#plis someone notice that

[creatorunnamed]

Thats the first chapter of my book/comic 'Restart', hope yall will like it ✨

I will try to drop a chapter once a week, if yall are interested

[ddarker-dreams]

Lock I need you to share something about Gojo. Jjk is getting worse with no hope in the future. Plis just a tiny part is god. 🙏🙏🙏🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Detour.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Mild not SFW implications, Gojo and Geto are Not normal about you, exhibiting possessive behavior. Word count: 1.2k.

-Index-

"—Excuse me, miss!" 

The exclamation barely registers amidst the crowded street's ambiance. Everyone has a destination they're eager to reach, and you're no different. Unlike those native to the area, however, you're more likely to get lost; hence your current conundrum. 

You examine the mess of squiggly lines, blocks, and patterns intended to function as a map. 

Kagurazaka, Kagurazaka... c'mon, I know this one... it starts with the kanji for god or something, right? 

While you scrutinize the map, the same voice from earlier calls out again, this time beside you. You glance around, not wanting to respond if he’s trying to flag down someone else. In doing so, it becomes increasingly obvious that you’re who he’s been trying to grab the attention of. 

From the looks of it, he’s a man in his late thirties, wearing a suit that could use a good ironing. You can’t recall meeting him before. Then again, you’re not privy to everything that happens back on campus. Meetings with influential figures frequently occur without your knowledge. You only ever find out about them later when Satoru loudly voices his critical view on everyone who attended. You are wearing your uniform, it’s recognizable to those in Jujutsu circles. 

You’d rather not stir up a scandal by unintentionally snubbing a Zenin or someone equally important. With this in mind, you politely inquire, “Can I help you?” 

“That uniform… you’re a high schooler, right?” 

You nod, figuring that this confirms your hypothesis. 

“What year?” 

This question makes less sense. Maybe he wants to know your proximity to Suguru, or, far likelier, Satoru. These types always have their own designs for the pride of the Gojo clan. 

“I’m a second-year.” 

“I see, I see,” he begins rummaging through his blazer’s inner pocket. He procures a business card and holds it out. “How about a job? From the looks of it, you’d make a good fit.” 

You blink. 

Are you… allowed to do freelance work? You’ve heard of specific sorcerers being requested for jobs, but that’s always been through the school. Besides, as a Grade Three, you don’t think you can go on unsupervised jobs. Not wanting to seem rude, you reach out to accept the card— 

—Only for it to be intercepted. 

“Sorry, she’s completely booked,” a voice that sounds the furthest thing from apologetic chimes in. 

Gojo Satoru stands to your right, adorned with his circular sunglasses and trademark grin. He rips the card in half without so much as a second thought. You stare at him, incredulous. Questions swarm around your head. When did he get here? How didn’t you notice him until now? Why does his cursed energy have such an unnerving quality to it? 

He bends down and hangs his arm around your shoulder. “You’re somethin’ else. Ignoring Suguru and I’s calls, chatting up strange men in Kabukichō… I swear, we can’t take our eyes off you for a second.” 

“Wh— I’m not chatting anyone up!” You whisper yell. His infinity nullifies enough for you to jab a finger at his chest. “Why can’t you give better directions?! ‘West of the Edo Castle’ doesn’t tell me anything, it just sounds like a TV drama!”

Satoru shrugs. “Should’ve just asked an auxiliary manager to drop you off.” 

“You might treat them like a personal taxi service, but I’d rather not. Taking the train’s fine.” 

The man finally overcomes the shock inflicted by Satoru’s audacity, taking a step forward. “What are you, her boyfriend or something?” 

“Bleh, no!” 

“Future husband.” 

Yours and Satoru’s responses come out simultaneously. 

“In that case—” 

“Excuse me,” A new presence interrupts the increasingly irritated man. Suguru wears a friendly smile which somehow comes across as more menacing than Satoru’s wolfish grin. He places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are aware that it’s a minor you’re trying to recruit, correct?” 

The man flushes at the accusation. “Listen, I dunno what you’re trying to accuse me of—” 

“I’d hate to see you get in trouble for a mistake like that,” Suguru cuts him off again, raising his voice ever so slightly. This attracts the attention of some bystanders. “Who knows what consequences that’d result in, especially for a married man like yourself…” 

Huh. You hadn’t even noticed the gold band on his ring finger. Suguru’s nothing if not perceptive. 

Nearby commuters whisper amongst themselves while eyeing the scene. The man’s gaze flits between a self-satisfied Satoru and an overly polite Suguru, eventually settling on an escape route. Wordlessly, he departs, although you swear you overhear him muttering ‘crazy kids’ and ‘doomed girl,’ along the way. 

“Yo, Suguru. Took you long enough.” 

“Unfortunately, not all of us can teleport.” 

“Your curse did a better job at tailin’ me than you.” 

Ignoring the jab, Suguru dusts his hands off while honing in on you. “You alright? You weren’t answering our calls.” 

“And you’re late,” Satoru whines. He helps himself to searching through your purse, taking your pink Razr hostage. “Huh. Battery’s dead.” 

Suguru appears content. “What’d I tell you?” 

“If she’s blocked me before, the same could happen to you.” 

“I wouldn’t block Suguru.” 

“She wouldn't block me.” 

This time, it’s you and Suguru who speak concurrently. Satoru pouts, putting his hands up like he’s under attack (which he probably believes himself to be). You snatch your phone back without issue, unlike when he last stole it. He unblocked himself and dangled it above your head until you promised you wouldn’t do that again.

“And here I was, about to treat you both to pastries,” Satoru sighs, melodramatic as ever. 

“While we were waiting for you, I noticed creampuffs and macaroons on the menu; which would you recommend?” Suguru inquires, not bothering to acknowledge Satoru’s complaints. 

“That depends on what you want from the experience,” you mimic his decision. “Creampuffs tend to be one flavor, whereas macaroons come in multiple, so the variety’s nice. When I get a variety pack, I always end up disliking one of the flavors and wishing I’d just gotten my favorites instead.” 

Satoru sighs as loud as he can. “Right, right, I’m just a walking wallet. Let’s get going before someone else solicits [First].” 

“Eh?” You turn your head to face Satoru. “‘Solicits?’ As in…?” 

“Se—” 

Suguru slaps a hand over Satoru’s mouth. “What he means to say is that this isn’t the best area for a high school girl to linger.”

“W-Wait, hold on! I thought he was like a… er, how would you say that… sorcerer employer?” 

They both stare at you. 

“You do know what Kabukichō’s famous for, right?” Suguru tentatively asks. 

“Hm? ‘Kabuki’ is a type of traditional theater, isn’t it?” 

“...” 

“...” 

“Let’s just show her what we mean,” Satoru bends down, picking up two halves of the business card he split in half earlier. “It’ll be a good lesson. I’d rather not have to come fetch her in this place again— oh.” 

Suguru inspects what has the power to shut Gojo Satoru up. You watch as his eyes move back and forth, his face shifting while he does so. His lips narrow into a thin line when he pulls back. Curious, you stand on your tiptoes, hoping to catch a glimpse yourself. Thankfully, there’s yomigana above some of the kanji you don’t recognize. This eliminates any possibility of you misreading the card’s contents. 

‘Oh’ indeed, you think. That poor guy…

It’s a business card for the company that oversees AKB48. 

[tadpolesonalgae]

Taken Care Of[*]

Rhysand x reader

Synopsis: Rhys puts a lot of himself into his citizens, in more ways than one, but sometimes he needs that care put back into him. And he knows exactly where to go when he’s been worn down to the bone. 

a/n: for the anon <3 who sent in the request for more rimming that I read at about 6 o’clock in the morning before the sun was even fully up

warnings: kind of sub Rhys?, Oral (m receiving), slight bdsm themes, shadows, rimming, implied overstimulation

word count: 1,912

——————————————————————————————————————————————

He’s cold, tired, and feeling emptier than usual.

His skin is numb, fatigue that goes beyond physical depletion making his body feel heavier than normal, so cold and dark that even the twinkling lights of Rita’s do nothing to cheer his spirits, forcing himself to muster up a more pleasant demeanour before entering so as to not ruin the mood of the night. 

Violet eyes keenly scan the large interior, instantly locking on to the figure he’s searching for, her familiar silhouette catching his attention as he makes a beeline for where she’s sat. 

