUCH A VANILLA PERSON), not proofread !

Gepard couldn’t help but wonder if he was cut out for fatherhood, given his past encounters with children. It seemed that whenever he interacted with little ones, they either burst into tears at the sight of him or found themselves quickly bored by his serious demeanor. As such, he had never entertained the idea of having a family of his own – not until he met you, at least.

You had a habit of taking Gepard’s entire world and turning it upside down, making him question everything he thought he believed up until that point. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, and he quickly found himself drawn to your open-mindedness. Spontaneity was something that Gepard lacked in his life, and you delivered everything he needed and more. 

It wasn’t long before the two of you had married, and everyone knew it was a long time coming. No one could soften up the strict Captain like you could, especially when you manage to catch him off guard. Just the other day, Gepard's heartstrings were thoroughly scrambled when he saw you guiding a group of children through the museum. The way you handled the kids was beyond Gepard, and you taught history in a way that they understood, even enjoyed. 

After another one of your museum shifts, you and Gepard were relaxing at home. It was the evening of your first anniversary, having been married for a year. Gepard was immersed in a book, your head rested on his shoulder as you arranged your thoughts. Which is what brought you to this point. Here, in your shared home, you decided to finally raise the question. 

“You know,” you began softly, your voice carrying a mixture of wonder and uncertainty. “I can’t help but imagine… What if we had children?” Gepard’s demeanor instantly shifted, a fleeting tension washing over his body. Sensing his unease, you hurriedly backtracked. “I’m sorry, you don’t want to… And that’s okay!”

But before the words could fully escape your mouth, Gepard’s reassuring touch met your hand, his eyes filled with warmth. “No, not at all,” he assured. “You simply caught me off guard…” There was an excited tone to his voice, but some uncertainty still lingered deep beneath the surface. 

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you absorbed Gepard’s response. “I think it would be amazing,” you uttered, a dreamy lilt decorating your tone. Gepard’s fingers gently traced the wedding band adorning your finger, and he was instantly reminded of your wedding, how radiant you looked as you stood before him. The image of you, eyes filled with unwavering devotion, etched itself permanently in his heart.

Your gentle laughter caressed his ears as your hand cupped his cheek, pulling him back from his daydream. “Don’t worry, we can wait until you’re ready,” you replied, softly pecking him on the lips. “There’s no rush, after all.” But between your gentle touch and his devotion towards you, all this family talk was getting Gepard a little hot beneath the collar.

He was sure you were aware of it too – your touches growing tantalizingly slow as your lips lingered longer and longer on his. With that same old mischievous glint in your eyes, you took the book from Gepard’s hands and set it on the table across from you. You snaked your arms around his neck, gently shifting yourself into his lap.

"What are we still sitting out here for?" You whispered, forehead pressed against his own. "It's our anniversary after all." Gepard's hands slowly came to rest on your hips, a rosy hue spread across his cheeks. You brought your hands down from his neck, opting to work open the first few buttons of his shirt. Dipping your hands beneath the fabric, Gepard shuddered lightly at your cold touch.

He moved his hands from your hips to your wrists, gently gripping them. "Not on the couch," he breathed. Of course, same old Gepard. That's one rule that's never changed for the whole three years you've been with him. You gave him a quick peck on the nose, followed by a mock salute. Gepard smiled in return, uttering "Your form is off," before scooping you up in his arms. 

Your surprise was quickly muffled by his lips on yours, his kiss filled with love and devotion towards you. He made quick work of whisking you off to the bedroom, lightly tossing you onto the soft mattress of your shared bed. You could barely sit up before he was leaning over you, covering your body with his large frame. 

"We're not on the couch anymore, are you happy?" You teased, smiling up at him mischievously. Gepard only rolled his eyes in response, lowering his head to kiss you once again. It was deeper this time, only growing more heated as your hands continued to undress him. Before you could undo his belt, his grip on your wrist stopped your ministrations. 

"Allow me," he replied, moving to undress you instead. He wedged his knee between your thighs, pushing them open before laying between them. He kept his arms wrapped around your legs, preventing you from closing them again. When he dipped his head between your thighs, you could only gasp at the feeling of his mouth on your heat. 

Gepard had more than enough practice over the last few years, and that much was evident. His skilled tongue worked across your sex, rolling over your most sensitive parts. The sensation of his hot mouth caused little stars to spot your vision, nails gripping the sheets so tight you were sure you'd rip them. Your gasps were like music to his ears, only fueling the fire deep within. 

His slicked fingers worked you open, gently scissoring your hole. Your back arched at the feeling as Gepard carefully prepared you, sparks of pleasure dashing across your body. But as the buildup started to reach its peak, mere seconds before your vision could go white and the fires of release consumed you, the sudden loss of his fingers and mouth left you cold and empty. The sensation immediately dissipated, fading into obscurity. 

Your breathing was ragged as your body attempted to come to terms with the orgasm you never had, blinking away the stars that dotted your vision. "W-Wait," you whispered, raising yourself onto your elbows. "Why'd you st-" But just as the words were about to leave your mouth, Gepard had turned you around onto your stomach, hand resting on your upper back. His free hand hurriedly worked to release his cock from the confines of his pants, as he pressed gentle kisses to the skin of your shoulder blades. 

Before you could complain again, he sunk his member deep into your heat. The weight of his body suspended above yours only added to the pleasure, slowly thrusting in sync with the rhythmic contraction of your walls. Each thrust was coupled with the soft grind of his hips, slowly working you back up to your pleasure point. He took his time, butterfly kisses dotting the back of your neck and ears. 

"Gepard…" You sighed, to which he replied with a soft hum. While you sincerely enjoyed his languid pace, you needed something more to soothe the ache in your loins. You pressed back against him, breathing a quiet “Faster,” to which he replied with a chuckle. Gepard slipped two fingers between your lips, hushing you with quiet whispers. 

You swirled your tongue around his digits, the cool metal of his wedding band contrasting the warmth of your mouth. When he pulled back his hand, a small whine escaped your lips, but your breath soon hitched in your throat as he suddenly increased his pace. He kept his hand pressed down on your lower back, preventing you from bucking back against him as he took you at his own pace. 

The way his cock slammed into you left you gasping for air, brushing against your deepest pleasure points. The heat was rising exponentially, drawing the knot in your belly tighter and tighter with each thrust. Gepard’s lips met the back of your ear, gently pressing kisses to the side of your head. As your cries intensified, you buried your face in the closest pillow you could reach, desperate to muffle the throes of your passion. 

But Gepard didn’t like the way you tried to hide, and he was quick to swipe the pillow from your hold. He pulled out in the process, and you whined at the sudden loss of contact. The heat from your core dissipated once again, and your orgasm fizzled out of reach a second time. Before you could make your disdain known, his hands gripped your hips to turn you around onto your back. 

At your gasp of surprise, his hands met your knees, pushing your thighs up against your chest. He buried himself back in your core, and the roughness of his actions made you wail into your palm. Gepard lowered himself to your face, prying your hand away with his own to clash his lips against yours. You reciprocated the kiss, interlocking your fingers with his. He swiped his tongue against your lower lip, to which you opened your mouth, your tongue meeting his. 

When he pulled back, your lips chased his, breaking the delicate string of saliva between you. Your chest heaved as you tried to regain your breath, tiny tears dotting your vision. You felt like you were melting in his hold, the heat of the moment escalating far beyond your limits. Your sighs were like music to Gepard’s ears as he made love to you, consummating your marriage a second time.

The hand from your thigh moved down to your abdomen, pressing into the skin to feel the way he moved inside of you. He gripped your hand tighter, slightly increasing the pace to chase his orgasm. His cock glided effortlessly, bruising your deepest parts as you sang him praise. The pressure rose even higher in your core, building on your previously denied release. 

Amidst his passion, Gepard managed to grunt out a quiet “Where do you want it?” ghosting his lips along the side of your face. You managed to compose yourself just enough to answer, barely squeaking out “Inside,” before another moan tore itself from your throat. Gepard’s hands came to rest on your thighs again, burying himself impossibly deep in your core.

The sensation of his load warming you from within sent you over the edge as well, whispers of his name escaping your lips as your nails dug into his arm. Sparks of electrifying bliss enveloped your body, walls clenching around his cock. Gepard rode out his high, gently grinding his hips against yours. His lips met yours again, this time kissing you much softer than before. 

When he pulled away, some of his cum dripped from your core. You finally released your iron grip on his hand, sitting up to meet him at eye-level. “Why don’t we go get cleaned up,” you asked, your hand cupping the side of his face. Gepard hummed in approval, turning his head to place a kiss on your palm. 

“I think a bath would do,” he spoke, pulling you off the bed and into his arms. Though you weren’t really sure how much cleaning you’d actually get done. All in all, any time you got to spend with your beloved husband was a win in your books.

(melts) i saw a ballet concert, had my hair done, went out w/ my dad nd played league wit my friends. nun of these activities allowed me 2 write my smutty smut dis week waahhhh hopefully back on schedule now :') i tried 2 write dis extra long as an apology, also referenced multiple online sources 4 gn!smut 2 attempt 2 educate myself........

[steddieunderdogfics]

For no Upside Down weekend, can’t rec this one enough!! It’s absolutely fantastic, atalia is an outstanding author.

“the edges of your soul I haven’t seen yet” by Atalia_Gold

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57873856

the edges of your soul I haven't seen yet by Atalia_Gold

@ataliagold

Rating: Teens and Up

60,057 words, 25/25 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autistic Steve Harrington, First Meetings, Strangers to Lovers, Steve Harrington has a service cat, Platonic Soulmates Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, farmers market, Steve Harrington has a Baking Stall, Eddie works at Wayne's produce stall, naturally they fall in love, Stimming, autistic meltdown/shutdown, Service Animals, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Panic Attacks, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Wears Glasses, Eddie Munson is Lonely, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Robin Buckley Has a Crush on Nancy Wheeler, Museum Date, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Frodo the cat is sick for one chapter, No Animal Deaths, Referenced death of parents, Assault, Hurt Steve Harrington, zoo date

Summary:

Steve ignores the cat, at first. He’s digging a thumbnail into the meat of his palm, shuffling from foot to foot every so often, dragging a lip so hard between his teeth that Eddie’s worried he’s gonna make it bleed, and Eddie isn’t sure what to do. He wants to help, wants to somehow soothe the boy, but he isn’t sure how, thinks if he gets any closer to him he’ll only make things worse. The cats meows again. Presses itself harder up against Steve, stretches up so its little front paws are against his thigh, kneading insistently, refusing to be ignored. Steve sags a little. Reaches down with a trembling hand, strokes it across the cat’s head, and Eddie can hear the rumbling purr start up from the little creature. He watches as Steve loosens up, as his fingers unclench and his teeth release his lip and the frown fades slowly from his lovely face. ***** Eddie's reluctantly helping Wayne with his produce stall at the farmers' market. He's resigned himself to a boring summer - until a new face shows up at the market to run a baking stall with his best friend. Steve is...odd, like no one Eddie's ever met. And it doesn't take him long to fall head over heels for him.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is No Upside Down AUs.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[multi-bookworm]

Why does nobody in this universe want to learn Greek like me :( making me sad, and bored, so I've made a list of all THE BENEFITS TO LEARNING GREEK:

1. The writing is really sexy. For example, even saying "you are a fish with a large forehead" looks beautiful

είσαι ένα ψάρι με μεγάλο μέτωπο

(even insulting someone is now gorgeous)

2. You could read Homer's odyssey or iliad with much less confusion since it will make more sense in the original language. Also you seem smarter reading the iliad or odyssey.

3. You seem really cool, this honestly comes with learning any new language, but Greek is connected to English, making it easier to learn, often, despite its complexity.

3. Understanding English itself will be easier since a large amount of the english language stems from Greek, as well as Latin, but Latin writing isn't quite as sexy (my own personal opinion, this is probably just because it is so similar to English, which is boring to me)

4. It is still spoken, as opposed to learning Latin, a dead language, making it easier to learn since you are more likely to have a conversation in it with somebody else.

5. The alphabet is interesting, as all foreign languages are, but the use of certain letters, how there are two different s's, three different i's and two different o's.

6. Interesting etymological origins from words. Some words came from myths, such as the man Narcissus, and particularly my favourite is when something is καλλίπυγος (Callipygious) which originated from an association with Aphrodite calling her Aphrodite Kallipygos, as well as roman reference of callipygian Venus. Callipygian means "one with/of beautiful buttocks," which I find to be quite hilariously accurate in addition to the common reference to Aphrodite in this manner.

7. If none of this enticed anybody and you dont think youll even go to greece so why bother, here are many things in Greece worth seeing:

A) THE MUSEUM IN ATHENS: multiple museums in Athens houses more history than the British Museum (that's saying a lot) with 11,000 artefacts in just the Natural Archaeological Museum in Athens alone (the British Museum has only 2,000 artefacts). Unlike many societies, they docked down much of what they did very early on so we have so much unscripted and crazy history from the Greeks alone in writing, and even moreso in their abundance of beautiful, detailed art. Even if you hate the Greeks (every country has done some bad things) it's still worth checking out the museums there just for historical knowledge and context, it will teach you a lot, i promise you that.

B) THE COASTAL WATERS: just look at the Mediterranean water, does that NOT make you want to jump in??

C) there are cats everywhere, particularly in Crete.

D) there are thousands of sites related to greek myths such as: the cave and temple of the Oracle of Delphi, which actually existed, and are still sometimes praised to Apollo today; Mount Olympus, the largest mountain in greece and worth a climb; the site where the Spartan Society thrived (my favourite society of all time, whom you should seriously check out here if you do not know already, if you do know... you should check it out also bc Weird History in yt really explains it accurately and in such a cool way).

E) greek culture. An ancient custom is to be kind to travellers, which was a belief that the traveller could be a God in disguise, so one always must treat them like a king and invite them into their home. (Again, this was an ancient custom, I'm not sure how prominent it would still be but it is a nice thought and the general public say that Greeks, particularly rural, are the loveliest people you will meet, for they have the strongest connection to this culture.) If you see blue roofs in greece this was a cultural belief as well, thought that rhat particular shade of blue would ward off evil spirits and protect the home from disease and impurity. Greece's long history of celebrated gods which are now well known worldwide through the many tales told about them and worship in their names.

If you still aren't enticed, that's okay, I am not offended, I'm just passionate I hope I didn't hurt anybody's feelings, and pls tell me if i have offended anyone who is greek themselves, because I am not greek, just heavily in love with your culture, so pls do correct me. Have a lovely day everybody :>

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, chapter 12

chapter twelve: consumption

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no physical descriptors or pronouns are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 12, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-11, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: typical violence, gore, blood, cannibalism, self-deprecating thoughts

Your dreams have only grown more convoluted and inexplicable since Frederick Chilton’s death. First dominated by somber blues interspersed with the unmistakable crimson stained across your skin, your nightmares now carry familiar yellow-grey tints. You are often haunted by the sound of wings swiftly beating in the air; harsh, warm breaths hitting your neck and sending shivers down your spine; and the dull burn of midday sunlight. 

Reportedly, William Blake—the artist who created The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun—was under-appreciated throughout his life. Only the onset of the Romantic Age brought suitable attention to his works, both written and visual. There is nothing about Blake that strikes you as particularly relevant to the killer’s violent tendencies. It seems that his obsessive attention only lies with the painting itself: with broad shoulders supporting swooping wings and pale hands clasped in fervent emotion. Further research informs you that, despite Blake’s known skepticism and scrutiny of religion, The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun was situated in a series of paintings intended to depict scenes from the Bible. You can’t necessarily see the killer as a devout or pious person, but he certainly seems to treat the painting with a sense of reverence. 