It’s not a relationship he knows how to name, despite the years he’s been familiar with her. At it’s foundation he supposes it’s relatively amicable, though he doesn’t feel he sees her enough to call her a friend. She’s someone he can go to, though, in times like these. She’s familiar—he supposes that’s the closest he’ll get to what it is, tonight. 

Besides, she’s noticed he’s here now, and from the gleam in her eyes, it’s clear she’s figured out what he would like, and a kernel of light seeps back into him. 

————

“I thought you might be visiting me sometime soon, Rhys,” you tease, arm linked with his own to keep warm on the way back to your home. “Do you have anything in mind for tonight, or can I have free reign?”

“Do whatever you like,” he replies quietly, and your smile broadens into a grin as you trace the lines of fatigue on his handsome face. 

“I’ll make sure you like it, too,” you reply, equally quiet, mischief gleaming in your eyes as you push up onto your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his jaw before unlocking your door. “Just leave it all to me tonight.” 

————

“I really don’t think I can do another one,” Rhys manages, his lids feeling so heavy he feels he might fall asleep if he doesn’t keep them open. But your lips are stretching into a grin, and he feels his body react accordingly, as if trained to recognise your presence. “We both know you can go for longer,” you reply, settling between his legs on the four-poster bed, hand gripping one of his ankles.

Rhys feels his cheeks warm as your lips graze over the joint, pressing a kiss to the inside of his calf, thumb swiping over his skin. He’s not used to being on the receiving end of this attention, this kind of worship. It’s usually him who’s kissing up the inside of a female’s legs, putting his pleasure into her body—not having it plied into him. 

It is nice, though. 

Taking a break from being the dominant one. 

He doesn’t realise his eyes have fallen shut, head tipped back into the full pillow to sink into the feeling of your lips gradually making their way up his leg until you’ve lightly nipped at the inside of his thigh, his eyes peeking open enough to glare at you. Your lips curve in reply, and that unfair heat again warms his cheeks, wanting to be more present so he can remember these feelings he so rarely allows himself. 

“Ready for another?” You ask, and even if he wasn’t watching you he would be able to hear the grin on your wicked mouth. Rhys groans, eyes sliding shut briefly, “do I get a choice?” Your laugh tingles down his spine, wrapping around him and he shivers. “Of course you do,” you smile, making your way further up his body until one hand is beside his ribs, the other beside his head. Violet wearily peeks open, and your fight against the urge to claim his mouth, to kiss and nip at his throat, pressing ticklish pecks to his shoulders and chest, to lick and flick over his nipples while letting your palm to splay across the lovely muscle of his stomach, fingers tracing every dip and curve. 

“Make your choice,” you murmur, doing nothing to hide the tentative hunger in your expression. “Direct me, or let yourself relax.” 

Rhys sighs, eyes sliding shut briefly before slowly running the calloused skin of his palms up over your arms, settling over the roundness of your shoulders. “I said I’d let you have free reign, didn’t I?” 

Your lips curve, eyes glinting with intensifying hunger. “Just checking you aren’t regretting your choice,” you whisper over his lips, before slanting your mouth against his own, letting him taste that faint flavour of release he’s left on your tongue. Rhys hums contentedly, the noise sounding rough and heavy in his throat. 

You pull away, slowly kissing down his neck, and chest, and stomach, fingertips gliding over the tops of his thighs before slipping beneath his knee, encouraging them to bend as your mouth lowers further. He’s hard enough his cock is laying flat against his stomach, and he sighs as you lick up the underside of him, suckling at a space just below his head, your breasts pressing fully between his legs, providing a lovely softness to grind against. 

“You’re wicked,” he mumbles quietly, eyes having fluttered shut when you trailed down his torso, content to let you do as you please while he lays back on your bed. He shivers when you laugh softly before taking him into your mouth, feeling the hot wetness of your lips, then your tongue as it swipes over his slit, fingers wrapping around his base, squeezing gently while you kiss all over him. “And that’s why you sought me out tonight,” you murmur, allowing spit to pool in your mouth, allowing it to spill from the tip of your tongue down onto him before taking him down your throat. Entirely. 

Slowly, teasingly, you pull back up, relishing in the arch of his back, the way his fingers have curled somewhat, head having fallen to one side. “Because I’m wicked,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear, hot breath brushing against his cock, sensitive to air from the saliva coating him. 

“Move your legs wider,” you instruct, gently pushing either side of his inner thighs, guiding them a little further apart so you can settle more comfortably. 

“You know, Rhys,” you begin lowly, hand wrapping fully around his cock, lazily swiping your thumb over his head, smearing the small bead of moisture that had gathered there along his length. “If you like this so much, you should do it more often. Allow yourself to have it.” 

“I’m allowing myself to have it right now, aren’t I?” He replies, somewhat lazily, and your tongue flicks out over your lips. “And wouldn’t it be nice to have it more often?” You drawl, mouth pressing to the underside of his base, licking against him as your hand continues pumping him, slowly. Easing his pleasure out an ounce at a time. “You give so much of yourself to looking after your court…wouldn’t it be nice to let yourself accept this kind of attention more often?” 

“I do,” he counters, making your lips curve. 

“Don’t you get tired though, of always being the one attending to your partner? Being the one to go down on the other? Being the one doing the things to them?” You muse, nipping at his inner thigh, again guiding him further apart. “Isn’t it lovely to have someone wanting to do awful things to you, instead of the other way around?” You ask mirthfully, hunger running beneath your tone as you kiss lower down his thigh, closer between his legs. “Isn’t it nice being subject to someone else’s sexual pleasures? To be their satisfaction?”

“Do you expect my mind to be focused enough to reply right now?” He asks breathlessly, the question dragging from deep in his throat, sounding rough and gravelly. 

“I’m just saying I think you deserve someone who matches your hunger, Rhys, but for some reason you keep denying yourself that. Wouldn’t it be good to have someone love the way you love? To do the things to you, that you need to do to them?” 

“I have you, don’t I?” He groans, panting lightly from the grip you have on him, the pleasure you’re building up within his body. A wicked grin splits your lips, one he can feel as you graze them again over the base of his cock.

“Now you’re getting somewhere,” you murmur, spotting the darkness that’s begun to appear in your bed with you, creeping up and over his body. Twining tentatively over his forearms, his own magic instinctively knowing what he wants. 

Rhys’s hands curl into fists as you dip between his thighs, tongue flicking against that tight ring of muscle while your hand pumps his length, with him inhaling sharply as his eyes fly open, cock twitching with pleasure. His magic binds him and at first he blinks, wondering where it manifested from, wondering why it’s carefully holding him down, but his thoughts are liquefied into an arousing mess when you repeat the motion, pressing closer between his legs and he doesn’t have the time to bite down on the moan that drags from his chest. 

You’re pleased when you feel the High Lord sink back into your bed, allowing his shadowy magic to move as it pleases, further wrapping around his forearms and slinking up his calves, binding comfortably around them so you can work better. Shadows working with you to deliver pleasure to your High Lord.

Rhys’ throat rolls heavily as he tentatively settles into this new experience, panting raggedly as you keep up with that torturous pace, keeping your strokes firm but leisurely, tongue circling him in a way that has the pleasure building, precum drizzling from his tip as heat swarms his body. He can feel the sweat on his skin, can hear the rough edge to his breaths, the tight coil of his muscle as tension only builds without release. 

How many had you already put him through before this? Five? Six? He can’t think clearly enough to remember, but he can feel the sensitivity in his cock and knows it’s a lot. And knows that you’ll probably be putting him through more before the night is over, if you’ve only now introduced this new…facet, into your coupling. 

It doesn’t take long for him to fall into that writhing tempest of oceanic arousal, the overstimulation having his body tense as the waves crash through him, cock aching as he spills onto his stomach, some of it dripping down his length as your hand continues dragging it out, refusing to relent until the last drop of pleasure has emptied from him. 

“How long…how long have you been waiting to do that?” He manages to ask, still breathless, mind so hazy he’s struggling to remember words. Is this how he’s made so many other people feel?

You smile, and he exhales sharply as his cock twitches at the sultry curve of your wicked mouth. 

“A while,” you answer, beginning to prowl back up his body, lapping at the cum he’s spilled on himself as you go, dragging your tongue through the small pool of erotic liquid, practically able to drink it up from how much he released. The soft slurping sounds have him hardening again, arousal gathering despite how intense he felt the last orgasm was. 

“Did you like it?” You drawl, crawling up his body, knees pressing into the mattress either side his hips. 

Colour flushes his tan skin but he doesn’t avert his gaze. “Surprisingly much.” 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[gojonanami]

DESSERT BEFORE DINNER ☆ SATORU GOJO

☆ summary: satoru can't wait to have you until you get back from the sister school event, so he convinces you to have "dessert" before dinner. ☆ cw: 18+ only, smut, semi-exhibitionism, bathroom sex, fingering( afab!receiving), oral (afab!receiving), jealousy , god complex gojo, reader is a follow sorcerer at jujutsu tech. ☆ wc: 1,230

“Satoru, we can’t-“ your sentence is cut off as he slips another finger into your dripping cunt. 

“Your pussy seems to disagree,” and his lips curl upwards, satisfied with his work, your messy cunt was weeping all over his fingers, “you’re practically sucking me in,” he groans at the nasty wet sounds his fingers made as they slid in and out, “do you want my dick that badly, sweetheart?” 

“Satoru,” you whine, as his fingers drag down your walls teasing you open, as more of your cum drips down his fingers and onto his wrist. He leans over and licks it off, “we don’t have time for you to get in all your teasing,” you’re looking at the locked door to the bathroom, hearing the faint footsteps of people walking by, “someone could find us,” 

It didn’t help that you were in the middle of a dinner event for after the sister school event, where Satoru had plied you with sweet words and wandering touches, away into a not nearly remote enough bathroom. 

But the strongest sorcerer looks far too unconcerned, with his shit eating grin, as he slips his fingers from you, leaving you empty only for a moment, “thank you for the meal,” he smiles cheekily, before his mouth is lapping at your lips, and he’s not bothering to be gentle or quiet, messily slurping at your pussy and clit, “you’re practically gushing,” he remarks, and you can feel his smirk against your skin, “not that I’m complaining,” he presses one last kiss to your puffy clit. 

“Satoru,” you’re whining now, as he does his belt, buckle clacking as he does, making you lean against the sink, his hands spreading you for him to look at, “hurry up and-“ 

And he slips into you in one movement, splitting you open, as you barely stop yourself from your head hitting the mirror, instinctively covering your mouth to hold back your moans — but Satoru isn’t having any of that. 

He pins your hands with one hand, stopping his movements, “Not having you hold back your beautiful sounds now, can I baby? I want to hear just how good I’m making you feel,” he’s kissing your neck, as he rolls his hips into harshly, making your walls tighten around him, “gotta make sure all those men out there that were ogling you know who you belong to,”

“Is this all because you’re jealous?” You almost laugh, but he rolls his hips into you again, ripping a moan from your mouth. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t want this,” he grunts, his thrusts nearly pistoning in and out of you, “walking around in this sundress that shows enough but nothing at all, you knew what it did to me, and you wanted to end up here under me,” and he’s pulling out to flip you around so you can see yourself in the bathroom mirror, “look at you, so pliant under my touch,” 

And then you hear voices outside the bathroom trying to turn the knob, and he slows for a moment, hearing men’s laughter, he starts to roll his hips, “Fuck-“ you yelp, as he seems to fuck you impossibly harder, “Satoru,” you hiss. 

“Let them hear how good I fuck my baby,” he grins in the mirror, and it makes you grow tighter, and it doesn’t escape his notice, “fuck, you trying to keep this dick inside you, sweetheart? I know it’s good, but I’ll fuck you anytime, you don’t have to keep it,” and you moan his name, “that’s it, keep fucking moaning my name, make them wish that they can see you like this,” and he’s cupping your chin, forcing you to see yourself fucked out, his dick going in and out of you, all spread out, mouth partially open, “maybe I’ll fuck you out there, let them see what they can never have, eat you out as my dinner course and dessert,” 

“Satoru,” you groan, as his hand slips down to your neck, squeezing lightly, as your pleasure begins to climb, the thought of people hearing you slipping further and further away, “more, please,” 

He laughs, almost melodically, “and my innocent girl wants more? After asking me to stop,” and he hums in mock contemplation, “maybe we should stop,” and he starts to slow just as you’re starting to approach your peak, “go back to the party,” 

“T-toru, please,” and he’s pulling out, teasing you with his tip, letting his pre-cum drag and mix against with your cum, “please I need you,” 

“Do you?” He kisses your neck, his teeth grazing against your pulse, “you can get any of those men out there to please you, can't you?” 

And you’re shaking your head, “No I need you, just you, no one would compare,” you’re almost blathering, until he captures your lips again. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” and he’s almost slipping into you again, his tip parting your sloppy folds, as you gasp.

“I’m yours, just yours, please I need you, Satoru—“ you’re nearly begging, pleading for him to fuck you, and you moan as he thrusts you again, splitting you open as he does, “Satoru, my god,” 

“You don’t have to call me god, baby, just Satoru is fine,” and you can’t even roll your eyes, too lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. 

“Close - ‘m close,” you manage, before he’s catching your lips in a sloppy kiss, his fingers slipping down to your clit, “fuck—“ 

“Come for me baby, I need you to scream my name,” and you do as he says, coming hard and fast, slick around his dick only makes him fuck you harder through your orgasm, “come on my perfect girl I need one more from you,” 

“‘Toru,” you don’t get a break as your orgasm just starts to build into another, as his balls slap against you, as he sinks into you deeper and deeper. 

“Fuck, can’t wait to cum in this cunt, made me for me and only me,” he’s groaning, “can’t wait to walk out of this bathroom, you dripping with my cum inside you, sticky and wet, and fucked out, gonna fuck it inside you again in the car ride home, and then have you suck out the rest of my cock,” his hips begin to stutter as you crest once again, about to cum, “gonna cum baby,” 

And you do as he does, fucking you through his orgasm, beginning to slow. He lingers inside you as you two come down from your high, and soon he’s kissing you, your lips, your neck, your collarbone, “My good fucking girl,” he purrs, as he eases out of you, and he groans, watching his cum slip out of you as it does, fucked out, his dick covered in your slick. 

You’re not used to the emptiness before his fingers begin collecting his cum and pushing it back inside you, “Toru,” you whine, as he slips two fingers in with ease, and he’s grinning. 

“Just a moment sweetheart, just got to make sure it stays in there,” and he slips out just as he pulls your underwear back into place, and he’s helping to clean you up, pressing a kiss to your thigh, as you look down at him, leaning your back against the sink now, a dangerous glint in his eyes, “I have to make good on that promise, now don’t I?”

☆ a/n: so this just emerged from my mind after watching the first few episodes of season 2 and starting to read the manga. gojo would absolutely love to do something like this. though he def prefers having you in private :)

[bomberqueen17]

don't know where else to put it

I was going to do a big wrap-up of Everything I Learned From The Must Farm Site Report PDFs but then life got super busy. So I only have the things I turned over and over in my mind, just now, and I want to go back and reread but now's not the time, I'll have to do another pass through at a later date.

But the one tiny vivid little factoid I've got in my mind that I just have to write down-- that necklace, with the big amber bead? Some of the glass beads were shattered from the heat but the amber bead was only charred a little on one side. So obviously some of the necklace was closer to the fire than the rest. I had initially connected that it was found near where there was probably a door, and I vaguely imagined someone dropping it as they fled. But now I'm convinced that's not it at all.

It was hanging up. It was hanging on a peg or a hook or a twig or something, right near the door, maybe even on display, and the big heavy amber bead was hanging at the bottom, and the glass beads were hanging at the top, and the fire at that point spread down from the roof and it burned through the string, and the glass beads shattered and the necklace fell down and when the floor collapsed it wound up in the mud.

The other thing I keep thinking is that the fire has to have started while no one was home. And modern people don't think about this, but in a premodern society where you've got a group of people living in a house, where you don't have appliances you can turn on and off, where starting a fire takes serious effort and getting it to a state where you can cook on it takes hours, where the food served at daily meals has to be the full-time job of several people because it's so labor-intensive--

there's never going to be a time where everyone is out of the village. There's going to be a sickly or elderly person who can't really get out of bed or move far, or a new mother who's just given birth and can't travel, and there'll be someone home to tend to whoever that is, and while they're home they're tending the fire and getting dinner started. There's just always someone there. I could see maybe one house being unoccupied for a brief time, but a village, that probably had at least ten houses if not more, and each house had ten people in it? Someone would be home. And those who weren't home wouldn't be far. We know the wheat etc. that the village was eating was grown on dry land, and the flax they were processing into fiber, but it could not have been far away. And the Fenlands are flat. You'd see smoke. Before the first house was even engulfed someone would have noticed the smoke and they'd be hurrying home.