Your conversation with Hannibal weighs on your mind, as your discussions with him often do. You can’t help but think that his phrasing was entirely intentional—and that the term ‘consumption’ is indicative of more than a mere transformation. Jack seems to think the same. When the two of you track down the painting’s physical location at the Brooklyn Museum in New York, you finally start to feel as if you have a lead. 

It’s roughly a six hour drive to the museum. You spend the time focused on the road, while occasionally switching radio stations when the music starts to bore you. At some point, Jack calls you to ensure your travel is going well—and the two of you review your next course of action. Finally, after what feels like far too long, you’re situated in a cramped parking lot behind the museum. You’re immediately grateful that Jack called ahead and spoke to lead officials at the museum, thereby ensuring your visit would be unhindered by administrative red tape. You pay a glance at the clock: it’s 8:27 p.m. The museum closed to the public nearly two and a half hours ago. You stall in the car for a few moments before heading up the steps, pretending to feel calm despite the steady thrumming of your adrenaline. 

Jack and you don’t expect much direct evidence to come from this visit, aside from visitor data that the BAU can comb over and scrutinize. As time has passed, you’ve narrowed in on several key traits of the killer’s… which will certainly eliminate some people. Then again, the museum likely only tracks voluntary disclosures of information. The visitor database likely only has gender, age, marital status, and any past visits or contributions. Still, it could be a start. 

Admittedly, there’s another component to this site visit. Jack and you have struggled to pin down the killer’s relationship to the painting. An in-person visit will allow you to get a better look at the painting. As you finally make it up the steps and towards the accessible door where you’re directed to enter, Hannibal’s voice rings in your ears. Consumption. Becoming. His true self will be eradicated upon completion of the process. Is there any chance the killer has visited this museum to get a look at the painting? Did he ever stand frozen in front of it, a silent and strangely foreboding figure quietly warding off other visitors from its magnificence? Did he ever walk down these halls with a visceral purpose? 

Your concentration is broken by the telltale jangle of keys. Filing those thoughts away for later, you approach the front desk and show them your FBI badge—explaining that you have a brief meeting with one of the curators of the museum. They nod and turn their back on you for a moment, mumbling something into their walkie talkie before sighing. 

“I’ll go fetch her,” the receptionist promises, resignedly glancing down the hall towards the escalators. “Shouldn’t be too long.” 

You thank them and wait with bated breath. Three minutes… four minutes…. Five minutes… The time drags on with a painful clumsiness. After ten minutes, you begin to pace restlessly. You’re skeptical of why they’re taking so long—it’s after hours, which means there shouldn’t be any other distractions in the building. Are the archives far away? A million different explanations run through your mind, each more unreasonable than the last.

Finally, after what feels like an hour, the receptionist returns with the curator in tow. She introduces herself and you’re quick to shake her hand, unable to hide your relief. Your thoughts were quickly spiraling into fantastical territory, as you dreaded several different dangers that could’ve prevented her from arriving. But the curator is calm and collected, pushing her glasses up her nose and staring at you with gleaming brown eyes. Her hair falls in elegant dark brown locs that frame her face beautifully; she wears a pale lavender blazer with a pencil skirt and loafers. You immediately feel self-conscious of your rather plain attire. The FBI has always been stringent on uniform requirements, especially when it comes to working in the field. The most you can get away with is a mildly patterned dress shirt and slacks. The curator’s warm brown skin is entirely void of scars or marks—unlike yours, you think self-consciously. The scar on your left eye seems to draw a lot of attention, as people often ask you how you got it. You feel a brief and unfamiliar stab of envy before you refocus your thoughts. 

If the curator senses your insecurity she is kind enough to ignore it—instead offering a handshake. “I’m Evelyn, one of the Collections Curators here.” You shake her hand and introduce yourself in return. Evelyn is quick to lead you down the hall towards the escalators with a practiced ease. Feeling a strange urge to make conversation, you ask her how long she’s been working at the museum. Through your unexpectedly long walk across the second floor and through several winding halls, you learn a bit more about her: she’s been working at the museum for almost eight years now; she studied anthropology in school and went back for her graduate degree in museum studies, with concentrations in art history and writing; and she is particularly interested in art stemming from the Romantic period.

You always feel a strange mix of contentedness and self-doubt when speaking to other people around your age. The FBI has dominated your life for so long that it’s hard for you to imagine a time when you weren’t pursuing criminals and investigating crime scenes. And while that may sound exciting to many, the life of an agent like yourself is heavily romanticized. Not to mention, such work can easily bleed into all aspects of your life. The past few years have been especially difficult for you when it comes to maintaining your work-life boundaries—they’re practically nonexistent now. Conversations like these ones—innocuous, harmless—remind you of the life you could’ve had. It’s bittersweet. 

You finally manage to focus on the task at hand, as Evelyn stops in the middle of a room lined with counters, drawers, and shelves as far as the eye can see. She explains that you’re currently standing in one of the museum’s many storerooms, where they keep items that are not on exhibition. It seems Jack briefed the curator a little, because she already knows which painting you’re looking for. There’s a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes, but it’s quickly suppressed with an admirable professionalism. Her gaze flits to your badge, hanging from your right pocket, before she’s asking you what you’ll need for investigation. Evelyn proves to be extremely helpful, as she gives you the contact information of the Audience Services Manager who can give you access to the visitor database. In terms of the painting itself, she gives you a quick overview of the process: she’ll go into the back room and retrieve the work; when she returns, you’re allowed to look at it but not touch it. 

"The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun is extremely sensitive to light, so it’s kept hidden away in that storage room.” She explains. You follow her gaze to find a steel door and a black badge scanner next to it. Evelyn leaves you with the promise that she’ll return shortly. You’re left to your thoughts, which are quickly returning to the unpleasant spiral they were before. You restlessly pace up and down the aisle of the storage room, your hands shoved in your pockets and your mind running a mile a minute. 

After a while, you glance down at your watch. It’s been ten minutes. You’re growing worried. After a few more minutes spent in deliberation, you decide to look around the room for a neglected employee badge to get you into that room. Suddenly, time seems to be speeding away from you; you’re only growing more panicked as you throw open drawers that definitely shouldn’t be touched. After several minutes, you finally find a badge and nearly sigh in relief. 

Scanning the badge opens the door with a devastatingly loud buzzing noise. You enter the room to find the space dimly lit, complete with glass casings and rows of shelves that nearly extend out of sight. The shelves are mobile, you realize upon closer inspection. Cranking the hand crank at the end of the room will push them aside. Frowning, you take a few more cautious steps into the room—until you see a pair of black loafers, just barely visible between the sprawling shelves. Heart racing, you listen for another presence before silently making your way over. When you finally reach the partition, you find Evelyn sprawled across the ground. There’s no visible sign of blood, but you still quickly crouch down to feel for a pulse. Her heart rate is a bit slow, but otherwise present. You take a slow breath and remain frozen before her for several more moments, ensuring the assailant isn’t in the room. Then you grab your phone from your pocket and quickly input the five digit number that acts as a distress signal, alerting Jack and the nearby authorities. After listening for disturbances again, you manage to pull Evelyn off to the side and shelter her behind one of the desks. With any luck, the assailant will be too distracted with you to notice her. 

You have a gut feeling the assailant is the same killer you’re searching for. But your suspicions aren’t confirmed until you hear a violent tearing sound, as if something is being ripped in half. You glance across the room and hear another shredding sound; immediately, you quietly move to hide between two of the shelves. Evelyn hadn’t told you where the painting’s exact location was, but you don’t think you need it. You’re certain the killer—the Dragon, as he fashions himself—is here in this very room. Moreover, it seems as if he’s currently ripping the painting into small pieces. 

Now, though, there’s a haunting silence. You lean closer to the shelf in front of you, only to hear nothing. You’re not sure how long you remain there before you hear the slightest inhale and a sound that sounds weirdly similar to chewing. Lightning searing through you, you start to connect everything together. Consumption . Hannibal was referring to it in the literal sense, after all. The killer is consuming the painting to make himself one with it. 

Right about now is when you would surge forward and point your gun at the killer, successfully apprehending him. But you only have a knife. After all, this wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a mere conversation with the curator. Jack and you never thought the killer would actually show up—and at the same time as your visit, no less.  Besides, you figured you may not make a great first impression with the museum curator by carrying a visible weapon around in the building. You regret that notion now, of course. But it’s too late for regret. 

In your musing, it seems the killer has finished chewing and swallowing the painting. You suppress a shudder at the thought of eating the canvas: the dry, starchy material sticking to the roof of your mouth; the wet lump traveling down your throat. It sounds revolting.

Of course, you don’t have time to contemplate the thought, as you realize the killer’s footsteps are sounding far nearer than before. There’s a brief pause and you inch your way towards the mouth of the shelves.

There’s an ominous creak and your heart drops to your stomach as you realize the shelf in front of you is slowly inching its way towards you. The killer is rearranging the shelves—likely returning them to what they were before he took the painting. But now you’re stuck in an aisle as the shelves move to close you in. Thankfully, they move rather loudly; still, you place a hand over your mouth to stifle your quick breaths and quietly inch out of the rapidly shrinking space. By some miracle, you manage to make it out before you’re completely crushed. 

Unfortunately, this places you right within the killer’s line of sight. He’s wearing some sort of covering that obscures the lower half of his face, but you can still see the moment his eyes find yours. He lurches forward in a surprising bout of speed, knocking you to the ground before you can grab your knife. 

You’re immediately forced to reckon with one realization: you’re not fighting a man. You’re fighting a beast. He does not brandish a weapon threateningly or engage in swift hand-to-hand combat. Instead he bites and thrashes; writhes and yanks at anything within reach. His fingernails are long and sharp, and they break the skin of your arms as you try to shove him off of you. You’ve had extensive combat training to prepare you for virtually any kind of situation. But when it comes to a fight like this—purely physical and fueled with adrenaline—you feel woefully unprepared and outmatched. 

Your knife is concealed in your belt, but the guy’s hands latch around your throat and squeeze with a truly frightening strength. Your vision immediately stutters as spots flash across the room. A roaring sound floods through your ears; you try to wrench his grip off, but he’s shifting his weight forward—and it feels as if he’s shoving you through the floor. The world is pulsing around you as you try in vain to reach for your knife. You fumble it out of your pocket as your vision threatens to fall to black; you manage to stab him in the side and his grip fumbles long enough for you to escape. 

You immediately push yourself to your knees and brace yourself against the ground, heaving and rasping as you finally get the air you were fighting for. Nausea burns in your throat and saliva falls from your lips as you regain control. You hear a sickening squelch and a harsh clang; you look up to find the killer stepping on your blood-slicked knife and kicking it across the floor, sending it skittering away from you. 

It’s as if he isn’t even wounded. He’s descending on you with the same ferocity as before, panting like a predator salivating for its prey. At this point, you’re attempting to get away from him—only for him to harshly grab your collar and slam you into the ground. Your head rattles and throbs; blood falls from your nose and down past your lips. The killer harshly flips you around until you’re on your back, dizzily looking up at him. Then he dips his head down dangerously close to your neck and bites. You scream and try to shove him off of you, only for him to rise moments later with a bloodied chunk of flesh between his teeth. Your stomach rolls in disgust and there’s a violent buzzing sound echoing in your ears. Through sheer panic and bone-deep fear, you grapple with the man long enough to get him off of you. Something flashes in his eyes mere moments before you harshly knee him in the gut. It gets him off of you, leaving you just barely enough time to scramble for the discarded knife. You make a mad grab for it, expecting to be harshly dragged back by the ankle. Instead, you face no resistance. But, once you reach the knife, he’s already out of the room. 

Swearing, you stumble after him—but the guy is fast. You run down the hall as quickly as you can, only to look around and find no sign of him anywhere. You look along the floor for a trail of blood or a wayward footprint, but there’s nothing. It’s as if he was never here in the first place. You grip your knife tightly, attempting to breathe normally despite the overwhelming tightness in your throat, pulsing in your chest, and throbbing in your temple. 

Your adrenaline is swiftly falling, even with the knowledge that the killer could still be lurking around any corner. You press a shaking hand to the edge of your neck; it comes back dripping with blood. Something like a whimper escapes your lips as you promptly topple over, just barely catching yourself from a nasty collision with the ground. Try as you might, you can’t seem to get yourself back up—and you’re giving into the shadows creeping across your vision without much of a fight. 

You wake up in a hospital. 

Your first instinct is to groan—and you attempt to do just that, but the muscles in your throat constrict and you choke on a breath instead. Immediately, there’s a hand on your shoulder and a patient voice admonishing you for the effort. The nurse gives you a brief summary of your condition, explaining that you’ve been unconscious for a few days. You’ve suffered a moderate strain to your vocal cords after the killer’s attempted strangulation, which explains your current inability to speak. You’re told that this will pass in time, as long as you take it easy. You also have a mild concussion, but that’s pretty standard fare for you. 

There’s a dull ache running through your limbs as you summon the energy to push yourself out of the bed and head for the bathroom. You just barely catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, but it’s enough to send a renewed wave of fear and disgust running through you. Your neck is mottled with bruises, an unsightly mix of vivid purple and blue. You nearly look like a walking corpse. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you reach for the spot where the killer bit you, only to find a bandage hiding the damage. You stare at your reflection defeatedly for a while, before eventually convincing yourself to return to bed. It’s clear your stamina has been affected, because even standing still for a few minutes is enough to make you fatigued. You blink and lean back into the pillow behind you. Despite the dull thrumming pain that seems to run across your entire body, you fall asleep within moments.

For a few more days, your life is only defined by sleep. You sleep, wake up, go to the bathroom, and go back to sleep. It’s a vicious cycle—one that very nearly convinces you of your uselessness—but you manage to remain bedridden for the duration of your stay. The damage to your neck and throat is something you haven’t experienced before, and you don’t want to jeopardize the healing process. 

Unfortunately, this means you’re at the hospital for more than a week. As you slowly heal, you find yourself assaulted with an immense desire for company. Beverly visited you nearly every other time you were incapacitated; but you’re nearly six hours from Quantico now. And besides, you haven’t exactly been a great friend to her lately. You’ve been too absorbed in your own affairs to offer her support or spend much time with her. No, this hospital visit is different: you don’t see Beverly or Jack. (Or Hannibal, a traitorous voice reminds you, summoning memories of a soup garnished with your own kidney and a kind smile that seemed strangely genuine.)

You do, however, have an unexpected visitor. Evelyn enters your room one morning, a sympathetic smile rising on her face when she sees you. “Hey,” the curator says. There are slight dark circles under her eyes, but otherwise she looks healthy. You feel a smile rising on your lips in response, happy to see she’s looking well. “How are you feeling?” 

You tap your throat and she grimaces, evidently getting the message. Then you reach over to the nightstand and show her the notepad and pen the nurses gave you. She nods and takes a seat at your bedside, patiently waiting for your response. Your penmanship is slightly shaky, but you manage to get it down with relative ease: You shouldn’t be here. I almost got you killed.  

She frowns. “Don’t say that,” she admonishes you gently. “You couldn’t have known that would happen. Besides, you fought him off. Who knows what he would’ve done otherwise.” She shakes her head in disbelief. 

You meet her eyes and feel your throat begin to burn. There’s such an intense longing building in your chest and you can’t quite pinpoint what that desire is meant for. Friendship? Companionship? A normal life? A stable career, without the emotional turmoil and survivor’s guilt? A face unmarred by killer’s knives? 

You swallow past all those feelings and manage an unsteady smile. Evelyn doesn’t deserve any of this—you will not dump all of these thoughts on her. She doesn’t deserve your emotional baggage. What she deserves is a return to her normal life—and a departure from you. It would be best for Evelyn if you never saw her again. 

But she is incredibly compassionate, and promptly refuses to award you any blame. She sits by your side for almost an hour, having a virtually one-sided conversation while you write out your responses. Evelyn’s kindness only reminds you of just why you first entered the academy. You wanted to protect people like her. Not that they couldn’t protect themselves; rather, you wanted to ensure they never had the need to do so.  