But nobody tried to fight the fire. Nobody spread it, but nobody fought it either. Nobody pulled any timbers out to save them. Nobody threw water on anything.

Nobody was there. The houses were empty. Nobody fled the fire, because they weren't there to see it start, or they would have been able to stop it.

They hadn't been evacuated in any organized way, or surely the bead necklace would have been taken. Even if they were in a hurry, at least the pot full of cooked food would have been taken, or emptied into something more portable to bring along! There was so much prepared food lying around. And the thread bobbins-- bobbins and bobbins of painstakingly-spliced flax they'd grown and rippled and scutched, some of it then painstakingly plied, hours and hours of several people's labor, and it was on little bobbins, you could sweep that into a basket along with your bulkier household goods and barely take up any space at all and save hundreds, maybe thousands of hours of labor later when you needed to weave some new fabric. Thread like that was precious, and it's portable, and I can't believe they'd choose to leave so much of it behind if they had any chance to choose what they brought with them.

As I'd said, it's beyond possibility that everyone had gone out to do some job-- there would be people left behind in the houses for that. Maybe everyone had gone out for some religious observation, maybe. Maybe something was important enough to even haul out the oldsters and the infants, and to put off dinner until late. Maybe. it's possible. But someone (probably in Structure 1) just didn't bank the fire correctly, and it got away and got into the roof beams. A properly-banked fire wouldn't do that, and surely these people, managing cooking fires for their entire lives, would know how to do it. But even then I can't imagine them going that far, and again, they'd see the smoke and hurry home. Even if it was a religious rite they'd still hurry home from it, there's no way they wouldn't have come back.

So it seems to me that they had to have been forced out. No notice, no chance to pack, everything left where it was, last night's supper still in the pot, tonight's bread still rising on the trays, the lambs in their pens and the dog tied up in House 5.

I can't imagine what forced them out. It wouldn't be weather. It could be enemies. There were no weapons found in the houses, but that might mean they'd taken them with them-- except the spears, perhaps they were only hunting spears but you'd think still if everyone ran out to fight they would take them too, the spears and the axes; if it was a situation where they had to last-ditch defend themselves the non-warriors would certainly arm themselves with the wood axes and the hunting spears. But they didn't.

So my conclusion is that they all were forced to leave in a hurry, without banking the fires, without putting anything away, and they were prevented from returning. The cause could be human enemies-- perhaps the warriors of the settlement had gone out to fight and been defeated, and the victors came here and the survivors knew they could not fight and so came out unresisting to meet their fates.

The cause could be something religious or spiritual-- something they believed in made them leave and prevented them from returning. It would have to be incredibly compelling, however, because leaving without their food or their cooking pots or their domestic goods (the little bobbins of thread!!!!! you could easily carry those!!) would make it very hard for them to make their way in the world.

The cause could be-- I really don't know what else. Disease would maybe make them abandon a settlement, maybe leave no trace if they buried their dead on land, but they would pack first. Most things, they would pack first, they wouldn't leave cooked food sitting out, they'd bring the lambs and dog with them. Any orderly evacuation, they'd have brought the lambs and dog with them. They have to have left in a hurry without a chance to prepare. And there was no attempt at salvage afterward, they didn't come back to look for anything they'd left. The ruins of the burned buildings would have stood visible for decades, the ends of roof timbers above the water, much of structure 4 (possibly the gate house entrance) above the water, the palisade probably unburnt for much of its length. It would have been easy to find. There are only a couple of disarranged timbers in Structure 3 to suggest anyone ever poked through the wreckage at all, and that's not much to go on. Certainly nobody dug around in the mud, which would have been quite shallow at some times of year.

And while it's possible the evidence of what happened existed once, somewhere in the long-vanished sections of the village-- perhaps the fire started at that end, perhaps they tried to fight it there, perhaps they tried salvage over there and discovered the fire had burned too hot to make it worthwhile, perhaps the bodies of the villagers were all dumped into the channel over there after whatever battle there was-- perhaps there was all kinds of stuff. But I just think whatever it was left no trace. So many of the possibilities would now be invisible, three thousand years later.

All we have is the facts: They left in a hurry, leaving their lambs in their pens, their food on the table, the dog tied up in the house, the cooking fires not banked.

And whatever made them leave, they never came back.

[ladykailitha]

Do You Know What Shovels Dig? Graves Part 2

My version of the shovel talk trope.

Part Two to This!

*

Eddie knocked on Steve’s door bouncing on his toes.

Steve opened the door and then just led Eddie into the front room without a word. Eddie’s heart let out a small mewl of distress. Either Jonathan had been underselling it or Steve was worse than when he left. Eddie had a sinking feeling it was the latter.

“I’m guessing Jonathan called you,” Steve said, sitting down hard on the sofa.

“Came over and plied me with weed, actually,” Eddie said, settling next to him. “I get why you didn’t tell me. I can’t fault you for being hurt by people who you thought cared. But I can fault me for not noticing you were hurting. Because yeah, maybe you couldn’t say why, but I could have been there for you anyway.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged. “I should have at least told you that I was feeling upset.”

“I think the part that upsets me more than anything, love,” Eddie murmured, pulling Steve close to his chest, “is that I’m the newbie in all this, shouldn’t they be more worried that I’ll hurt you? I’m the wild card here, not you.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist. “And it’s not as though I ended my last major relationship, either. That was all Nancy. I was trying my best, I really was. And I’ve tried with every other girl I’ve dated seriously, too. I’m always being broken up with, not the one doing the breaking.”

Eddie laid down and pulled Steve flush along the length of his body. “I’m the love and leave ‘em type, not you, sweetheart. The reason you are my first real relationship is because I liked not having to worry about get my heart stomped on by straight boys experimenting with gay sex and then fucking off back to their girlfriends.”

“So why are they coming after me?” Steve asked piteously, snuggling into Eddie’s neck.

“Because I keep myself to myself,” Eddie explained. “Even though I’m out and loud, I keep it tucked in my chest. But you sweetheart, wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Eddie kissed him and slowly began to rub circles up and down his back. He deepened the kiss. Yes, this was supposed to be a distraction, but he really wanted to make his boyfriend forget about his troubles for awhile. They were lost to time for awhile.

They didn’t get to sex, not really. Their clothes were still on, but Steve was sleepy and relaxed, so Eddie counted that as a win. He slipped out from under his boyfriend.

“Stay,” Steve mumbled into the sofa

“I’ll right back, darlin’,” Eddie assured him. “You need some sleep and I have to run a quick errand. You nap for a bit and I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

“’Kay,” he replied, mostly asleep. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart,” Eddie said kissing his temple.

*

Eddie managed to arrived at the Byers house before everyone else. Will let him in.

Will led him to the front room where Joyce and Jonathan were waiting. Jonathan was on the sofa and Joyce was standing up chewing on her thumb.

“I talked to Jim and really chewed him out for scaring Steve like that,” she said the second she saw Eddie. “That wasn’t fair. Jim is supposed to be like a father to Steve, not be another bully.”

Eddie hugged her. “Thanks. I’ll talk to Wayne later, too. I didn’t even know he owned a shotgun.”

El scoffed. “He borrowed Dad’s.”

Eddie threw his head back and rolled his eyes. “Yup. That makes more sense actually and Steve would be too terrified to realize it was the same gun. He is in so much trouble for that.”

Soon everyone had arrived and piled into the small front room.

“What’s this about?” Dustin asked. “Jonathan said it was serious on the walkie. Not like Code Red, but bad.”

“I think it almost was,” Jonathan bit out.

Eddie winced, because he couldn’t be one hundred percent that if Jonathan hadn’t shown up that Steve wouldn’t have done what he threw at the older teen.

The room was silent. Eddie could hear his own ragged breaths and rapidly beating heart.

“Someone say something,” Robin pleaded. “What’s going on?”