And look where that got you, Frederick Chilton whispers to you mockingly. You should have stayed away.  

You ruin everything you touch and everyone you meet, Abel Gideon laughs. You should have stayed away.  

Away, Garret Jacob Hobbs says, his voice slowly blending with Clark Ingram’s in a terrifying tone, away away away away away- 

Evelyn’s voice breaks you from your thoughts; she’s getting up from her seat, and you can’t decide whether you should be relieved or dejected. She does write you a quick note, with her phone number and a wholesome ‘Get well soon!’ message with a smiley face drawn next to it. She also gives you a hug before she leaves; your eyes burn as you reciprocate it, desperate for comfort even though you don’t deserve it. You save her number in your phone, despite knowing you’ll never contact her. It doesn't matter how much you may want to speak with her. You will never pluck up the courage to separate yourself from the unquestionable knowledge that you brought a killer to her doorstep. She survived your life once—you will not make her do that again. 

It’s not the first time you’ll distance yourself from someone because of your work, and you know it likely won’t be the last. It hurts all the same. You rub at your eyes tiredly, a sudden exhaustion pressing you into the stiff mattress and forcing your eyelids shut. You quickly find yourself a victim of those confusing, unsettling dreams of yellows and greys once more.

thanks for reading! <3

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[qvrcll]

the string to strike within

summary: ellie is fond of the idea of scooping you up for a date. even more-so when it mingles with the idea of a planetarium (or, just a mini drabble of nervous, love sick ellie who doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants.)

warnings: nothing major but slight n$fw implied at the end, female reader, established relationship

notes: HIII sorry to have disappeared again, i come and go a lot it seems… but hope you have all been keeping well 🥹 its been one thing or another with writing about her, but i managed to afford this drabble so far! & yes, that is a mitski lyrics as a title because mitski and ellie make me rabid in the strangest way… anyways, enjoy :-]

Imagine Modern!Ellie who is girlishly overstrung when she decides (against her own worriments) to ask you out on another date (despite already dating you). It’s a sweet excursion on her part, messy and lovesick as she is — jots down possible locations on parchment paper, wrests with the idea of a planetarium or a museum (broods about which idea will bore you the most) when finally, she decides for letting it slip into conversation.

It won’t be entirely [add any synonym for confident here] at first — just a little “I’ve been thinking…” beating through the minor hues of the day. Washing dishes? She’ll sneak up behind you, latch an arm by the hip and press kisses where you cannot discern them from neck or throat, uttering a little “Mmm… you free this weekend?” so that you’re caught off guard softly, mentally procuring which days your off and which days you’re catching up on intrinsic amounts of work, away from her and away from comfort.

The second attempt is more feasible than the first, where she brings up words rather than ideas at the dining table. A chew around her food, and she’s talking again — “A planetarium is, like, amazing. Babe, you have got to see one in person,” she scoops food into her mouth, like a hollow attempt at shutting herself up, “It’s… amazing. Really.”

The last moment is in bed, close to sleep where she’s perched against your back. Her fingers graze the upturn of your belly, warm and gentle and the moment you feel the least bit sleepy, her blood hot sigh is in your ear already and you come to turn to her, more questions in you than patience.

“Ellie.”

“Mhm?” A good act at apathy, but not good enough.

“I know you’re awake.”

“I am now, babe.”

“Baby, do you want to ask me anything?”

Your feel her fingers tighten just the least bit against your belly, her left coming to still against your thigh. Ah, you’ve hit your mark.

“You think?”

“Ellie.”

Her silence is loud, deafening. Her mouth slotted against the back of your neck, her proximity is beautiful, too, in the pulse of her hesitance.

“Will you… go out on a date with me?”

A pause. Minuscule, barely counted.

“Ellie, we’re dating.”

“Yes, I know, babe. But it’s a planetarium. Space stuff. I don’t wanna… I don’t know, bore you. I just—“

Her fingers clutch the shallow edge of your jumper and pull at the deft strings that show, nervous suddenly. You find that beautiful, too. Whatever messy thoughts that trouble her become your own at touch, and with the weight of your fingers against the back of her hand, she looks up with surprise.

“You know I’d love to do on a date with you,” you press a chaste kiss to her palm, feel with gaiety how her pulse spikes and smelts, “I want you to teach me.”

“Teach you?”

“You can teach me what makes a planetarium. What you find interesting. What you find boring. Whatever. Ellie, you know I’d literally give up anything for you, right?”

And suddenly, her eyes lighten and take on a softer shade, bruises of the same hue as she stares at your mouth, comes down to kiss it deeply and breathe you in fully.

“Are you sure?” she asks, like the question is life and death itself, to which you can only nod because ofcourse you are sure. You would reach into the stick of your mouth and wrench your heart out for her to see, if it meant to be sure. And when you do nod excitedly, her smile is something that makes your stomach hurt cruelly, so well.

She kisses you again, then, mutters a “I love you. So fucking much,” and then, she’s teeming with vulnerability and excitement, her limbs tangling with your own, and a smile that is all teeth.

It makes you infectious with glee, wondrous with breathy chuckles, as you reach into the strands of her hair, “I love you more.”

And then,

“Tomorrow. 3 in the afternoon. Sounds like a deal?”

You begin to wrack your head for a mental schedule, purse your lips to see if you’re available tomorrow to be hers for the taking, but then her fingers are already looped twice into the lace of your undergarments, her breath slowly breaking against the soft spot of your neck. And her other hand sinks into the small of your back. And, finally, a quiet concession:

“D… Deal.”

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[xxsycamore]

A Soulmate That Wasn’t Meant to Be

╰┈➤ 🩷 While rare, there are some instances of a soulmate clock appearing to be broken, showing a negative countdown or one that you cannot outlive. Or both. You were just born under an unlucky star. One that destined you to not only fail to experience such a major event of your life as knowing when you've met your soulmate, but also for Arthur Conan Doyle to find out about it when you've successfully kept it a secret from almost everyone so far.

Arthur Conan Doyle x Gender Neutral Reader • rating: G • tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Alternate Universe - College/University; Alternate Universe - Reincarnation; Alternate Universe - Soulmates; Soulmate-Identifying Timers; Denial of Feelings; Feelings Realization; Fake/Pretend Relationship; Pet Names; Drinking; Time Travel; First Kiss • wordcount: 2,641 • masterlist

a/n: This is my gift for @oigimi, for the Secret Santa event hosted by @lemeowade ! I saw your preferences for AUs and I couldn't help myself searching for a connection...then I remembered soulmate clock AU is a thing, and then I remembered ikevamp deals with timetravel and I went "hmmm this can turn into something interesting!" and it spiraled out of control after that point 😭 i sincerely hope this isn't too big of a mess and that it's your type of fic! Hope you enjoy, I had a lot of fun!! 🥺🥺❤❤ Namesake song by Jess Benko. Take a look at the end notes for clarification on some parts of this fic!

"Remind me again why do I have to spend the whole day being your pretend partner. The party doesn't start until 10PM tonight!"

"Here you go, luv. Be careful, it's hot!" Arthur hands the freshly baked pastry to you, resuming your slow stroll in Jardin du Carrousel, the garden of the Louvre museum. You hurriedly take it from his hands if that would make him finally pay attention to your question. Of course it would be hot, he doesn't need to remind you - it only annoys you further, as he so obviously does it to look like a good boyfriend more than anything.

"Do you want to taste mine? I can taste yours too."

"No thank you."

You suppose it's partly your own fault finding yourself in your current situation, considering the recent events. In a world where everyone is busy chasing after time, enjoying the dating scene before their soulmate countdown turns to zero, or trying to rush in and see the countdown speeding up as they try to play with fate and meet with their designated soulmate faster, you're an outcast. An outcast with a broken soulmate clock on your wrist, condemning you to a lifetime of long sleeves and wide bracelets and false modesty to trick people's curiosity. You should be used to them by now, their comments about you not being interested in relationships. And even though you do feel fed up with it, the thought of lying about dating someone just so they can shut up never crossed your mind.

But it crossed that of Arthur Conan Doyle. The college's infamous frivolous playboy, a firm believer of the 'hook up as much as you can before you find your soulmate!' ideology. Now, you didn't want to have anything to do with a guy like him, but on one of those college parties you were dragged to, he decided to pick you for the lead role in his biggest, stupidest drunken decision yet. And you were equally as drunk to play along with it, nodding in the face of his ex-girlfriend as she looked at the both of you in disbelief. For a playboy like Arthur, you thought he was managing to control his dating life better than this. But you guess he just got bored of being surrounded by love.

Straightening the lapels of his grey coat, Arthur fetches the brochure handed earlier to him out of his inner pocket and takes a quick look at it to make sure you checked out everything of interest in the area before entering the museum itself.

The guy has a whole checklist of activities for the day. You've seen it. He purposely taped another page underneath just to scare you with its sheer length, but you're seeing right through his tricks, the page is full of gibberish written just to take space. You've got your best frown on to keep the illusion of ignorance, hoping that you'd get bonus points for agreeing to go through the full contents of the list, both the real and the fake ones.

But is it really an act? The occasional tidbits of satisfaction coming from beating Arthur's brilliant mind - not that you'd ever give him the credit for it - are hardly enough to keep you entertained throughout the day. When the activities you take on today are meant to be just that, entertaining. And romantic too.

Now, were you a normal couple, a true couple, then maybe you'd be having fun now.

"Arthur, I think partners are supposed to listen to each other and answer each other's questions. At the very least."

"But you see, dear…" Arthur wraps his arm over your shoulder, gently nudging you into taking a turn away from the crowded path ahead and into a more secluded walk. "By asking that question out loud with people around us, you've already answered yourself. We clearly have more training to do, or we won't appear as a genuine couple."

Ah. He's right, damn it.

"I only lowered my guard because these people don't know us, stupid… Let's get inside already!"

Getting ahead of him, you think that as long as you appear excited to see the exponates, you can get away with keeping a few steps distance from Arthur. Hearing his low, annoying chuckle triggers the sensory neurons in your brain until a neat little image of his smirk is produced with near-perfect accuracy. Have you simply seen it too many times? There's no escape even when you turn your back to him, great.

The Louvre is magnificent to explore with the many pieces of art it houses, instantly changing your infatuation with the slow passage of time into wishes it would stop altogether. There's so much to see that you'd frankly not mind getting lost in here just to have an excuse to spend more time surrounded by art.

You have to admit, Arthur chose the perfect dating spot. You're not sure if it was based on your own preferences - surely not - but you find yourself not minding it suddenly.

"Picture!"

Hearing the signal, you instantly turn in the direction of the raised-up phone, smiling for the camera as Arthur presses his face closer to yours.

"Oh, this is a good one, I'm definitely posting it. You look so inlove."

"I'm in love with Da Vinci's work, that's it."

"Uh-uh. That works for me too." Arthur replies while his fingers dance across the screen, likely typing some cheesy caption for the picture. A second later your own phone vibrates in your pocket, signaling that he posted the picture and tagged you in it, and you don't even bother looking.

"At least you're a natural, Arthur."

"What, in masking an expression? How are you so sure?"

You blink, meeting his gaze as some child holding a balloon separates the two of you for a mere second. Instinctively, you shorten the distance so you don't lose Arthur, looking for his hand to take hold of. You've already been through that today, linking hands in the crowds. And while there was no real need to do that right now, you just did that…

To the question in your eyes evoked from his last words, he smirks and adds, "There are pieces of art here that I look at with fondness just like you do."

Your heart sinks for a moment, only to create palpitations that mess with your head. You have no idea where they came from or what evoked this feeling in your chest, but while looking anywhere but at Arthur, your gaze falls on other couples passing by. It's because you were instructed to watch them if you're having trouble recreating the subtle romantic gestures that indicate dating. An advice from a writer no doubt, one that you wish you could forget because it's too late telling your brain to forget what it's been taught. But the question is, why the sudden turning of stomach at the sight of them?

While failing to watch your step, you lose your balance and stumble on your own feet, meeting the hard ground hands-first. You feel eyes on you for a short moment; just a mere second any stranger might spare to witness the unfortunate event before moving on with their tour.

That's it, except for Arthur - who is there to pull you up in a manner of utmost care, dusting off your clothes, taking you to a more secluded area with benches to rest on and asking you at least three times if you're alright before you can snap out of your surprised state and let out a murmur of affirmation.

In the whirlwind of emotions rushing through your slightly clouded mind, you put the embarrassment of your fall aside and realize you still feel hot. As Arthur turns your hand around to inspect it, you realize that no amount of hand-holding numbed your reaction to the touch of his warm hands.

And no amount of his exaggerated lovey-dovey gestures of affection could prepare you for the look of genuine worry over something so insignificant on his face.

"You fell on your hands, they must be scrapped… let's get them under cold water, it would wash away the dirt too."

"Wait, don't look!-"

With the distraction slowing down your reactions, you fail to stop Arthur on time before he can roll up your sleeve.

Your soulmate clock instantly makes him adopt an expression of perplexion, as the quick look he gave it was enough for him to notice the bizarre sight of one too many numbers aligned on the width of your wrist.

-46 750 days, 9 hours, 17 minutes, 35 seconds

"Your countdown is…"

"Screwed up. I'm one of those people."

While rare, there are some instances of a soulmate clock appearing to be broken, showing a negative countdown or one that you cannot outlive. Or both. You were just born under an unlucky star.

One that destined you to not only fail to experience such a major event of your life as knowing when you've met your soulmate, but also for Arthur Conan Doyle to find out about it when you've successfully kept it a secret from almost everyone so far.

It has to be some kind of irony, being here with him today for these reasons. He who made up this whole plan because he needs an escape from love, while you on the other hand-

"Now that I've seen yours, it would only be fair I showed you mine."

"It's nothing, you really don't have to-"

You try to avert your gaze as Arthur extends his hand and rolls up his sleeve, turning it so you can see the inside of his wrist.

-12 616 days, 9 hours, 16 minutes, 51 seconds

"Huh…" You freeze for a moment, not believing your eyes. The guy you secretly envied for having the privilege of being sure about meeting true love to the point he'd chase ephemeral trysts just to kill time. Turns out he also won't be able to…

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't think I'm all that sad, luv. I was never destined to have a soulmate, but that's fine by me. Maybe that's what I deserve."

Your head spins with emotion once more, and this time it's guilt. And it weighs down on you heavier than all else there is, and you suddenly want to disappear.

It's probably not wise to turn your back on Arthur without saying a word, but you'll be regretting this later. You start running, and he calls out your name but it never approaches you. He's not even chasing after you, but you're glad - you've already started thinking of the apology you're going to drop in his direct messages before blocking his number.

Just as you halt your step and check behind your back, you spot his tall frame amidst the crowd, trying to push his way toward you. Without much time to think, you open the nearest door and pray that he'll lose you from his sight and continue ahead on the corridor.

This section of the museum appears different somehow, ontop of being strangely devoid of visitors, with the exponates carrying an air of extra antiquity to them. The path ahead is quite narrower in contrast to the other hallways too, the lightning more sparse, and the feeling of unease tells you to wait out Arthur's chase attempt and then go back where you came from.

Except, he finds you.

You hate it that he read your mind about entering that door, and you hate that you're now practically given the privacy to talk. Not wanting to face him now, you simply continue ahead, hoping to blend with the crowd at the other side of that corridor and escape him then.

Arthur follows behind you, continuing to call out your name, and your mind becomes dizzy out of a sudden. You're ready to blame it on one too many things and you don't pay much attention, until something odd happens. A blinding light flashes before you, making you unable to advance further. Arthur catches up with you just in time to put his hand on your arm.

The light is gone in the next moment, and you slowly open your eyes to find yourself in a different hallway, together with Arthur.

Sinking to your knees, you try to make something out of the bizarre situation, and Arthur follows you on the ground to soothingly massage your back, simultaneously checking for injury. A tiny part of you remains sane and warm, and it's glad that he's here.

"A-Arthur! Look at my-"

Moving his gaze from your shocked expression to your outstretched hand, he gasps as he sees your soulmate clock suddenly speed up, losing years upon years, seemingly not planning on stopping anytime soon. Another portion of shock hits you as you notice his own clock doing the same, and you drag up his hand to get his attention to it.

At a pace slower than yours, Arthur's clock reduces its countdown. The two of you can only watch in alert silence, everything else becoming irrelevant in the face of the miracle happening to those who accepted their deprived-of-love fate long, long ago. In the lone hallway, two sets of eyes search for a third person who does not exist, as one might do when that moment approaches.

The days on the counters reduce to what at most adds up to a few years, then a few months, then finally they turn to zero; followed by the minutes, and at last, followed by the seconds as well.

The rows of zeros align on both of your wrists, signaling that…

"My soulmate is…"

"It's been you the whole time?"

***

After being found by the residents of what you came to know is the mansion of Comte de Saint-German, you were introduced to the lord of the house himself. His explanation eased some of your concerns while still being bizarre enough to be hardly believable.

Being trapped here for a month surely sounds like you'll have enough time on your hands to unpack everything that happened today. But you're glad you're not going through this on your own.

Once you find yourself alone in the company of Arthur again, the butterflies in your belly are revived, stubbornly refusing to let anything overshadow the realization you came to just awhile ago.

Arthur seems to be able to tell what's on your mind. His deep sea-blue eyes lock into yours, and you don't know what to say. Luckily, he takes the initiative.

"We traveled back in time. The clocks were never broken… we were meant to meet here."

An echo of his words reverberates in your head as you try and let them sink in, absurd as they sound…there's no other explanation.

He starts laughing, much to your dismay.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, just…" He casually puts his hands in his pockets, admiring a painting hanging on the hallway's wall as he picks his words. "Seeing as we won't be showing up to that party… I guess we don't need the pretend couple lessons anymore."

It's a laugh you didn't know you needed. You aren't sure what is it about human nature that nudges you to seek the solace of a smile no matter how sobering and hostile a situation is, such as finding yourself in an unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar age. But you're thankful.

"It's a shame." Arthur turns to you. "I was looking forward to kissing you as our grand final lesson."

Your eyes widen, and Arthur has that stupid smirk plastered on his face. Without taking his hands out of his pockets, he leans into your frame and shortens the distance.

"It's a shame indeed…" is all you can muster before sealing those damned alluring smiling lips of Arthur with your own.

a/n: The soulmate clock AU normally uses the countdown for the couple's meeting but here they've clearly met before, so I wondered if I could instead make it count down to their first meeting in the place they're destined to fall in love at, Comte's mansion in 19th century Paris.

Arthur's countdown differs from that of the reader because his clock is synced with the timeline of his previous life - practically, he was born in 1859, lived through the year 1895 when they were destined to meet with the reader - but because it wasn't the right timeline, his clock began to run backwards. Arthur then dies in 1930 and gets reborn into 21st century Arthur, with a clock that still counts down to the year 1895, but the countdown picks up from the moment he died in his previous life - july 7th 1930 (his death day). This is why his and the reader's clocks aren't synced and they can't see it coming that they're each other's soulmate LMAO get doomed by the narrative

"mo are you alright why is this a 4 different AUs at once, 2600 word fic without any planned squeals" yes I think it's perfect as it and I had fun!

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[gm-warlic]

DragonFable Timeline

Hello again my friends! Now that Book 3 is complete, I am back with an updated timeline complete with holiday events! It isn't perfect, as I am missing the most recent holiday events (really hoping I can fit those into Book 4 or the space between Books 3 & 4), but I think this is a pretty accurate timeline overall, perfect for all those wanting to play the game all the way through now that Book 3 is finished.

(One thing to remember is that not all holiday events happen exactly on the holiday itself, and not all are explicitly a year after the last event. I have placed certain holiday events in the same year where it makes sense to do so)

Book 1

Year 1

A Hero is Born Bored

Oaklore

Falconreach

Undead Assault

Sepulchure's Flying Fortress

Ice Dragon War

Frostval Chapter 1: A Frostval Tale

(This technically isn't actually the holiday itself, but instead the event that leads to the Frost Moglins creating the holiday, so it does not necessarily have to happen at the same time of the year as the holiday. After all, Jesus wasn't born in December)

Dragon Egg Saga

Robina→The Hatching

Sunbreeze Grove

DragonLord Training

Willowshire Burns

Amityvale

Haunted House

Crystal Clear Lake

Graveyard (Meet Artix)

Sir Ano's Quests

Beach Invasion 

Amityvale 

Vampire Tower

War at See

Mogloween Chapter 1: First Mogloween

Saving Lymcrest

Thankstaking Chapters 1→3

Sunbreeze Grove

Titans of BattleOn

Frostval Chapter 2: Out in the Cold!

Year 2

Wind Orb Saga

Water Breathing Potions

Nythera Saga

Stocking the Shelves→It's Elementary!

Wind Orb Saga

Pirates vs Ninjas War→Sepulchure

Hero's Heart Day Chapters 1→2

Lucky Day Chapters 1 & 3

Nythera Saga

Potion Mastery

Darkness Orb Saga

Save Moonridge!→Moonridge: Saved!

Light Orb Saga

Meeting Zhoom→Dynasty Tomb

Darkness Orb Saga

The Outcast

Nythera Saga 

The Storm→The Storm War

Darkness Orb Saga

The Gate Keeper→Extra Credit

Light Orb Saga

The Sandwich→Death From Below!

Ice Orb Saga

Mogloween Chapter 3: Mogloween Theft

Archknight

Thankstaking Chapter 4: Gooble-ocalypse

Energy Orb Saga

Frostval Chapter 3: Lumps of Coal!

Year 3

Fire Orb Saga

A Letter From Home→The Ultimate Weapon

Vilmor Saga

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 3: Change of Heart

Lucky Day Chapter 4: (Somewhere over the Rainbow Bridge)

Fire Orb Saga

Going East→Epilogue

Water Orb Saga

Mogloween Chapters 4→5

Tomix Saga

Highway→Museum

The Clashening

Thankstaking Chapter 5: Welcomegiving!

Nythera Saga

Into the Void→Face Your Destiny

Tomix Saga

Penitentiary→The End?

Darkness Orb Saga

A Dark Letter→Memory-Demons

Tomix Saga

Meeting Aegis→Soulweaver Training

Frostval Chapter 4: Frosty Reception

Year 4

Earth Orb Saga

Dravir Siege→Gorgok?

Spy Saga

Earth Orb Saga

Guardian Tower?→The Whole Truth

Nythera Saga

Know Your Nature→Embrace Your Destiny 

Earth Orb Saga

The Temple→Hidden Blades

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 4: The Greatest Hug of All

Lucky Day Chapter 5: Unlucky Escape

The Final 13th

Between

True Mortal: The Rise of Nivalis

Alexander's Saga 

(Not when the events actually occur, but when you should play the questline)

Book 2

Elemental Dissonance

Introduction: Flames in the Dark→A Brief Respite

Mogloween Chapter 6: 48 Weeks Later 

Elemental Dissonance

To Atrea→The Hunt Begins

Thankstaking Chapter 6: The Biggest Thankstaking Ever!

Elemental Dissonance

Appointment

Frostval Chapters 5→6

Year 5

Elemental Dissonance

North→The Merge

Between  

Thankstaking Chapter 7: Good Gravy!

(Yes, this is while the Hero is frozen. But these events actually don't need the Hero to be present to happen exactly as they do, and the feast has character models from both Book 1 and Book 3)

Book 3

Year 5/13

The End of Magic

Hero is Thawed→Player Hatching

Ravenloss

To Edelia→The Headmaster

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 5: The Threat List!

Calamity

13th 13th

Popsmashed

Ravenloss

The Gnomes Gnow→Autumn Wind

The End of Magic

The Rose Tree→Sands of Eternity

Ravenloss

Desert Night→Tithril

Blood and Roses

Full Moon War→Swamp Lake

Ravenloss

Deep Void→The Codex

The End of Magic

Discover Sulen'Eska

Song on the Wind→Dancing Breeze

Calamity

Forest Hunt→The Evil Artifact

Mogloween Chapters 7→8

Thankstaking Chapters 8→10

Frostval Chapters 7→8

Year 6/14

The End of Magic

Smoke in the Trees→Chains of Command

Blood and Roses

Neron's Request→Blood Patrol: Weres

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 7: The Love Ship

Lucky Day Chapters 6→7

Ravenloss

Into the Ynnungaap→Epilogue 

The End of Magic

Haven on the Horizon→The Siege of Haven

Calamity 

Serenity Before the Storm

Mogloween Chapter 9: Candy Troubles 

Calamity

The Valtrith Tomb→Breaking Down

Thankstaking Chapter 11: Attack of the Filler Golems!

Blood and Roses

The Locket→Blood and Roses

Frostval Chapters 9→10

Year 7/15

Calamity

Shattered→Ashes

Hero's Heart Day Chapter 8: Bubble Trouble

Lucky Day Chapter 9: Cysero's Golden Eggs

The End of Magic

One Step Forward→Trust

The Shears

Oculus Tower→ Shear Destruction

Ravenloss

Just Chillin'

The End of Magic

Melissa→ A Day for Farewells

Calamity

Madness→ Weal

The Nest

The Nest→ Leaving the Nest

The End of Magic

Unbound→ Timelines

The Thorns

Dark Devices

The Nest

Epilogue

Mogloween Chapter 10: Bubble Trouble 

Calamity

Corruption→Epilogue 

Thankstaking Chapter 12: The Felonious Five

Frostval Chapters 11→13

Year 8/16

The End of Magic

The Tournament of Champions

The Thorns

Enigmatic Epidemic→Artifact Heist

Six Heroes

Return to Lymcrest→The Burning Village

Hero's Heart Day Chapters 9→11

The Maleurous

Sinnocence→Remthalas

The Thorns

A New Student→Theano: A Thorn's Story

The Maleurous

Mr. Nameless

Ravenloss

Secundus

The Maleurous

Archive E-189-L

Six Heroes

The Apprentice→ ANOMALY 

The Maleurous

The Angel of Azaveyr→Myalos

Mogloween Chapters 11→15

(Time in Apsaydaaun is stated to move differently than on Lore, so these could all feasibly happen in the same month)

The Maleurous 

Iconoclasm→Reality

The Thorns

Fear

The Maleurous

Epilogue: Remembrance 

Thankstaking Chapters 13→14

The Thorns

Fortress of Thorns→Epilogue: Loose Ends

Frostval Chapter 15: The Great Giftnapping

Year 9/17

The End of Magic

My Spot→Khvorost

Hero's Heart Day Chapters 12→13

The End of Magic

A Petal Falls→Plans Entwined 

The First Weaver

Introduction→Father of Mine

The End of Magic

Out of Control→Sunfall: Part 2

Mogloween Chapter 17: The Ebil Dread

(Technically this would be partway through Storm in the Night, as I imagine it as the Hero stopping in Falconreach on their way to Doomwood, but the quest skips from talking in Swordhaven to arriving in Doomwood)

The First Weaver

From the Citadel with Love→Marzanna

The End of Magic

Storm in the Night→Broken Circuit (Part 1)

The First Weaver

The Beginning of the End→The End of the Beginning

The End of Magic

Broken Circuit (Part 2)→Of Duty and Dragons

Thankstaking Chapters 16-17

The End of Magic 

Speaker and Slayer→Reasons to Fight

Frostval Chapter 16: The Grand Snowfight

The End of Magic

Into the Unknown→Awakened Depths (Epilogue)

Frostval Chapter 17: The Reindragon

Year 10/18

The End of Magic

The Point of No Return (Part 1)→The End of Magic (Epilogue)

I hope you enjoy the timeline! (It took a lot of work to put together) Battle On!

[napakmahal]

“ Did all this happen because I left?”

Pause girlies because this is actually kinda serious. I just got out of a depressive episode and just really wanted to give the depression girlies a lil treat. Remember: you need other people in your life when you have depression. Make friends not resources. I love y’all (angst)

How can something be so painful yet so numb at the same time? The human brain is one of the most complex systems in the universe, aside from the universe itself. How it can feel so many polar opposite things simoultaniouly, and in that creating an entire civil war within itself. How could the brain, the thing meant to be in charge with your care and wellbeing one day just decide to decrease its own activity and make you miserable? It was the worlds greatest betrayal.

You’d been lying in your bed for the past week, and you might have gotten up twice a day. Once to use the bathroom and the other to get some food and bring it right back to your bed. Everyone said it wasn’t a big deal because you were young and you were probably just in a bad mood because of your hormones. Hormones were evil enough to suction blood from your reproductive organs (usually) once a month, they couldn’t possibly be cruel enough for this.

On your overheated and whirling computer was an endless loop of lousy reality T.V shows you’d watched over and over. There’s been therapists that have said that in these times of depressive episodes, you should revert back to adding some life and movement back into your brain. Which meant doing things like crossword puzzles, working out, math games, and reading 200+ page books. All things that you could totally do and things you liked to do. But not right now. Now all you wanted was junk food and shitty TLC shows. Not some slow burn, or some huge mystery TV show that required you to remember tiny details from the beginning of the season. Reality TV was entertaining, effortless, and on loop but you’d be lying if you said everytime you heard the freaky eaters intro a little more of your brain died.

That’s the funny thing about depression. Because even though you can feel yourself slipping and drowning in total misery, there’s nothing anyone can do to save you. So you get stuck in this endless loop of self detructive behavior hoping that the pain you experience on the outside is enough to kill the thing on the inside.

You were clinically depressed, and nothing nobody did was ever going to change that. But these episodes weren’t always like this. For a while, episodes were bearable. Your ‘friend’ made them better.

You’d known Hiro for a while, meeting him on the downtown bus during sunset on a spring saturday. You thought he was cool, he thought you were pretty. But the whole girlfriend-boyfriend thing seemed uncomfortable and the labels meade things weird.

Granted you were each others first kiss. The two of you had tried to convince each other it was just because you got asked out to your eighth grade formal and you wanted to be prepared. It also didn’t help much that the more you described the dude that asked you out, the more Hiro wished he hadn’t skipped all those grades.

You never told anyone about that. Sure you could say it was a one time thing but it was hard to use that as a defense when you’d made out with him because you were bored under the dock near the beach during the summer carnival, and when you were just playing video games in his room, and when you were sitting on the steps of the museum of Japanese artifacts while sharing a soda, and the time you two were at the skatepark after it closed and you two were making out- only except that time he’d taken off his jacket.

Sure you were both fifteen but you watched people make out in the hallways at school everyday. Kissing didn’t seem like this massive thing. Hiro grew up isolated from the true highschool experience, he didn’t know. All he knew was that making out with you was cool and pretending he only did it because he was bored (and not because he would swear on his teen hormones that he loved you) was even cooler.

His aunt and brother had liked to tease you for it, but that’s all it was: teasing. The two of you would never live down the torment you’d likey face if they found out about your “I’m bored, let’s make out” sessions.

Speaking of, your mom didn’t really know you and Hiro were like that. She was only partly sure you liked him and you only thought that because one day after she caught you being particularly smiley that night after having him over to stream a new song she came into your room, played with your hair and said: “So you and Hiro are friends? That’s nice, he’s seems nice. Just, make sure he doesn’t make it worse.”

That was also kind of a silly depression thing: People and their influence could make it worse for you, others, and even themselves. Bad influence already makes bad people, but bad influence on people with depression tends to make them miserable, desperate, and self loathing.