“You are all assholes,” Will bit out. “Steve wouldn’t break Eddie’s heart if it was in his power and you all know it. So why the hell would you tell him if he did you would kill him? Not just cause him bodily harm, but actual death. Haven’t we seen enough of death to last our life time?!” He had been sitting on the sofa next to Jonathan when the meeting started but had risen to his feet.

Mike scoffed. “It not serious.”

“It sure the hell wasn’t the first time. But what about the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth or even the ninth time?” El asked, her eyes blazing.

“Ninth?” Robin asked.

Jonathan nodded. “If my math’s right. It could be more or less, but yeah. There were only a small dedicated handful that didn’t tell Steve some variation of ‘hurt Eddie and I’ll hurt you’, myself included.”

“That can’t be right,” Dustin said with a frown.

“Oh no, Dusty,” Eddie said, tilting his head side to side. “That’s absolutely correct. And worse is that none of you shit heads even said boo my direction. Not that I want to be threatened. I get enough of that, which now that I think about it...that’s why, isn’t it?”

The silence in the room was deafening.

“Oh, that is it!” Eddie crowed. “Can’t go after me because I get literal death threats so lets all dogpile on Steve instead!”

“Steve was in a really bad place when I went over there this morning,” Jonathan said into the bitter hush.

Joyce stepped forward. “I realize most of you are children and don’t quite understand what you did. But actual adults got involved in this mess. Adults that should have known better. So let me put this to you in a way you can understand so this never happens again. You’re getting to age were you’re dating yourselves, so think about how you would feel if someone came to your partner and threatened them with violence.”

“I’d be pissed,” Max said from the corner. “It’s no one’s business but ours.”

Joyce held out her hand to emphasize her point.

“Oh,” Nancy said from the corner of the room. She looked over at Jonathan and then ducked her head, crossing her arms over her stomach.

“Steve is so far from the boy that was a dick in his junior year,” Jonathan said. “Like that was four years ago. Almost five. And yet you still treat him like he hasn’t grown. Are you even his friends at this point or are you just so used to having him around that he’s just a tool to you to be used.”

“We don’t use him, do we?” Lucas asked, his voice cracking with emotion.

“You tell me,” Eddie huffed. “Do you ask anyone else to take you places? Do you have parties anywhere other than his place? Do expect him to be there for you when this shit gets to you, but don’t check in on him?”

The room was filled once again with the awkward silence.

“We didn’t mean to,” Dustin said, near tears.

“I want all of you to apologize to Steve,” Joyce in her best mom voice. “Work on being better friends. Because if you don’t, some day you might wake up and wonder how he just slipped away.”

They all nodded.

Erica tilted her head to side. “Wait a minute. Why didn’t you give Eddie or Steve the shovel talks? Any of you?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Just didn’t care enough. Plus I always thought they were bullshit, anyway. Shit happens. Any of you want Nancy dead because she broke Steve’s heart?”

Nancy’s head shot up and her jaw dropped.

“I love you,” Jonathan said. “But you can’t deny that’s what happened.”

She snapped her jaw shut.

The whole room was shaking their heads. Of course they didn’t want to hurt Nancy.

“Friends don’t hurt their friends,” El said. “And if you’ve been hurting Steve, maybe he needs to be taken away until you learn to play nicely.”

Joyce hid her smile under her hand. That was one way to look at it.

They looked at Will.

He rolled his eyes. “I think made myself pretty clear when we started this, so yeah. Fuck off.”

“William!” Joyce hissed. “Language!”

Will looked up at her completely unrepentant. She sighed. “I’m with my boys, I’m afraid. Shovel talks are bullshit and Steve is a good boy who has continued to go to bat, sometimes quite literally, for all of us. He could have walked away from the Upside Down fuckery at any time, but he came. He stayed. He took hits meant for someone else. Someone weaker. That’s a good friend. Maybe you should start treating him like one, too.”

Eddie looked around at everyone. “Has everyone learned their lesson?”

Everyone nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Now I’m going to back to Steve because he’s waiting for me. But I want those apologies. I don’t care if you call, write, or visit. But you will apologize. And no more shovel talks.”

*

And now with part three! Part four ! Part Five Part Six

Tags because they asked:  @justforthedead89 @zerokrox-blog @ihavekidneys

[dairy-farmer]

Dick and Jason run afoul of some sort of universe swapping plot device. The timing is really poor.

See, Tim’s heat is due, well, tonight. And since Jason’s rut always starts a day after Tim’s heat, and Dick’s rut comes a day or two after that, the three of them have come to an arrangement. One where Jason and Dick spend the better part of a week and a half fucking Tim’s brains out well past the point where he cannot walk.

So they make a beeline to Tim’s nest. Either he’ll be smart enough to figure out how to get everyone back home before their cycles hit, or maybe they can fill in for the original Jason and Dick for Tim’s heat.

Except they get there and notice that something’s different. Tim’s not an omega. Tim’s not… anything. They quickly realize that this world doesn’t have designations. Tim’s heat’s not coming but their rut sure is.

Some quick explanation and Tim offers to help them out. It’s either that or try to explain the whole knotting thing to some sex workers, and nobody wants that. And Tim has been quietly lusting after his Dick and Jason for ages, so if he can’t have them at least he can have a different version of them.

Jason and Dick are happy to fuck any version of Tim. They unfortunately weren’t the first ones to knot their Tim, but this Tim has definitely never had a knot in his cunt before.

Tim was…unprepared for how big their knots were going to be. It takes a lot of stretching but they eventually make it work. It’s not painful, but honestly he would’ve been fine without it. And the amount of come… he could’ve almost drowned in it. He’s ecstatic with the rest of the sex though, and the amount of attention and care plied on him.

…

Human Dick and Jason have the same idea as their alpha counterparts, at least about going to Tim’s nest. They don’t have the right receptors so they can’t smell the heat scent Tim’s nest is saturated in. They do find their cocks stirring a bit from the unnoticed hormones, but they both have gotten used to suppressing their desire for Tim.

What they’re not used to though, is a naked, panting, needy Tim jumping them as soon as they get inside, pawing at them to get their clothes off. At first they think it’s pollen, but Tim’s heat is just getting going so he’s able to explain enough that Dick can quick look into this whole strange reproductive cycle thing on Tim’s computer.

And when Jason and Dick realize exactly what Tim is eagerly asking for, what he needs from them, well they can’t exactly say no. And they’ve wanted their Tim for so long but he’s never shown any interest in them so this might be their only chance. He’s flushed and needy and whining for their cocks. They never thought they’d ever see Tim like this.

They can’t knot Tim like he’s used too, but Dick’s always had a short refractory period, and the Pit has done the same to Jason-as well as make him come a lot. With their lack of knots they can both have him at the same time. When Tim’s really sobbing for a knot, they have to pump him full and plug him up-with toys, with heat aids, with their fists. It’s an amazing sight. Even so, they can barely keep up with Tim’s needs. They love it even though it’s exhausting, and a little chafing.

…

When the heat and their ruts are over, and everyone gets back to their own universes probably via a Tim built plot device, human Tim has a lot harder time keeping his desires and his blushes hidden. And now that Jason and Dick have finally had a taste of Timmy’s sweet sweet pussy, they’re not going to let him hide away any longer.

Meanwhile, the alphas are a little put out that their omega had to rely on someone else for his heat. Sure, he was sort of technically fucked by them, but THEY weren’t the ones doing it. They decide they need to remind Timmy who he belongs to. They drowned human Tim in their come so it’s time to do the same to their omega.

universe swap with an omegaverse would be WILD- jason and dick realizing humans have entirely different biology in that universe but its not enough to put them off from fucking tim ❤️❤️❤️!!!

then the omegaverse versions of themselves fucking tim in a way that he will literally never be able to replicate and even giving him some new kinks❤️❤️❤️!!

[amuseoffyre]

In The Soup

From my first watch, I couldn't help notice the number of reference to soup and broth all the way through the first three episodes and I've been - to be thematic about it - simmering said thoughts overnight and now have put them in order.

'Susan's' soup kiosk

"this broth…may be the best thing I've ever had"

noodle soup on arrival on the ship

the underworld boil-up

"we could make soup"

There is something very significant about the fact that Zheng's chosen cover in the Republic of Pirates is as the owner of a modest little soup kiosk. Jackie even refers to her as the "soup bitch".