But contrary to what your mom had said, Hiro didn’t make it worse. He made it better and she would soon figure that out after you’d tried texting him multiple times despite knowing he was at an expo outside the city. And he’d respond as fast as he could with the best messages, but when he’d go dead silent for almost ten hours each day it just dampened your mood. You’d kept reminding yourself not to be selfish, that your lack of ability to be happy shouldn’t stop people from living their lives. But from the hours of 7 a.m. - 5 p.m. you were left with no friend and a fat headache.

——————————————————————————

The intro to a show you couldn’t remember the name of played for the tenth time that day, drying out your eyes and causing an endless headache. You were surprised you hadn’t at least gotten a stomach ache from all the Tylenol you’d been taking. Someone knocked at your closed bedroom door before gently opening it.

��Y/n,” Your mom squinted through the darkness of your closed blinds and at the glowing computer screen. “There’s someone here to see you.”

With your back faced to her you couldn’t say anything other than a low, “Oh.”

She left for a bit as you continued to lay there, helpless almost dead. Thinking about death is something everyone does up to a certain extent. Questions like: How will I die? What comes next? Are ghosts real? All normal.

But when you and people like you thought about death it wasn’t like when other people thought about death.

Suddenly, your door creaked open and you didn’t even have the energy to look back but you just knew. Hiro had looked around at your depression room and sighed. He hadn’t even been around you for more than thirty seconds and he already wanted to cry. This was bad- so bad. The boy gently crept up to your bed and sat down. You felt the dent of his body in your mattress and still didn’t move.

“How are you?” His voice was quiet.

You responded barely above a whisper, “Fine.”

“When’s the last time you left this room?”

You didn’t even reply. At that moment, breathing was too much work. Having to think about the air going through your lungs and exhaling it out was a chore.

Hiro leaned over your body and shut the laptop closed before moving it off your head and placing his body in it’s spot. You two were now face to face, laying on your bed like the lovers of valdaro. It was bad this time and everyone knew it. Guilt had been eating him alive since he read the shift in your texts. How could he enjoy himself at this expo while you were there suffering?

“Did all of this happen because I wasn’t here?” He whispered.

You grabbed onto his hand. “No. I’ve always been like this.”

“Do you promise?”

“I swear it.”

“But it’s never been this bad before. If I was here then-”

“You couldn’t have done anything.” You cut him off. “Hiro I’ve been like this all my life. And you shouldn’t feel obligated to hold yourself back because I’m not normal.”

Once while playing around at the park at midnight you told Hiro that a therapist you had said these episodes will wax and wane. In the good there will be bad and in the bad there will be good. But there would never be moment where it would just be good. You’d be this way for the rest of your life, sad, in pain, and left with a feeling of mania and worthlessness. And there was nothing he could do about it.

“Do-” Hiro’s voice started to shake and a tear from my eye scurred across his face. “Do I at least make it any better?’

The thought of making it better by being there would in turn make him feel a little less guilty about not being able to be with you all the time.

For the first time in a week, you gave him a weak smile. No teeth, just lips. Before you leaned forward and gave him a prolonged kiss. In return, he brushed your hair from your face and started petting your head.

“Yes,” You whispered. “You do.”

[iznsfw]

Give me your best minju femdom

just how much are you willing to give for a dream that big?

IZ Days of Christmas: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

7,397 words

Categories | dominant_curator!Minju x aspiring_artist!you; mommy kink; MINJU LIKES BEING CALLED DADDY; degradation; #DomJu; femdom

Content warning | pegging, SLIGHT DUB-CON, harsh criticism/insults from Minju

You asked for it.

"I'll think about it."

Four words. Four words that are designed to make it seem that there's still a possibility lingering here, but actually pose a definite answer: no. And you would have believed in a potential answer of yes if it weren't for the curator's amused smile as you exhibit your artworks to her. There's no chance anymore; just by looking at her pink lips, you know what she actually means.

Your whole world falls apart. There's your hope, there's your lifelong dream, all cut into hopeless little fragments on the ground. And all you can think is: why? You've worked so hard for this. You've taken so many classes, so many days of coaching and endless painting. It's a difficult world out there, but you are certain that you deserve better than a " I'll think about it."

You deserve to have your painting in the country's biggest gallery. You deserve the recognition, the praise, everything. But the curator of this museum isn't quite convinced, and although she doesn't say it directly, her bored eyes say it all. To her, you're just another artist with a superiority complex, just another artist she can reject and move on without.

Even her quirked lips tell you that she's unimpressed. Probably even disgusted. How dare a niche artist like you demand to come to her personally and ask to have this... art—(if she can even call it that)—displayed?

Her heels clack on the marble museum floor as she runs her fingers along the frames of your paintings. "Honey," she says, testily, throwing you an amused glance, "this isn't even Picasso level talent. And, in case you don't know, Picasso was a pretty shit artist."

You're taken aback by plenty of factors in that condescending statement, because for one, Picasso was an excellent painter. He's your role model in the world of painting and the medium of art itself. You've visited museums in places you aren't even remotely interested in staying just to see his art in person. Hell, you took classes to be able to replicate his abstract style. How dare this woman speak of him as if he weren't one of the biggest names in art? How dare she? You bet that she probably doesn't know how to name any painting besides Starry Night.

"This one"—and then Minju reaches her bare arm, exposed by the loss of a sleeve attached to her black turtleneck top, to glaze her fingers across one of your pieces—"is probably my least favorite. It's rushed, it's not even colorful enough to attract attention. Not even gray enough to capture a sad mood."

How many pointed bullets has she shot at you this afternoon? You're losing count. "Well," you answer, quite shaken, "I don't believe in colors very much. It's the drawing that should matter. You see—"

"I don't want nor care enough to hear about your nerdy art bullshit."

The umpteenth bullet. It strikes your heart right through the core, and through the flat of your back. You take two steps backward for a reason you aren't sure of. It's a big museum, filled with towering sculptures created by lone artists many decades ago and paintings that take up two blocks, yet what intimidates you more than any of them is this woman:

Kim Minju, curator of the biggest art museum in Korea, and a professional asshole. You had to find that put the hard way the moment you started to crush on her. Who wouldn't? Her features—doe eyes, pointed nose, and thick pink lips—blend in together so perfectly, as if she were another masterpiece in the museum. But looks, you learn, are deceiving. Kim Minju is not as kind as she looks, nor are her words as pretty as her face.

Dress pants sway freely around her slim legs as she walks back to you. Her expressions never vary away from boredom, condescending, and angry. It's like those are the only emotions she is capable of having. She's such a complex person—you understand that although you've only been with her from eight o' clock today to three—but so, unbelievably uninteresting at the same time. You have no idea what to make of her yet, except for the fact that she can be pretty cruel.

Minju approaches you with crossed arms, then pauses when she's just another breath away from you. You try to meet her gaze, but it's too good at holding yours. Besides, the hate you have for the fact that she's taller than you doesn't help either. But you have to hold your ground. If you don't, there will be more pieces to pick up than your broken dreams.

"I'll give it to you straight," says Minju airily, "my museum doesn't have the time for your art."

That's another shot. One more and you're dead. Your cheeks already flush from embarrassment, but she drones on, clearly not caring about what you feel. Not that that's an unusual thing for her.

"I spent all day trying to listen to you talk about your credentials and art whatnot," she continues. "But I'm getting bored, and I don't like your tacky style or you. So I suggest you find another smaller place to start posting your art, like a kindergarten teacher's art class billboard."

You've died at least a hundred times with each word she spits. You're utterly humiliated; you've been through terrors of teachers but you have never received words from them as harsh as Minju's. Every syllable was fashioned to hit just the right spot, because yes, your art's first criticism is its tackiness from when you first started. Yes, it was a risk you took when the first place you decided to hang your art is the biggest museum in the country. But you're not like the other artists. You've improved so much over the years, and your art is nothing less than pleasing to the eyes now that you've found your own style.

You have to admit that they do slightly look out of place with all the other gorgeous paintings, but you can be as good as them. You just need a jumpstart, and you'll get to it. You swear on your own life.

"Miss Kim," you answer, not sure what to say, "I can be as good as Van Gogh, or whoever artist it is that you like. I just need a place to start, and I think your museum is a good place for that."

Minju laughs. "Van Gogh was as shitty as Picasso, dear thing. And your art is not good enough for this museum to be good. So please, take my advice and start at the nearest preschool. I'll hear from you when you've finally gotten into second grade."

Dear thing? Dear thing?! Oh, now she's royally pissed you off. Now, it's your turn to be cocky. Kim Minju is about to find out that two can play at this game.

"For your information, Minju," you reply, now with more confidence, "I'm not your dear thing. And I'm the best artist of my generation right now. You're going to be so sorry if you don't accept my art right now."

Minju nods condescendingly, as if she were listening to a small child rambling about dinosaurs. There's a laugh on her face, which makes you even more infuriated because she is just not getting the point. If she does, she doesn't believe in it. Oh, not in the slightest.

"'Best artist'? Let's not get ahead of ourselves right now. Your style is not unique. The topics you draw are not game-changing. Not even close."

"You just don't have the eyes for it," say you with gritting teeth. You hate how your lips are quivering. "You're, you're not even an artist yourself. You're just a curator."

"And a good one at that." She's just as assured in her own abilities as you are. Minju is unfazed by your amateur insults. She could hear better from a sixth grader. "You can drone on all you want, honey, but that won't change the fact that I'm not interested in taking you in. You can go or kill yourself in front of me. Either way, I won't care."

That's your breaking point. Your hands start to form trembling fists. You can't cope with all this right now, or with Minju. She's just another self-absorbed curator. What does she know about art?

But you've relied your dreams on her. If she doesn't give in, you're nothing. You'll never have a chance to make it big. Nobody cares about art nowadays, except for the classicals, making it even harder to make a name for yourself. You want to become so big in the world of craft that you're credited as inspirations centuries from now. You want to be the best that no one ever was. If Minju doesn't like you or what you make, you don't have a chance.

Gone is your oversaturated arrogance. Gone is the front you were trying to put up before Minju. Most importantly, your dreams are gone, snapped into pieces just like that by words. You're more than hurt; you're devastated. If you can't be a renowned artist—the only steady dream you've had your whole life—what are all your efforts worth now? They will remain fruitless if you don't put one foot forward.

Minju is your wall blocking the path to fame and recognition. A goddamned gorgeous wall who won't falter nor break for anyone, especially not you. No punch can break her foundation. No word from you can make her bricks detoriate.

Try to hold it back, but the tears are forming in your eyes. You're a mess, you truly are. You've been a fool for your dream, and you are just realizing now at the present that it was all for nothing.

"Please," you whisper. Break the staring contest with Minju and look at your shoes instead. Look at the marble floor no one would cross to see your works. Look at the ground where the pieces of your hopes and desires have broken.

"Please what?" Minju is clearly enjoying this. Her crossed arms quiver as she tries to hold back a laugh. Oh, she loves seeing pathetic men admit that they're nothing. It's what she feeds on. She can put their tears in a bowl and put cereal in it for breakfast.

"I'll—I'll do anything. Is that enough? I'll do anything for you to accept my works."

There's the smallest hope in you as you see that Minju is considering this. For a woman like her,and a man like you, she can make you do anything. She can make you mop the floors of the museum and yell "hakuna matata" on its roof and know that you would do all that just for her acceptance. That's what makes it so, utterly satisfying.

"That depends, to be honest," she says slowly.

Minju leans down a little and places a finger under your chin. Her nails are sharp, and they scratch your skin as she tilts your face upwards. Her smile is teasing; you hate that you like it so much. You hate that despite her clear description of how much she dislikes you as a person and you as an artist, your magnetic attraction to her remains.

"Just how much are you willing to give, boy toy, for a dream that big?"

She's degrading you again. It's strange how much it makes your skin tingle.

"Like I said," you sniffle, "anything. I'll give anything."

"Oh, you'll sooo regret saying that."

With a woman of her caliber? Of course you will. But you're a desperate person. It's your sheer need and your willingness to do whatever it takes to get it that get you to places. It's both an advantage and a disadvantage, a pro and con, light and dark. Chiaroscuro, if you will.

"W-what do I have to do?" you ask shakily.

"Simple." And she says this without any shame or sign of shame: "Call me mommy."

It takes a moment for you to register, and Minju uses your confusion as the perfect time to pin you to the wall, like you are a masterpiece, too. Not that she sees you in that light; you are too weak to be one. Too easy to be played with.

Minju is kissing your neck. Lipstick leaves fresh marks on your skin. And when she bites... oh, your knees do more than buckle. You almost collapse to the floor. Thank God (or not) for Minju's hands popping your shirt buttons; they keep you standing. They keep you knowing that all this is real.

She kisses you again, crudely. "What did I say?"

"Call you mommy..."

"Say it then."

She swiftly pulls off her black top, and in the bat of an eyelash, tangles your wrists in between its fabric behind your back. All the while, her kisses rampage your skin. She can't get enough of your pathetic submissiveness. She plays with you as if you were a toy, her toy.

Her mouth traces your torso like a pencil. Her teeth come out to play at times, specifically to see the alarm in your eyes. But nothing prepared you for her lips right above your jeans, or her daring eyes looking up at you and shooting glares into your soul.

"Say it."

"Mommy..."

That's the ticket. The zipper and button are undone by Minju's eager fingers. Your cock is easily fished out and taken into her mouth as if it were nothing. Your body tenses as your mouth falls open.

Although she is the one on her knees, Minju shows that it doesn't change that she's still in control. Her technique and pacing alternates between harsh, rough suckling to a snail's pace of blowing.She sucks you off not for your own pleasure, but for hers. Clearly, that is what she has put first most in this world.

"Fuck!" you can't help but cry out.

Minju spits on your cock and squeezes it tightly. Your hips jerk forward at the tightness and pain. "You're not allowed to talk unless I say so," she says firmly. She's serious about this, too; her eyes show clear and unbridled anger. "Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, hnghh!" Your moan echoes in the wide museum. Her lips have rounded your head again and provide great suction. "Y-yes, mommy!"

Satisfied, Minju continues to suck you off. She's unlike any other girl you've had sex with. The others put on innocent faces to entice you whilst their lips worked on your cock, and picked up the pace if you pleased. They let out the prettiest of tears as they called you daddy, whimpered out the sexual title in the midst of the shoves of your cock down their throats.

But Minju... she's a woman with the unhinged desire to belittle you. Even in sex, she remains taunting—the licks at the sides of your dick and in the tiny slit you have are only done to make her laugh at your shivers. It's pleasurable, yes, but degrading, too. Degrading in the sense that she's simply doing it to see you break yourself into something more pathetic, into the writhing, needy mommy's boy that you aren't.

Or... ?

"This dick is so fucking small." Minju spits on the shaft with disgust. "I bet you can't even fuck me properly, not even if I guide you along."

"I—I can," you say, defensively. Minju's saliva coats your cock with more liquid than the continuous stream of pre-cum, which she licks off, of course.

Minju rises to her feet. It is only then that you admire her body. You would say that her face is the real deal, and it is, but you're still rendered shocked by her form. Her breasts are not the biggest, but they're still pretty eye candies. Their nipples are tiny pink things atop small handfuls of flesh. Her hips are what tempt you the most; they're so fucking wide, bringing more shape to her slim stomach.

"Show me," she says. She smiles again, marking a new challenge. "Put that cock inside me or you'll never make yourself recognized. I can fucking crush your dream with a snap of my fingers, baby, so I suggest you move fast."

You can't do anything. Besides the fear of never making it in the real world or as an artist bubbling inside of you, she's so tempting. Even with her all-black outfit: black heels, black sleeveless top, black dress pants, a style you are not fond of almost as much as you aren't fond of pineapple pizza, she attracts you. It's like there's invisible magnets taped to her skin that pulls your fingers to her hips, pulls down the long pants, and grabs her close.

Like magnets, you rub together. Your cock lodges in the hole between her legs. It's met with an immediate contraction, but Minju shows little appreciation on her face. Yes, her jaw drops and her eyes are suddenly round and wide, but she doesn't care to tell you how good it is. Your quick thrusts outnumber the fucks Minju gives about catering to your wants.

"Yes... fuck, yes, fuck that cock into me." Minju humps your entering and exiting shaft determinedly. "Suck on my tits, toy. Suck them until they're red and sore."

That's not something you're adamant to disobey. Like her lips lubricating the shape of your cock earlier, your mouth finds her nipples and captures it. You do as she says, sucking it cleanly and hardly. It feels amazing in your mouth. You knew it would even before it slipped in between your lips. Minju lets out sighs of gratification. That was the only thing it took for her to be louder. She would have to turn up the volume, though; the slaps of your cock into her cavern are starting to boom.

While her breasts are a beauty of their own degree, Minju's cunt is just perfect. It's wet, grasping onto your cock and covering it with a sheen of juices, just like she coated it with saliva during her blowjob earlier. Her mouth was considerably warmer though. But you aren't one to complain when you're clearly the toy in this situation.

Besides, the texture of her walls is a welcome addition to the stimulus on your shaft. Your cockhead repeatedly dips onto the patches of sensitivity, provoking a surefire reaction of the tender walls closing around it tighter. Jerk your hips forward; if you were only more powerful, you could reach her cervix and make it a finishing line. But no, your focus is on sucking the life out of Minju's boobs, just like she commanded.

Minju whispers soft curses under her breath. Arms wound around your neck, she silently tells you to go deeper. No, it's not just a matter of telling; it's a command, as brazen and firm as her earlier order to tell you to suck her tits. She expects you to comply, and if she is disappointed by you not doing so, she'll discard of you. Simple as that.

Release her nipple from your lips and prove that you're worthy. Prove it with more powerful thrusts of your hips into her tiny hips. You string together every might in your body, although most of it is being drained by Minju's humps on your shaft, into pushing your cock deeper. Minju cries out in pleasure. Continue the cycle and never break it. Eyes closed, head tilted to the sky, and arms almost choking your neck, you know you've proven your value to her. All you have to do now is to maintain that.

"Fuck, that's right!" Minju yells out. Even she can't handle your pounds. You're knocking he rinto oblivion. "Fuck mommy's cunt like that, slut! Fucking stretch her out!"

You're already stretching her out enough. It's hard to see since Minju is so adamant on fucking herself on you, but your girth is practically spreading her pussy lips apart. Wonder if she'll become tighter if you fill her up to the base of your cock.

Test it out. Cock stiff and a compelled mind in action, you shove yourself as hard and deep as you can.

"Oh fuck!" Minju's fully penetrated by you now. Your cockhead nudges the end of her tunnel and slams into it repeatedly. Minju's high on the pleasure. She's fucking herself onto you as if she were possessed by a succubus. She's sex-crazed, she's rabid, she's a feral fucking vixen who won't play around when it comes to what pleases her. And right now, what's giving her so much bliss is your dick. She's never letting it go.

But she thinks she wants something else to add to the mix.

"Finger my asshole," Minju says bluntly. Another command. She takes your hand, undoes it from its constraints, and guides it to her round bottom. "Do it."

"B-but..." You're not used to butt stuff, to put it cleanly. You've never touched or inserted yourself in any of your girlfriends' asses. It has always been purely excluded from sessions like these. "I'm, I'm not—"

Minju leans over conspiratorially and rasps in your ear: "Now."

Can you still continue proving yourself worthy? Even if you can't, you have no choice. Your chance at making it big is in Minju's hands. Besides, you're pretty curious yourself. Does it feel good there for her, too? How good, exactly?

Pat your finger on the tensing brown circle. Minju's breath hitches in response. Hide your uncertainty by meticulous teasing, rubbing your fingertips around her asshole and only slightly putting some inside. But Minju is becoming impatient. Whimpers still escape her lips, but she makes herself clear with the reverse of her ass into your hand. She knows what you're trying to do, and she's not letting you get away with it.

Hold your breath and plug one finger inside her. Turns out that's all you needed to do for Minju to put her all into hugging you with her walls, for her neck and head to throw back, for her to cry out a scream that sounds a little fox-like due to its pitch.

"Mommy's cumming, mommy's cumming, ffffuhh—! "

Her voice cracks. It's that momentary weakness that compels you to burst inside her like a popped balloon, except that instead of helium, you release hot strings of wet white cum. You don't have the mind nor the care for a few seconds to worry about impregnating her. The grasp of her walls and the push of her manicured nails into your skin are too mighty in turning your attention away from that.

However, to Minju, it doesn't matter if your cock is thick and big. She's paralyzed in shock. She can't believe you had the audacity to cum inside her.

"Fuck! What the fucking fuck did you do?" Her hands free themselves of their frozen to push you away roughly.

You only come to your senses after she slaps you. "I'm sorry, Minju," you say guiltily. Had you really lost all self-control after months without sex? Sex education literally revolves around protection! "Are you at least on the pill...?"

"Of course I am!"

The tension releases itself from your shoulders. At least God still has your back. "It isn't a problem then," you say. "We can—"

Minju pushes you again. This time, your back knocks hard into the wall. She grasps you by the neck tightly. There's true anger in her eyes now. None of it is an arrogant ploy anymore.

"Are you fucking stupid?" she asks, then rolls her eyes. "Oh, why did I even bother asking? Of course you are."

Ouch.

"The thing here, boy toy, is I don't want your cum in me! Clean me up!"

"D-do I get a tissue or...?"

"No. Lick it out of me."

You're stunned. What? Shake your head, bewildered. "No, I'm not gonna lick my cum out of your cunt, Minju!" you yell.

Her fingers grab your hair and pull it downwards. You fall to the floor in a heap. But you should get used to it. With the way she treats you like you're dust beneath her feet, you've always belonged here. It's only literal now.

You take a glance at her creampied pussy and cringe. It looks gorgeous; it's dripping out of her like a river. But now that you have to lick your own cum out of her, like you're some obedient little slave who can do nothing but obey and obey, it doesn't look so enticing at all.

Minju fires you another glare. It's a warning of the worse that's yet to come if you don't clean her up.

Oh, the things you do for your dreams. The things you do for money; for fame; for the tiniest bit of recognition...

How did you get to this point?

Fine, you'll lick.

At first, it's humiliating. Your ears burn red as Minju parts her legs and sits on your mouth, using you as a sex toy and chair. It's hard to support her weight on your face, even if she is light. It's easy to slip your tongue inside her though. You know it feels good when she moans softly.

"Come on," she pushes you on. Demanding, that's what Minju is. You wonder how she even became a curator with that kind of attitude. She slides herself up and down your tongue, which doesn't become flaccid in its licks due to the uncomfortableness of it all. "Clean mommy up. We still have a lot of things to do."

You take some of your cum from her creamed hole and drag your tip tantalizingly to her clit. Minju whimpers. Repeat the process for a few more seconds. You enjoy the shivers she does, and how tight she is around you. They make the experience much more bearable.

You haven't appreciated her thighs enough. She may be slim, but they are thick enough to choke the breath out of you. They encase the sides of your face tightly as she guides your tongue hotly. Her eyelids are fluttered lower than usual. Her breaths become more labored after the ones before them exit.

Glad that your hands have been freed from much earlier, you try to make this fun for you, too. Grab those honey thighs and push her down onto your mouth. Her gasp is satisfying. Her eyes flutter wide. They're all fun to watch: the shiver of her tight form, the expressions she makes, but pulling her down was a big mistake. Now you can't breathe at all. Your nose is nestled into her clit.

The muffled breaths you take end up pleasuring her cunt instead, much to your dismay. Minju doesn't mind; they make her more soaked than before. She sways her hips to and fro to get the feel of your nose swiping on her clitoris and your tongue entering and exiting her. The tip of your tongue excites her senses in the best way possible. She can't get enough of it. Hands on her nipples, she bounces herself on your pink appendage, overall satisfied with the work you've been doing.

"Such a good boy now," she remarks with a playful caress of your hair. "See how pathetic boys like you always end up in this position? Lick me faster."

The insults graze your pride because you know they are true. You became a whore for Minju. Her little boy toy. Weren't you just boasting about your own achievements a while ago? If so, why are you on your knees now? It's humiliating.

Close your eyes to stop the tears of embarrassment from flowing. The last of your dignity is gone. You can't give Minju the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

You increase the speed. Thrust your tongue inside her faster. Wiggle it around to hit the right spots. You discover that it isn't a matter of cleaning your cum up from inside her anymore. That was all a scam to get you to orally pleasure her. It shows in the way Minju refuses to let your tongue leave her hole, even to collect your semen. She's humping it too quickly for there to even be a chance of exiting her warm little hole. But it's too late to confront her about it now. You just have to wait until she climaxes again.

You have to admit: you do taste quite delicious. Turns out the girls whose mouths you pounded weren't pretending when they sucked off the semen from your tip. Your cheeks redden with the humiliation at that knowledge. However, there's a con in being aware of that. For example, it isn't so difficult anymore to lap at Minju's pussy. You willingly circle and dance your tongue inside her. It's fun to see her pleasured reactions.

When the opportunity presents itself, you pull your tongue out. Minju winces, but before she can voice out any frustration or order, you start to lick her labia back and forth. Her wide, shapely hips stutter. You have to take them in your hands and steady her to continue.

"Oh—mmmm! Fuck, such a good boy for mommy, eating her out so well!"

You would have been surprised at the compliment, but her silky voice never reaches your ears. Her thighs are compressing them too tightly for anything to be heard but wordless screams.

Her most erogenous part is her clitoris, clearly. She demandingly pushes that part of her center on your tongue. Twirl it at your tip, play with it, suckle it. Nibble at it to keep her on her toes. Show her how much you've tamed the brat in you, because once she did, it was apparent that there was no going back.

"Yes, that feels so good!" she cries. Her movements become more frantic and less graceful. It's like you're being waterboarded by a tsunami; she's a force of her own, a danger with the cleanest edge. "I'm gonna cum, baby boy! Mommy's gonna cum, she's gonna fucking cum all over your face---!"

When she does, it's like a sobering splash. Her screams symbolize the thunder, and the juices that squirt on your nose and mouth is the flood. There are no lifeboats anywhere to save you. Nor are there people that are going to. You just have to withstand the rain for a few more seconds

Close your eyes and wait for the storm to end. It takes a while to cease. You try to help yourself out by sticking out your tongue and catching her steady spray into your mouth, but you just choke on it. Minju finds her girl cum spilling down the sides of your lips and swirling in your throat amusing.

Through all that, her taste remains impeccable.

The stream stops. Minju's thighs are shaking. She slowly edges herself off your messy face. Her breasts heave with every heavy breath she takes. They're hypnotizing, but you file your eyes away from them. You have to remember that they belong to the cruel woman who told you to do away with yourself. This is still the same woman who used you. It doesn't matter if the only things you are appreciating in the moment are hr breasts; they still belong to her. She degraded and humiliated you in ways you never would have imagined.

Nudity is another form of art widely appreciated, for both aesthetic and gratification purposes. It returned and became popularized during the Renaissance and the Impressionism. Science was used to figure out how to create the right proportions for whoever is being sculpted, painted, or drawn. Mathematics was heavily involved, too. The golden ratio was used to present the figures in an ideal manner, whether the figures were of gods or historical icons.

You are glad it became popular through the years. You are glad at how normalized it has become for Minju's body looks exactly like another stunning sculpture. She may not have the golden ratio, but she has something even better than that. She's naturally curvy, naturally beautiful. Back in the day, they would have written sonnets about her.

She may be cruel, but she is quite stunning.

"We're not done yet."

The curator puts a stop to your daydreaming. Raised brows, fine creased lines on her forehead that scold you, Minju is flattered that you think this is over yet. It's quite entertaining to her, actually. You don't really think she's gonna give in after just a few sessions of fucking, do you?

Pocket your sore pride and face the challenge head-on. "What else is there to do?"

Her smile is haunting. "You're gonna find out soon. You might even like it."

-

The museum is closed today. There's a big sign outside with "CLOSED" plastered across the letters spelling "Now Open!". Minju had to shut its doors for the day due to your endless requests for a chance to have your works exhibited. Oh, if you knew what you had to do to get her to agree, you wouldn't believe it. You'd call it bullshit.

You and Minju clean yourselves up. There's no point in reusing her turtleneck; it's blotted with her squirt. And you have no business going out with a face drenched with the same liquid. So, while Minju gets into a change of clothes, you go to the bathroom and splash cold water into your face. You don't want to look in the mirror. You don't want to see the slut the man it reflects has become, because, if you were able to admit it to yourself, you'd say that you liked the way Minju treats you. You like the power she has over you that she achieved through such a short period of time.

But you can't say that. You refuse to.

Apparently, you were in the bathroom for too long. Minju's fist knocks three short sounds onto the door.

"You can't hide there all afternoon, babycakes!" she reminds you sweetly. She fires another five knocks. "Come out, come out!"

Roll your eyes with a tired huff. You weren't exactly planning to, but hey, that could work. She can't do anything about it but look stupid pounding onto the door like a maniac.

You get out. You find Minju dressed in a gray, sleeveless top with a jacket matching its color. She has undone her black hair and let it fall to her shoulders.

She gives you a wide, scheming smile. "Let's go?"

Minju does not wait for a reply. She simply takes hold of your wrist and pulls you through the swindling doors, colorful galleries, and parked cars. She leads you to her own vehicle. It's a modest black car that's been around for ages, but still works as if it were new. You can tell from the light rust on the knobs.

"Get in," Minju says. She already peeks at you from the rolled-down window. Gesturing to the empty passenger seat beside her with a tilt of her head, her brows rise and stay at their impatient height until you get into the car.

You only learn later that it's more than mandatory to have a seatbelt on when Minju is your driver.

There's that red light she easily breezes through. And another. Your eyes are wide. "What the fuck, Minju?" you yell. Your hands frantically fly to your seatbelt and fasten its buckle into place. Not without flying around, of course.

"What?" she asks, really not knowing what's wrong. "You need a water or something?"

Anddd a near miss with a bus. The honk of the horn is deafening. "Do you even have a license?"

"Ha, nope. This car isn't mine. It's my—hey, fuck you, too, you old shit!" Minju gives an angry driver who nearly collided with her sideview mirror the middle finger. When she turns back to you, she grins calmly. "Anyway, it was my brother's. He taught me to drive when I was eleven."

"Well, that explains it," you mutter to yourself sarcastically. And you'd think that since she learned from an early age, she'd drive better than most. That's her second deception of the day, and the twenty-third broken law.

The car swerves and spins into curved roads as if it were dancing. You're constantly on the edge of your seat. Minju, however, is unbothered. This isn't an out-of-place habit for her, breaking at least thirty traffic laws the moment the wheels of her car start rolling. Nor is it for the traffic guards in the middle of the roads, it seems. They yell at Minju with a a warning, but disregard it after a few seconds. How many almost-crashes did it take for them to realize there's no dealing with her?

You almost break into song of religious praise when Minju finally parks near her house. But it's too early to celebrate. God has fashioned this day unpredictably.

Her home is as large as a mansion. It's not exactly a mansion, of course, but the combination of paint and placing is satisfactory enough to pass as a modern house. It stands out in the suburban division like a sore thumb, if a sore thumb were fancier.

She throws open the door. The interior of her home is just as impressive as the exterior. Posters and drawings decorate the walls. The space in each room is wider than the first floor of your own home. You'd give in to jealousy if you weren't more surprised at the thing Minju is brandishing.