It's a sign of how good Zheng is as hiding in plain sight because soup is a universal staple in almost every country in the world. No one questions the presence of a soup stand, because who wouldn't want a nice bowl of soup?

There's something about soup that is seen as a universal basic and comforting dish. There are dozens of proverbs about soup being like home or something to bring someone when they're ill. It's a quiet symbol of safety and comfort and home and Zheng absolutely uses this.

And she doesn't just keep it for the land ruse. More warm and delicious soup is served up on the ship: Stede and his lot get it as a meal and then when they bring the remains of Ed's crew over from the Revenge, they're wrapped in blankets and plied with soup too.

The thing is that we've seen how Zheng operates when she subdues Bartholemew. She doesn't even need to use threats against him. Champers and a tasty meal and a sympathetic ear and she gets what she wants. Even Stede falls for it, right up until the moment she points out that the other alternative was "or death". This is the blade they are all now living under.

Do not trust the comfort of the soup. The soup is a trap and an illusion.

This is even more significant in Ed's scenes with Hornighost. The soup he's making there is reminiscent of Māori boil-up and given that he's a manifestation of Ed's own brain, this once again gives the illusion of comfort and home as well the adage as soup being best for a recuperating invalid.

Only coming from Hornigold, that comfort and warmth becomes a horror. "It's poisoned!" Ed says as soon as he realises who's holding the spoon. He sees something deadly and a trap. He knows this isn't what it seems.

Being fed by a man who has past history of killing people with the things he fed them and who threatened to feed Ed his own skin makes that soup a very real and tangible threat.

Their next conversation on the beach is very telling. "You've got to move on or you blow your brains out… or we could make some soup." And Ed chooses soup. He chooses a warm and good food. He chooses something that is two of his reasons to keep living: warmth and good food. The fact he gives voice to good food and warmth being two of the things he values most, the repetitive appearance of soup and mention of gravy in this purgatory is Ed's subconscious grasping for what he really wants and needs, but never quite getting it.

Only once again, the soup is a subterfuge, because what's happening can't be ignored. No matter how safe or homey or domestic it looks, Hornighost keeps on slipping in the knives and all of Ed's worst thoughts and impulses keep coming to the surface. He wants the warmth and the comfort that soup symbolises, but the soup is a lie. He can't get that. Not here. Not now.

And last of all, the classic old idiom, when things have gone wrong and you find yourself in trouble: you're in the soup. They have double-crossed one of the most powerful pirates they have ever encountered, broken her ship, stolen her crush and are on the run from the English. They are most definitely in the soup.

[akwolfgrl]

Recipe for recovery part 4

As Zoro carried Sanji onto the deck, to the chair waiting for him, he couldn't help but notice how light he felt in his arms. The sound of his scream still haunts him. Zoro didn't know what he would do without the blonde in his arms. Someone had already piled the chair in pillows. Everyone was working together to get Sanji to take it easy and rest. Robin and Nami were already sitting on either side of his chair, Zoro thought it was a bad idea that Sanji would be worried about serving them instead of resting.

“What's that smell?” Sanji asked, sniffing the air.

“Frankys got the grill going,” Zoro told him as he placed him on his throne of pillows. Zoro sure as shit didn't know how to grill. “Luffy and I killed a few animals,” Before Sanji fell, they had to go back to grab them and Namis tools.

“I'll need to do inventory later,” Zoro sat down by the foot of the chair, extra precaution from Sanji attempting to stand.

He and Sanji were both far too alike in that regard. This wasn't something he could train for. When he or a crew member had been hurt in the past it was something Zoro could train, work harder to prevent it from happening again. However there was no out training for a freak accident, an act of nature and bad timing.

“Already done Sanji,” Robin replied with a smile. “I got you something to read, it's a mystery novel. Hannah Swensen runs a bakery, specializing in cookies, called The Cookie Jar. When a delivery man is found, shot dead, in her loading bay, Hannah decides to take matters into her own hands and find the killer herself. It's quite a good series thus far, I'm on book ten carrot cake murder. There are recipes inside, between them and your notes on the crew we can manage until you feel well enough to order us about. I'll hold it for you, Choppers already told us everything,”

“Thank so much Robin, but you don't have to go that far for me. It's my job to take care of and serve you,” Sanji replied.

“Nonsense, now sit back and relax. I have your reading speed timed perfectly,” Zoro had no idea how she did it but it was Robin, if anyone had that figured out it would be her.

“All right! Luffy, are you ready for some Super!! good BBQ?” Franky asked a drooling Luffy.

“Yesh!” Luffy cried, throwing his hands in the air.

Zoro sat back and watched as Franky loaded Luffy's plate with chicken, burgers, ribs, kabobs and hot dogs. Luffy eagerly tucked in.

“Mm! Ish almosh ah goo ah,” Luffy swallowed his mouthful. “Sanjis!”

“Thanks bro, that's high praise! BBQ is my specialty!” Franky struck another pose, his arms above his head. “It's the only thing in can cook to be honest,”

Zoro got up when the second round was ready, Nami right behind him. Robin stayed behind to keep Sanji company. She could easily use her devil fruit to get her own food.

“You'll keep an eye on him tonight right?” Nami asked him when they were out of earshot.

“Yes, I should have been there when he fell,” Zoro knew it wasn't rational but he could still hear Sanji's scream over the sound of crumbling earth. The sight of his bloody mangled body would haunt his nightmares. It was one thing to get hurt during a fight, it was expected even.

“Are you finally going to confess?” Nami asked, loading up her plate and both his plates.

“When he's not on painkillers,” He had confessed to Nami after she caught him staring at the blonde's ass one too many times. She of course had plied him with drinks first, that women sure knew how to make one hell of a drink.

“Good, I'm sick of the pinning and if this accident has taught us anything is there's no time to waste…although Yah don't confess while he's high, I'm surprised he's not loopy,”

“Zoro, Sanji and Luffy's pain tolerance is high, that might be the reason why the medicine isn't kicking in as fast as I would like, Zoro and Luffy burn threw it too fast. Luckily Luffy mostly just needs meat to recover,” Chopper chimed in. “Sanji might be nauseous from the painkillers, so don't put to much on his plate,”

“All right Chopper, whatever he doesn't eat we will just feed to Luffy,” Nami agreed.

“Luffy will eat anything,”

“No alcohol either,” Chopper added.

Zoro whinesed, he was guilty of the last thing, he had drunk plenty of booze when he shouldn't have. They made their way back to chairs, Robin already had a plate on her lap.

“Here curls,” Zoro sat on Namis chair, she sat on the end without a fight. She normally lounged on it like some queen, but today everyone was focused on their cook. “Open up,” Zoro took a small fork full remembering how Sanji didn't just shovel food in his mouth, he took small bites savoring his food.

[hyunjinhoee]

B I R T H D A Y

okay I'm back with a cheating plot once again and no I don't support cheating in any way or form but however I do like drama so why not BUT PLEASE CHEATING SUCKS AND NEVER CHEAT

hope you all like this one<3

hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings:- smut ; cussing; kinda toxic; cheating(plis never cheat ); manhandling; blow job; unprotected rough sex(be better); marking; cum kiss??; edging; breeding and size kink; creampie; dom!hyunjin; sub!reader please let me know if i missed any.

wc: 1.0k

“Happy Birthday Y/N” your bestfriend pulled you in a hug but that was not what made you feel excited, it was the long haired man which followed behind her who made your heart skip a beat.

“Happy Birthday-” Hyunjin smiled at you, “-Y/N” he said after a subtle pause, your lips curving in a smile as you noticed how his eyes lowered down on your body, just for second but well you knew what was on his mind.

“Babe I have to take this” Your bestfriend’s voice cuts in as she picks up a call. You both nod not knowing who the nickname referred to

“You look good” Hyunjin complimented a few moments after his girlfriend left, “I always do” you bite your lower lip holding back your smile, “true” it was a whisper from his side but you heard it and he sure did mean for you to hear it.