"Surprise, surprise," she says. She sticks it in your face for you to see it better, but it's too close for you to even understand what it is. It is only when she moves it back does it finally sink in.

A foretelling personification, really. It's a strap-on. Or is it a dildo? Oh, it's whatever you call a pink plastic shaped like dick. But your difficulty in naming what it is isn't the biggest problem you'll encounter this day. Oh, you have bigger fish to fry soon.

"What the fuck, Minju?" you ask in disbelief. Shake your head again and again, still not coming to terms with what she plans to do. "I'm not gay! I'm not getting fucked in the ass by—"

"I never said you were gay," Minju points out. She's good at that, finding Freudian slips in the middle of your sentences to turn against you."I just wanted to try fucking a guy's ass, that's all. And since I have you... I thought that today is the day."

"Minju!"

"Babycakes!" she says, with a grin that's a distorted mirroring of your worried frown. She grasps your chin and kisses you on the lips. "It'll be fine, I promise. You have nothing to worry about."

She really needs to stop calling you babycakes. It's annoying you already. But more than that, you don't trust her words. What if she's just using you again? What if she's lying to you, like she did when she said that she would think about taking your pieces in? When she's done, she'll surely throw you away like a trash bag, as if you were never really there, and replace you with a new and prettier one to dump everything she wants in.

But you find yourself walking to her bedroom. Slipping your jeans down. Putting them on the floor as Minju fastens the strap to her hips. Lying down on the bed and just waiting for it.

Wait, why the fuck is your dick hard?

There's a cold feeling on your asshole for a while. It's because of the lube Minju's lathering onto it, "for safety purposes," she says. "Damn, I'm pretty big! D'you think it'll be funny if I actually put a condom on the tip?"

But she doesn't, after an unamused roll of your eyes, and the pink tip penetrates your lubed hole. The intrusion is fought with the receiving hole's tightening. The sensation is weirder than anything you've felt before. Of course, you've never done this before, so you never could imagine what it felt like. But now, you discover that it's a sickly mix of pain and pleasure.

"Fuck, Min—"

"That's not the right word, honey," Minju corrects you. The drags of her cock in and out are slow. "Tonight, I'm not Kim Minju. I'm your daddy."

"Mmph! Please, Min— daddy," you whimper out. The word feels right when it slips past your mouth. "Daddy." Daddy, daddy, daddy. You're usually on the receiving side when your previous girls uttered it, but maybe it's actually fun to say it, too.

Minju's cock prods at your ass. It slips further inside as she giggles musically. "That's right. Open up for daddy, sweetheart~"

Even if, let's say, you refuse to, there's no other choice you can run to. You're on the bed, naked, with a woman whose hips wield a fastened dick. You can't escape.

Minju's strokes are almost loving. It's slow, sensual, and timed. She must have taken sympathy on you, for what might be the first time. Of course, her hand wraps around your own dick to provide an "everyday" stimulus, too. That, you enjoy, better than the pegging. You jerk into her hand with a clear need never spoken through words, but a series of helpless mewls.

"What a twitchy little cock," laughs Minju. She wraps her hand around it like a ribbon, and fastens it with quick, bold strokes. They're bolder than any step or curve you've drawn, any controversial piece you've made. "Your cock really likes daddy's dick, doesn't it? And her warm hand?"

You're leaning towards the latter as of now, but you nod anyway. What else can you do? Your virgin asshole can't do anything about it, your leaking cock can't do anything about it. Hell, your tears can't, either. But there's a secret joy formed inside of you at being under Minju's control, with nowhere to run or hide. It's sick, you know that, but you can't help what you feel.

Maybe you like being used and pegged by this harsh curator. Maybe you like her evil words, her tempting body, and her attitude that would make any grandmother die on the spot. Maybe you like the way she treats you like you're a particularly crude inconvenience in her way.

You're shaken by that realization. But what shocks you more is her hand slapping your ass cheeks hardly. You cry out, but the sound is quickly silenced by Minju's free fingers in your mouth.

"Shhh, quiet, baby," Minju coos softly. She leans over to kiss your back and neck. "I want to hear your cute cheeks slap together."

It's a sentence that can easily be used for comedic relief in a fucked-up sitcom. But to you, it's nothing but sexy. The way the words drip from her kissing lips just add to the hotness of her hand giving your ass a firm spank. Your bottom cringes, causing your legs to go weak. You've sunken onto the bed helplessly. At least it's a comfortable place to lie into. The bedsheets must be expensive. They have no other reason to be this silky and soft. Just how much is a curator paid? You might want to consider that career rather than go for being an artist.

Due to your fall, Minju takes your ass in a pronebone position. Sometimes, she isn't satisfied with your butt hole's gape, so she pries it apart with her own fingers. You squeal into the pillows. Pray the neighbors don't hear your scream when Minju takes matters into her own hands and slips a finger beside her strap.

Her strokes gain more strength as the present becomes soon. It's a sensation that you have no idea how to choose between liking and hating it. Your prostrate is constantly stimulated, and the brown walls of your butt are rubbed against, but there's the newness of it all. You aren't used to this. Part of you outright refuses to do it again, but the curious side of you is more than interested for another round. Maybe one or two more? You really wouldn't mind.

"P-please, please, daddy."

You start to beg of your own accord. Lewdly. Needily. You're starting to like this too much. With Minju corrupting your ass and her hand jerking you off, you accept your fate. Paintings don't matter anymore, just as long as it's Minju's cock lodged inside you.

[sketchfanda]

Chestnut Stud Across the Multiverse Party 2

Hot Fox Fuzz

It wasn't often Satan City found itself the recipient of an honour such as hosting when a rare jewel is set to be displayed but of course such was the case which why high security was required for something so important. One such figure involved being renowned Interpol agent, Carmelita Fox finding herself being set with the task to lewd the security detail for the event and partnered with none other than Krillin as a joint operation with the local police department. It was quite a ritzy little soirée of course, the rest of the crop of society in their finest tuxedos and dresses rubbing elbows and making small talk. And how the vulpine woman found it so damn boring but hey least her partner for this gig was used to this sort of assignment so it wasn’t too bad.

While Krillin and her talked, naturally topic of her grudge slash obsession with Sly Cooper, the infamous international thief, and naturally it took quite some prodding snd teasing from the compact officer to get the literally and figuratively foxy lady to reluctantly admit her attraction to him. Though she did have to give Krillin some credit in his research pointing out the Cooper gang’s preference for robbing and exposing criminals, much to her chagrin. She had to say, small wonder such a charmer like the vertically challenged cop was married, what lady could resist such an affable guy? And their conversation was helping the time fly by better than getting wasted on the complimentary drinks being offered around by the catering staff, that was for sure.

In the end, it was only a matter of time when someone made a move and did try to steal it, but was stopped by the duo before things coild escalate out of hand. A swift arrest, a rest off on their rights, some questioning and reports to make, a couple of questions from the press and it was time for them to finally call it a night. The jewel was safe, sound and secure and they’d done their job so frankly, Carmelita was all too happy to finally leave thst party of stuffed shirts, silver spoons and trust fund chumps to their business. After this job well done of course, Carmelita decided to take Krillin back to her hotel room, where the two could continue to talk and have a good time compared to where they had to play it cool, calm and professional at he museum gala.

Besides which, being off the clock also meant a good excuse to pop open that bottle of wine the host had given them as a reward and wasn’t often the foxy agent got to enjoy some quality booze like this, let alone such a posh hotel. But hey it wasn't on hers or the little man's time or dime so why not, right? A little small talk exchanged between the two officers of the law in between sips and refills as they got know one another little more than they already did back at the party as the vixen couldn't help but squee over how adorable Krillin's daughter looked in the pictures he showed her. All the while wondering if the vertically challenged gentleman was hiding something from her but he seemed likely more concerned about how much of that wine she was knocking back.

Carmelita:*Giggling as the buzz and tipsiness of her consumption was starting to take its affect on her, she couldn't help but tilt her head as she leaned in closer towards him. Puzzling and confusing him as she gave a quizzical hum.*"Mmm, you know, it might be just the wine talking....but you're looking so...ravishing right now..." inhibition loosened and lowered by her rose coloured liquid courage, she kissed Krillin which naturally shocked and surprised him all the same. Okay so the guy was married but surely his wife wouldn't mind and besides it'd been way too damn long for her!!!*

Little did the vixen Interpol agent know was that 18 indeed wouldn't mind in the slightest, if anything she'd rather have wanted to be there to see this encounter play out as it happened. Far as Carmelita knew, wine or no wine, she wasn't too fucked to drink and she sure as hell wasn't too drunk to fuck!! Her sudden liplock ambush catching Krillin off guard enough that she pushed him down onto his back on the bed, her toned, curvy furry form atop his as she deepened the kiss. Her tongue exploring her mouth before a deep moan escaped her muzzle as she felt his hands suddenly grabbing and squeezing her bubbly, well toned furry ass. Seems the little man wasn't so against this sudden round of passion, much to her delight of course as she was suddenly feeling they were both a little overdressed right now.

It was small wonder their clothes soon went flying, both naked as the day they were burn as orange/golden fur rubbed against smooth, hairless sculpted muscle. Carmelita moaning at the touch of his skilled hands now directly feeling her natural self directly as her wine addled brain fell further into the base need and desire to mate and breed with this compact Adonis. How long had it been for her since she rally knew or felt the touch of a man? Too damn long if you were to ask her and she'd admit it so, especially long sleepless nights fantasising about hatefucking that damn noble thieving racoon.

So here she was acting on wine fuelled impulses of lust as she rolled around on the silky bedsheets with the quite dashing and charming hairless monkey, playing breath-taking, spit-swapping tonsil hockey. The spark of passion and arousal growing between them as their naked bodies rubbed up against one another, busy hands groping and massaging each other as she moaned from Krillin feeling up her exquisite tits or squeezing her bubbly ass, hell even the simple stroking of her tail sent up a thrilling tingle along her spine. All the while she became awed and enamoured with those muscles of his but talk about that dick, no that COCK!! Bulls and horses would be envious and feeling inadequate if they saw this thing, how'd he even manage to fit into his pants was a mystery not even Holmes could solve!!

Carmelita:”Oooh FUCK!! OH GOD!! Don’t stop just don’t stop you goddamn animal! You fucking wreck me!!”*The vixen cop howled and moaned as she held onto the headboard for dear life. The bed shaking and creaking as Krillin rocked her world plowing her ina combined form of missionary and the mating press. Her fluffy tail swaying and wagging as her ass jiggled and clapped from the impact of thst length and girth pumping into her snatch’s lewd embrace. Those big balls smacking that furry booty as pussy juices w splashed and went flying.*

Now she wasn’t sure when or how they started to fuck but she quite frankly didn’t give a damn, she was feeling fan-fucking-tastic as the short king went through a variety of positions with her. From the primal thrill of being taken doggy style like a bitch in heat to being pinned up against the wall by the compact Adonis, their tongues dancing together in a sloppy dance of a kiss, expressing their thirst and desire for another. Inches of pussy plowing, womb hammering meat pounding away into her wet snatch’s embrace, not wanting to let go of the mind numbing pleasure. The fact they were going at it without a condom was the furthest thing from her mind besides the fact she was going at it with a married man she barely knew, if anything going raw and bareback was hot!! Just the idea of being put on maternity leave carrying this sex god among mere mortals' baby made her arousal skyrocket, idly wondering what a hybrid between a fox woman like herself and this oh so charming hairless hunk of a monkey would look like.....

Of course their room wasn't soundproofed so the neighbouring rooms beside, above and below them were getting a good earful, the ones beneath especially and particularly due to the ceiling forming cracks and raining debris on them. To say nothing of the fact the cop duo had been going nonstop for hours at this point and seeming like they could go all night which lead to some of them either making calls to file complaints to the management. Or for the more daring voyeurs among them to get off to it, finding just the audio alone more fantasy fuelling than any porn movie. So mileage varied as to how some were handling being neighbours to the rowdy pair.

But there was one voyeur in particular who had herself the best view around, hovering outside the window a few feet away enough to be concealed in the dark shadows of the night. Shamelessly groping away at her tits under her shirt and plunging a hand down the front of her jeans and panties to see and hear Carmelita howling with primal lust. Especially as the vixen was currently held in a full-nelson position, the short king on his feet as he hoisted and held her up in the air as he bounced her on his cock. Those big, heavy juice soaked ball slapping her clit with every heavy impact, her foxy face rocking an expression of thoroughly fucked bliss overwhelmed at the thought of being knocked up.

For those wondering of course, yes the identity of this hovering peeping tomboy was none other than 18, Krillin's oh so lovely kinky wife. She had been concerned why she hadn't gotten any calls or answers on her husband's cellphone, worried that whole gala security job was a bad luck clusterfuck. So imagine her delight to find him not only in good health but balls deep in a newfound conquest, once again ensuring their sweet little Marron would have a future brother or sister to look forward to loving and spoiling. Well she hoped that'd be the case because otherwise there was clearly a conspiracy from the universe trying to prevent an army of Krillin kids, well she'd show them, the bastards.......

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waifu Connoisseur: Battle of the Cosmic Blondes!!

Sketch:*The resident floating flaming skullheaded enigma appears on camera before an applauding audience as the screen displays the familiar set up a certain talk show studio!!*"Yes indeed it is ladies and gentleman, those of you watching or rather, reading at home, from the chapters of this author's Moxxie fic to here, it's time for the first Krillin edition of Waifu Connoisseur!! That pseudo talk show ideal for when it's too much of a hassle to think of a proper scenario for these stud muses to meet and fuck many fine women across the wider pop culture universal spheres!!"*Hollered the familiar floating flaming skullheaded author avatar himself as he gestured to the couch beside the desk where he sat, the camera showing none other than Krillin and his smoking hot blonde wife. The latter seeming pretty bemused beneath her cool facade and the former looking equal parts nervous and suspicious at the eccentric host. Who he had to say was making his former teacher Roshi seem tame in terms of his libido as he spoke up.*

Krillin:*The guest of honour this round couldn't help but notice that the audience in the studio just so happened to be all women, of which a good many he had slept with and was very intimately sexually acquainted with. This was definite red flags for sure.*"Okay hold up, just so I got this right, you're basically having me do a live amateur porno or something? You can't expect me to go along with this, can you?"*The former monk enquired, trying to make sense of whatever passed for logic in the host's cranium. And maybe figure out how to get out of here with his clothes in tact before he found himself to satisfy an orgy.*

Sketch:"What a guy huh folks? Straight to the point, you got to love it so in respect to that, let's cut to the chase and bring out our guests of honour!!!"*Beating at his desktop surface like making a drum roll, music played as the aforementioned guests made their entrance. The crowd going wild and Krillin dropping his jaw at the sight of them and well within good reason to do so mind you. Gracing the stage with their presence was a pair of similar but different women who were much like his wife. A couple of blonde haired, blue eyed bombshells with thicc, toned curvy bombshell bodies with a bodacious set of tits and ass though one of them clearly had a slightly bigger rack while the other had a more bubbly botty with a healthy set of hips and thighs to match. Adding to the differences to ensure you couldn't mistake them for twins was the outfits they were wearing.

The first blonde had a white leotard which left her own generous hips and thighs bare, joined by an ensemble of blue boots and gloves and a stylish short red cape and of course a notable chest window which demanded attention be drawn to her spectacular tits!! The second one meanwhile her a more longer mane of blonde hair unlike her associate's more pageboy/tomboy style cut while her outfit was a one piece swimsuit type black leotard sporting a lightning bolt symbol with a red sash around her waist as a belt. The ensemble completed of course with a simple domino mask adorning her model class face and a nice set of thigh high boots and bicep length gloves all of which really showed off and highlighted amazing figure. Make no mistake, these two stunners were out of this world knockouts!!