“oh you’re girlfriend just texted that she has to go for a bit and will be back again around 30 minutes” You read out the message from your phone as a smirk formed on Hyunjin’s lips and as well as yours

“We can go in my room but what if someone sees and snitches” You raise your brows as Hyunjin walks towards you, “All of these people are drunk and the music is loud enough for anyone to hear you when I make you scream my name”, “and what if they do?” You question him back without any specific intention but you just loved listening to his replies in these type of conversation, “Well then you better give them a good show”–

And now you are on your bedroom floor, your make up ruined, dress torn up with Hyunjin’s cum filling your mouth

Hyunjin wiped his thumb over your lower lip as his cum dripped down from your mouth, rolling down your chin down to your neck disappearing between your bare boobs

Hyunjin loved this filthy side of you more than anything. You down on your knees as your eyes were curtained in lust covered in his cum.

“Be a good girl and swallow” a praise escaped his lips as you obey him gulping down, lolling your tongue out to show him how much of a ‘good girl’ were you

Hyunjin’s finger grip around your neck as he pulls you up catching your lips in a rough kiss, biting down on your already swollen lip making you moan in pain but why should you complain?

“Y/N why have you locked yourself up in your room? And have you seen Hyunjin” Your eyes grew wide at your bestfriend’s sudden knocking

“You better think of a good lie” Hyunjin continued to suck on your skin leaving it bruised everywhere he could

“Uhh I am just not in the mood, I feel sick” You yelled back, “and uh Hyunjin he went home, he said he will call you” You could feel his smirk on your skin. He is the one cheating, yet you are the one who is stressed out

“Oh okay.. well text me when you feel better. I guess I am leaving, byee” You let out a sigh of relief when you didn’t have to lie to anymore questions

“On your fours” Hyunjin got up as you turned around, “You want to stop?” Hyunjin asked, “No”–

Hyunjin pounded into you, catching up at a fast pace right from the start. He somehow managed to hit every right spot, your head spinning around, your bed creaking against the wall as your knees started to go weak. Your grip around your bedsheets unintentionally tightened as you swore to see stars behind your eye lids but just as you reached closer– you suddenly felt empty

“What the fuck” the frustration in your voice was visible as you turned around, Hyunjin’s fingers running through his hair and smile forming on his lips

“be patient baby” he chuckled as he slowly turned you around pulling you closer, entering you once again.

“Just wanted to look at that beautiful face while I fuck you” He resumed at the pace where he left, his fingers intertwining with yours as his lips found your neck again

You could bid on everything you had that this was the best sex you would ever have. Nothing could top what Hyunjin was making you feel right now. How he made you feel like a slut about five minutes ago and now with his fingers entangled in yours, and his lips not leaving your skin- you felt like a goddess.

“You are doing so well” a sudden praise left his lips as he slowly led your hand on your stomach making you actually feel him, “See you well you are taking me” and so this was the first time you understood what ‘re-arranging of organs’ meant and you knew you are about to be addicted

His fingers again found yours as he pinned your hands beside you leaning down, catching your lips in a soft kiss as his pace got lazy with him somehow getting deeper than he already was.

Those stars which had disappeared before twinkled once again as you felt your body relaxing at the knot formed in your stomach loosening and just when you thought it was over, a warm sensation took you over as Hyunjin slowly pulled out, his cum dripping out of you

“That was good” You whispered, your mind still trying to process everything that just happened within the past hour

“Happy Birthday once again”

“Best Birthday for sure” You laughed, “Oh it better be” Hyunjin joined in as he laid down beside you, his hands sliding around your waist pulling you closer.

Yeah, this was for sure the best birthday.

[thelibranvixen]

Kara Allison, XXL Magazine Eye Candy Section (March 2011 Issue)

Folks love to hear the story, again and again, about how a wayward cutie received her first big break. For Kara Allison, her road to being an Eye Candy was par for the course. "I never thought I could be a model, because of my height and my body," says the Miami native, who, one month after graduating high school (class of 2008!), accompanied her BFF to a casting for Lil Wayne and Bobby Valentino’s 2008 smash "Mrs. Officer". After catching the eye of video director Gil Green, Kara, who was certain her 32DD-24-39 dimensions on her 5-foot-3-inch frame weren’t model-friendly, was given a major spot in the video.

Three years and 12 vids later, the Jamaican beauty and college junior has notched several noteworthy joints, such as Rick Ross’s "Magnificent", featuring John Legend; Maino’s "All the Above" (both in 2009); and, more recently, DJ Khaled’s latest posse cut, "Welcome to My Hood", featuring Rick Ross, Plies, Lil Wayne and T-Pain; and Birdman’s "Fire Flame (Remix)", featuring Lil Wayne, which included a jaw-dropping performance involving sparklers. Not a bad résumé for someone who was just out there supporting a friend. “That casting opened my eyes and made me realize that there are all kinds of models,” Kara says. "And I can be successful at it, as well". Yes, you can.

We had a schoolgirl theme going specifically for your shoot, if you didn’t notice. I can relate to it very well. I am a college student, which goes with the schoolgirl theme. What end of the social spectrum were you at in high school? Were you the introvert, the popular girl, the prom queen…the cheerleader? I guess you can say I was pretty popular. I was in the choir, so I knew a lot of people. I always was a class clown, too, so I got along well with people. Oh yeah? Channel your inner stand-up comic and hit us with a joke. [Laughs] I don’t think I would be good at stand-up at all. I’m more of the sarcastic kind of funny. Like, a smart-ass? Yeah, but I knew pretty much everyone in high school. I did win “Most Attractive” at the prom, which was extremely flattering. Absolutely, but how does the prom’s “Most Attractive” end up twirling sparklers in Birdman’s flammable “Fire Flame (Remix)” video? [Laughs] It was very nerve-racking at first, when they were explaining to me what I would be doing, but, at the same time, very exciting. I love trying new things, and I thought it would come out dope in the end. It did. Weren’t you afraid your hair would be set ablaze, though? They had a professional come in and show me how to use it properly, and I caught on within a couple of minutes. It was actually pretty easy. I tried not to concentrate too much on the sparklers, and concentrate more on my dancing. Do you think your classmates are concentrating on your recent success with scorn? Jealousy is a bitch, you know? I’m sure they are jealous. [Laughs] —Sean A. Malcolm Photography courtesy of Sarah McColgan

[yesimtrashforit]

My Thorough Examination of klaus.xls (Klaus' spreadsheet) (as of TMAGP 19) PART 1

Hey all! So as many of you may know, for The Magnus Protocol ARG, a couple of spreadsheets were created. One of them was this file:

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1B-t8II1ogRaqJdyBGzZsVzDtnqaRTIqxPAqQRye_0SI/htmlview?pli=1#

It appears to be a filing spreadsheet of cases for the OIAR, created by Klaus. Klaus is confirmed to have been the IT manager at one point or at least employed by the OIAR.

Here is my thorough examination of the file and its contents:

1. The Basics

The file has 103 cases on it. Many are unknown due to the data/date being indecipherable.

It has 7 different columns:

1. Matter #

Basically the code like we see in the description of each episode. For many of these, it is unknown. Some do have the date of the incident followed by blanks which I assume to be the date it was processed by the OIAR.

2. Date

Plain and simple. The dates range from 1991 to 2023.

3. Location (the most interesting!!)

For nearly all of the ones with dates, a location is put next to it. All but one of them are real locations throughout the UK. Some are very vague, just being cities, others are specific buildings/sites. I will be going into those later on!

4. Category

(Also seen in the description of each episode.) We still don't know what defines a case's category. At least, I am unsure about it. Categories 1-3 are very common. However there is one that says 13 and one that says 12.

5. Rank

Really unsure about this one. The established ranks are S, A, B, C.

6. TSHU (don't know what this stands for)

It's the case's number depending on the contents. (Also seen in the description of each episode.)

7. Notes

I'm pretty sure these are notes that Klaus or someone put when they were mucking around. They don't seem to be that serious or weird compared to what we know.

The only notes I see are:

"Cats LOL"

"Mr. B" (certainly Mr. Bonzo)

"Martial people"

"Avoid"

"Unhappy child"

"Ext."

"Like"

"ink" (certainly ink5oul)

"Mr. m"

"I hate witches"

"Lady M" (certainly Lady Mowbray)

"Never again"

Some repeat, some don't.

User @tenthgrove did a fascinating post examining the filing system in more depth if you're interested!

Here's the link to their post:

2. Some episodes cases DO line up with several entries on this spreadsheet

By searching for the numbers on each episode's description, I found that some of them line up with a couple cases in the spreadsheet.

A. Episode 2 - Making Adjustments is #80 on the file

Here it is in the spreadsheet:

The number matches up! And it has a note saying "ink" obv lining up with Daria's situation.