Sketch:"Ladies and gentleman who is soon to be finding himself busy, allow me to introduce you to Kara and Carol Danvers. no relation. AKA Power Girl and Ms.Marvel and for a while now these two have been having a little on and off rivalry debate going on. Mainly which of them can sexually arouse and satisfy a man better so Krillin here is going to be the judge and decide it once for all by using his amazing wife satisfying slab of meat known as his dick!! With that said, in the immortal words of Judge Mills Lane, let's get it on!!"*Krillin now looked at the skullheaded host like he was an absolute lunatic and seemed about ready to throttle him, only for 18 to pull him into her lap. A devious grin on her face as the short king felt like a deer in the headlights when Kara and Carol turned to look his way, determination burning in their sapphire eyes as the former pulled the cleavage window on her outfit to set her glorious tits free. While the latter unzipped the front of her custom, her own splendid boobs bouncing out into the open air as the fly reached low enough to risk exposing her pussy.

Krillin of course would've liked to give Mr.Sketch a piece of his mid but the flame-headed bastard host had seemingly made his exit to give them some privacy. Besides which, complaints were the furthest thing from his mind as he found 18 unzipping his jeans fly, a cry of shock as she fished out and stroked his cock. The cyborg stunner licking her lips sensually at the honest display of arousal from her man as Kara and Carol made their way over them, the unofficial twin galactic heroine twins kneeling down on the floor which made their fat white booties jiggle as they began to take Krillin to Heaven. Starting things off with a duelling titfuck as they smooshed and sandwiched his oh so gifted length and girth between the sensual warmth of their bosoms.

It was all so very surreal for Krillin as he groaned at finding his cock in a tandem marshmallow heaven/hell, pulsing and twitching between those flesh buns. Hips bucking and thrusting in response as 18 reminded him of her presence since he was sitting in her lap, feeling her hands caress his abs as she made out with him. Her icey cool blue eyes twinkling with mischief at witnessing her unofficial blonde twins drown in growing lust and arousal for her man, casting aside their dignity yet driven to compete for his affection and attention so he could determine which of them was the best. Lips and tongues planting licks and kisses on his oak tree of a dick as it continued to plow away in the valley of their spectacular tits.

But of course soon as they their luscious lips sucking and blowing on that length and girth in turns and tandem, it wasn't long before their lusts overwhelmed their horny brains as they forgot abut their competition. Instead more intent on having this compact stud of a short king fuck them like he was going to put a baby in them, sexual bliss and ecstasy fuelling these deviant fantasies further as he would idly finger and probe their sticky, gushing slits with his quite gifted little hands and give their big, bubbly well toned booties some swift slaps like he was beating on some meaty drums. 18 enjoying such displays of asserting dominance like the voyeur she was, arused as ever by her personal kink to see bitches go into heat for her man, having long since shed her top as she had Krillin's head planted and resting between the valley of her tits. Massaging his shoulders as she tingled with anticipation for the moment when the 2 mightiest intergalactic blondes around would proceed to have the best fuck of their goddamn lives....

Carol:"Oooooh fucking hell, where you been all my life you sweet beautiful bald bastard?"*The warbird of a woman hollered with deep lusty abandon as she bounced on Krillin cowgirl style, while Kara sat across from her sitting on his face with her fat, juicy booty as she moaned from his skilled and equally talented tongue eating her out. The pair had at this point stripped naked, save for only their boots and gloves as their thicc, curvy toned frames glistened with a rich sheen of perpiration, Carol's stomach swelling from how deep and filling the short king's cock was inside of her as it hammered away into her womb. Her snatch embracing that length and girth with lusty rapture, kissing the shaft with its silky muscle walls while Kara's snatch flooded his mouth with her Kryptonian flavour dazzling his tastebuds. 18 all the while watched go at it on the floor, now naked herself as she sat on the couch shamelessly playing with herself to her favourite show, her husband being God's sexual gift to women.*

Kara:"Ooooooh fuck me if Kryptonite could have a better substitute, it'd be you for sure...."*The Kryptonian powerhouse moaned with ecstasy before pressing her mouth to Carol's pussy lips, tongue licking and probing away as her fellow blonde squatted before her writhing in orgasmic bliss. All the while Krillin was fucking her doggy style, his Herculean muscles flexing with power and asserting effort as he went deep, fast and hard like a jackhammer. heavy balls smacking her clit as her bubbly asscheeks clapped and jiggled like jelly from the swift heavy impact. 18 at this point was now riding a Warrior Monk dildo, shamelessly bouncing on the toy at the continued dominance of the blonde duo being dominated by her man. It was no surprise of course thst she soon threw herself into the fray to turn the three way into a 3 blonde assault on the shortstack alpha male.*

Of course the female studio audience was also enjoying this live porn show, some shamelessly playing with themselves or making out with another as the stands became a lesbian orgy. All the while in his private office, the mad host of this show was transmitting hidden camera footage via a private stream, the donations and views skyrocketing. As the flaming skullheaded shot turned to where the 4th wall would be if there was a camera, a deadpan look in his eyes. His tone no-nonsense and direct.

Sketch:”Hey a guy has to make a living, right? Besides Ziggy promised me a generous cut for filming this…”*The enigmatic avatar taking out a huge stack of zeni bills as he counted them. Snapping his fingers a little imp butler appeared attentive and ready before he proceeded to playfully slap the little fellow with the cash wad.*”Bulma also tipped generously for a copy…I swear that woman has been a Krillin junkie since the trip to namek…”*Which reminded him, she did owe him the footage to that. Not to mention all those times the little dude was pounding Chichi’s tuna…..*

As Krillin continued making himself the winner in Kara and Carol’s sexual duel of course, he remained unaware of the deviant machinations of the host. Though he’d find find quite a generous bonus in his pay check from Double Z studios, due especially to how well their sales and views of the threesome on a Waifu connoisseur was going. Speaking of which, the Siberian tiger skunk bombshell was already making plans with the mad man for who else hey coild put on the show with the short king. To say it was a long, long list of esger contenders to say the least….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inter-agency Cooperation

Somedays Laura had to wonder that if there was a God, were They making it a hobby to fuck with her? Because right about now everything about where she found herself currently felt like a bad punchline or the slow, long build up to one and why you might ask did she feel this way? Well it could've had to do had to do with her current situation and what it involved as well who, particularly and especially the one woman on God's green Earth she couldn't absolutely stand in Veronica Herron, nevermind the fact she also had a partner to look out for involved in this. Now why exactly and what does this all mean you might ask?

It had occurred while working alone on her solo observation and investigation of the infamous Herron family since they had moved from their namesake county out to a local suburban neighbourhood in Satan City, when she noticed a series of suspicious people who seemed to be doing the exact same thing. However, as she had attempted to confront them and question for information, she found herself being attacked only to be fortunate when an officer from the local law enforcement intervened. After a brief investigation, they learned that they were connected to the supposedly done Red Ribbon Army. For their safety, it was decided to have the family transferred to Satan City in protective custody, joined by Krillin as a field partner for the duration of this assignment.

The Herron girls, most of whom imagined a big buff super cop with a matching donkey dick were shocked to see , and left quite unimpressed, little knowing that in the future and aftermath of this investigation, they would soon be members of what the short king cop's wife unofficially deemed the Oak tree club. Laura, suffice to say, was upset that she's protecting her enemies, particularly and especially that damned she-devil Veronica, and thinks Krillin is out of his league, not in terms of being able to take action and handle himself in combat of course, she'd witnessed first hand that he was no slouch in that department. No sir, in her mind you see, Krillin being a man and not knowing of the Herron's reputations, meant that his natural hormonal and biological urges were weaknesses that could be exploited by that tribe of bimbo size queen sluts especially if he was at minimum packing 10 inches between those legs. So she decided to take it upon herself educate him with her body, much to his chagrin and confusion of course.

Now Krillin knew from experience that his life could be thrown curveballs sometimes but Laura sending one that was hitting him in the face as hard as a punch from Goku (he still winced at that memory). Sure she was an intense woman but in the time he was coming to know her, she at least came off as a very determined and focused enforcer of the law but to say she was being unorthodox was more than an understatement. But she insisted that this was for the sake of the mission, otherwise that baker's dozen worth of hotties might doom them all with their nympho lusts so here he was in their assigned hotel room together. Sitting on the edge of a king sized bed clad in just his pants, trying his best not to look nervous as steam came out from the adjacent bathroom due to the dusky skinned woman having a shower.

Any doubts or hesitations he had that he wished to express or voice to Laura and run by her died a quick death like a train going off the rails as his assigned partner for this long term witness protection investigation graced him with her presence. Naked as the day she was goddamn born, her milk chocolate skin glistening as she towelled off her hair before tossing the rag aside, her serious, focused face's stern expression contrasting with what quite frankly a pornographic body on par with that of the Herron girls. Hands on her hips as if not so much ignorant but rather well aware of the effect she was having on the compact cop as her gaze made it clear she wanted his eyes on her. Unable to do much but stare at that stunning body as she soon began to speak up, her tone no nonsense and direct.

Laura:"Listen up Sanchez and listen well, this may seem unorthodox but it's as much for your own good as it is for the sake of this mission. As a man, even married, you have urges and needs and those bitches know it. Especially Veronica Herron...."*The mention of that busty Southern Belle sounding redhead made the dusky skinned lady cop narrow her eyes, as if just remembering she existed walking around scot free vexed her. Walking on over closer to him with every step making her glorious tits bounce and jiggle, those twin orbs firm and supple.* "Once they know how to get you you wrapped around their fingers, they will use you like a walking sex toy before they proceed to wreck your home and drain your wallet harder than they'll drain your balls. So for the sake of the mission, we are going to fuck and we will FUCK!! When I'm done with you, you' re going to be the one having those bitches in heat kept in line, that cock will be their drug and you're their pusher who'll give them their fix. With that said, let's get right to it!!"*Soon as she had had finished speaking, the unorthodox lady of the law grabbed the waistband of his boxers and pulled them off. Eyes widening at the sight of his erect length and girth bouncing free to stand to attention, a look of awe as she grasped it in her hand, feeling the meathammer's pulse.*"W-well.....with a baton like this...you're already off to a good start...."

Now Laura hadn't been kidding about her intentions here, as the way she saw it, Krillin needed to experience first hand what it'd be like to deal with the seductive wiles and the succubus-like thirst of a Herron woman. But to think that this sweet looking runt of a man was packing a cock that could be not simply be called a Herron WMD but God's dildo? Well it's small wonder her own brain was hitting a sudden primal state of mind on their libidos' level as she found herself kneeling down on the floor, stroking his shaft as she began to assault it with licks and kisses. Her body burning with a thirsty desire as it remembered how it'd been far to long since she had really gotten any and here was this sex god before her ready to answer her prayers.

Now of course Laura tried, keyword being here tried, to focus and remind herself that any personal enjoyment from this was a minor thing, after all she was just looking out for her partner to ensure he didn't become those size queens' personal plaything. But just the scent and the feel of that slab of meat as she stroked and jerked it, the taste as she took it into her mouth with her tongue trying to wrap around it as it damn near made her feel like it was unhinging her jaw. Lips leaving a trail of lipstick kiss rings marking her distance towards deepthroating this beast of a cock as her dusky skinned bombshell of a body burned with desire to want this womb hammer to facefuck her. Before she knew it, she had found herself just doing that as her brain had seemingly abandoned all logic and reason in place of animalistic primal urge to mate and breed, torn between wanting this shaft to flood her stomach and dazzle her tastebuds with his hot seed or to take this slab of meat and proceed to fuck her like he was going to put some sweet little caramel baby buns inside her oven.

Laura:"OOOOHHHH FuckfuckfuckFUCK me you glorious golden god!! Fuck me like you own me!! This ass is all your all yours!! Fuck your milk chocolate bitch daddy!!!"*Just a few of the key words and phrases that flooded the hotel room, mixed with the echoes of skin slapping pussy pounding sex that is whenever the lawwoman was coherent enough to actually form sentences. The bed creaking and shaking as she bounced and rode on Krillin cowgirl style, her body having opted towards option B as she had the short king plow her like she was a breeding mare, making her moan as she found him smacking and squeezing her dusky booty in between it jiggling and bouncing on his shaft. Her earlier stoic professionalism and focus forgotten and cast aside by raw slutty arousal, though part of her brain did excuse this as just prepping him with an example of the kind of passion and intensity he had to bring in order to tame and keep those Herron bitches in line. A spine tingling orgasm running along her spine, making her toes curl as she came at the very mental image of that busty redheaded vixen slutwhore Veronica becoming daddy baldy's precious little sex junkie, begging him for her next fix of his manmeat's hot beef injection. It was only bettered by the absolute sexual thrill of him finally blowing his load, a rush of white hot cream pumping away to flood and paint the inside of walls, pink hearts glowing in her eyes as she found his cock not going limp or soft whatsoever, the man was a stamina beast!!*

Laura:"Yes!! Harder!! More you fanfuckingtastic sex machine!! Right there, that's it don't go easy on me!! I mean it when I say this ass belongs to you!! Make sure I never so much as ever think of another man!!"*Minutes passed into hours as the passionate police babe found herself having too many orgasms to keep count, compared of course to Krillin who had busted his heavy nuts enough to still somehow have enough fingers on one hand for her to count. Biting and grasping the sweat and juice soaked bedsheets for dear life as he took her from behind like the alpha male he was, his compact Adonis frame mounted atop her well toned bombshell form as he fucked her prone bone style. They had started with doggy style after she'd been folder like an accordion in a mating press but the sheer pace and intensity was too much for her arms and legs to keep up their strength, gasping with deep moans as her ass bore red palm prints from his smacking that chocolate booty. If she didn't finish this case without some possibility of being knocked up with a baby from this guy then fate had a weird sense of humour, that was for damn sure!!*

Now while Laura continued her little hands on approach at helping Krillin develop proper willpower and resistance, her bitch in heat brain had forgotten one very small but important detail. Mainly that hers and Krillin's room wasn't soundproof which meant each Herron babe in the neighbouring rooms, next to either side, above, below and across from them was getting quite the audio show. About a half a baker's dozen of them had even taken to eavesdropping, pressing their ears to the door and try to see if they could peep through the keyhole. The bimbo slacker barbie doll known as Jen currently in a bit of a catfight shoving match with her unofficial mini-me Jenna over the best spot as well as who'd get dibs on what sounded like an amazing cock to lay. The rest were more content where they parked, their pussies quivering and gushing, soaking their thighs and panties, those who wore them anyways, at the idea of that admittedly cute, handsome little dude in uniform giving to them as good as Laura was getting.

Getting it good was an understatement in all honesty, as Laura wasn't so much as having her world shaking, it was being fuckdamn shattered into sexual oblivion. Any and all spiteful thoughts about the Herrons, particularly and especially Veronica blocked off in the back of her, as well as the potential mysteries to look into like who was after her and her slutty kin and the how and why. All that mattered right now was having her sexy black ass getting beat like an erotic drum by this short king as they continued to fuck like cavemen, the intensity and passion of the milk chocolate bombshell overwhelming Krillin's sense of reason to let his libido take the helm and go full steam ahead. From facefucking her to feel like she was drowning and suffocating in please, to having to tap that sexy asshole and make those dusky meatbuns clap and jiggle, the compact fighter and lover still couldn't get enough that tight, pretty pink pussy.

As they continued on with their spontaneous marathon, orgasms coming faster than could be counted and currently conducting a mating press in the trashed, shattered remains of their bed, somewhere around the vast plains and roads that lead to the likes of South City and Satan City, sinister deeds were afoot. The enigmatic parties targeting the Herron ladies annoyed but having to be patient as they planned and plotted on how to get their revenge. No super cops were going to stop them, not no way, not no how because those bitches would pay!! Especially that damned Veronica Herron.......

(To be continued in Size Queen Sluts:The saga of the chestnut and the Herrons...)