The rest of the columns say [data damage].

B. Episode 3 - Putting Down Roots is #64 on the file

Spreadsheet:

The rest says [data damage]

C. Episode 5 - Personal Screening is #75 on the file

Spreadsheet:

The rest says [data damage].

D. Episode 7 - Give and Take is #77 on the file

Spreadsheet:

E. Episode 14 - Pet Project is #25 on the file

Spreadsheet:

F. Episode 17 - Saved Copy is #20 on the file

Spreadsheet:

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/yesimtrashforit/752561988257890304/my-extremely-thorough-examination-of-klausxls

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Wicked Game

Pairing: Daniel Le Domas x Reader

Rating: Explicit- 18+ Only

Warnings: Angst; fluff; infidelity; explicit sexual content—vagina sex, oral sex. Not beta-read.

Notes: You can venmo me that soul whenever

Length: 6.9K

Summary: “Hey,” He murmurs, “You trust me?”

You shouldn’t. Daniel Le Domas has never given you a good reason to trust him. But you find yourself nodding. He gives your hand a squeeze, your arm a tug, and leads you into the trees. 

He thinks about it.

As the others stream into the room, chattering frenetically, he thinks about. He looks at the box, and he thinks about it. If he brought her home—if he brought her in—what would she draw?

Old Maid?

Chess?

Bridge?

Checkers?

Or…

Daniel winces at the thought, turning his head and raising his glass to his lips. He drains the contents, revels in the burn, and shakes his head a little, trying to knock the thoughts away. He’s already let this go on too long if he’s even worrying about this. She’d seemed so damn putout when he’d told her that he didn’t think it was a good idea for her to come home with her for Thanksgiving. 

He couldn’t blame her for her upset. Thanksgiving is no intimate affair for the Le Domas family—so few things are. And he hadn’t brought her home for it last year, either—or for Christmas, New Year’s, the Fourth of July, birthday parties, none of it. He’s been keeping her away from his world, tucked in their own private corner of his life.

His family knows that there’s someone, but they haven’t discovered her yet. He’s been careful. But she deserves to be with someone that can love her openly, not covet her in the shadows.

Maybe next Thanksgiving. 

-- 

You don’t recognize the house until it’s too late. You’d only been there once, three years ago, but it’s unmistakably the same house. A steady welling of dread is beginning to flood you. Your boyfriend, James, doesn’t notice—he’s still going on and on, reminding you of things about his business’ silent partner—topics to hit on, topics to avoid. You hadn’t taken a look at his business partner’s instagram, but now you’re wishing you had. 

Maybe your boyfriend’s business partner just knows the Le Domas family well enough to be invited to their annual Christmas party, and a brief stay at the gargantuan house. It’s a massive affair—well-to-do people, business moguls, politicians. It’s more a wander-around, eat-canapes, sip-champagne sort of thing. It was the most uncomfortable party you’d ever been to. You’d felt like an outsider, and like Daniel was ashamed to have you on his arm. 

You only half-hear James’ notes and order. You’re not really listening. You’re bracing for the inevitable flood of them out through the front door, the surprised smiles, the backhanded comments, the forced geniality—the sight of him. He’s married now. They’d made sure you’d known that. You’d even gotten an invitation to the wedding.

You’d coped by setting it on fire.

“...Babe?” James plies when you don’t answer him. “You alright?” 

“...Fine,” You manage. “Think I left the iron on.” 

“Can we call someone to go check? We’re gonna be here a couple’a days,” He reminds you. 

“Yeah,” You manage, “Yeah, I can…Actually, I think I ought to head home after the party tonight.” 

James sighs heavily, as if a child has left their toys strewn across the floor again. 

“Babe,” He presses, “We’ve talked about this. You know you need to stay through the weekend. Besides, it’s a three hour drive back home, and it’ll be late. We’ll go back on Sunday.” He reaches out, patting your thigh. “I know you wanna make this perfect for me, and I know that that’s why you’re so nervous, but you’ll do just fine. Okay?” 

Fine. 

You don’t tell James that it was like this the last time you were there. It had been different then—your third Christmas with Daniel, and your last. You hadn’t been the only trepidatious one in the car. Daniel had been just as nervous as you were—but he’d put his hand on your thigh and told you that it would be alright—even though he didn’t seem to believe it himself. 

--

You’re on tenterhooks. You can’t help it. In the sea of pristinely attired people, you find yourself looking around warily, fingers flexing in the bend of James’ elbow. The three champagne flutes you’ve downed on an empty stomach are beginning to bubble and make their way back up toward your head. 

You haven’t seen any of the family yet. You think that you may get out of this without seeing any of them, but—

“There he is—Daniel! Where have you been keeping yourself!” James crows, letting go of your hand to lightly and fleetingly embrace his business partner. 

The champagne is beginning to drop away from your head and back toward your stomach in the worst way. 

Then again, if you get sick, maybe James’ll concede that you heading home is for the best. 

Daniel is staring right at you, even as James extends his hearty thanks for the invitation, his admiration of the house, the hospitality. 

“Anytime, man,” Is Daniel’s flat, canned answer before he gives a nod toward you. “You gonna introduce me?” 

Your eyes narrow at the implication, anxiety turning to anger. Introduce—like you’re new to him, like he’s never seen you before. You can’t call him out on it now; you didn’t mention to James that you knew one another—how could you have? You didn’t know that his Daniel had once been your Daniel. James introduces you like it’s nothing. He curls his arm around your middle and draws you into his side the way he always has—like you fit, like you belong there. 

“How are you finding our little party?” Daniel asks you. You want to punch him in the face and pour your drink over him. In your mind, you’re doing much, much worse to him. But you force a straight face, and tell him, “Fine, thank you.” 

“Better than fine!” James hurries to correct. “It’s great.” 

“You two have a chance to look at your room yet?” Daniel presses. 

“Not yet.” 

“It’s a nice one. Big bed,” Daniel winks at James. Your stomach churns. 

“Excuse me,” You mumble, beginning to step away from James. 

“Where are you going?” James frowns. 

“You’re looking a little green around the gills,” Daniel tacks on. He’s goading you, and he’s enjoying it. He must be. 

“Where’s that wife of yours?” James adds, turning back to Daniel. “I’m sure these two will be fast friends.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Daniel chuckles. “This one seems nice, and, well. You’ve met Charity.” 

The two share a hearty laugh, complete with an arm slap; James tips his head back with the force of it. It’s too loud, too fake—just like this whole damn party. You mumble your excuse again, citing the need for a new drink. 

“Aw, thanks, babe, I’d love one!” James says, pressing his empty glass into your hand. So much for a clean escape. 

You dawdle at the bar, lingering behind a large group before stepping up. You request another champagne, and a scotch for James. Once you’ve got it, you direct a waiter over toward James with his fresh drink, and mumble your thanks before escaping outside. 

It’s chilly out, but you manage to draw in what feels like the first deep breath since you arrived at the house. You raise your glass to your lips, taking in a deep pull. When you lower it again, it’s half-empty. You sigh softly, looking down at the contents. You can’t just make a run for it—a hired car wouldn’t be there before James came looking for you. You lift your head, eyeing the lit pool and fountains. 

“Looks nice all lit up, doesn’t it?” 

The voice makes your stomach churn, your shoulders going tight. You can’t run; the shoes you’re wearing won’t allow it. You could throw your champagne in his face—but by god, would that be an awful waste of champagne. 

“Course, you’ve seen it like this before,” He goes on. His voice is drifting closer; you can hear his approaching footsteps. “Does it hold up to your memories? Better? Worse?” 

“...I don’t know,” You manage. “I blocked that night out.” 

“Pfft, what?” Daniel chuckles. “You said that was the best night of your life.” 

“I lied.” 

“Why would you lie about that?” 

“I had to put on a brave face after you’d spent the night pretending I didn’t exist.” 

You don’t turn to look at him, even as he comes to stand beside you. The sleeve of his suit jacket brushes your chilled bare arm. 

“...Your boyfriend’s a shithead,” He offers.

“I guess I have a type.” 

You hope it’ll sting him, but Daniel just laughs. 

“You invested with that shithead,” You remind him. 

“He’s a shithead with a good business model. Fingers in different pies.” 

“And you always were the type to prefer quantity over quality.” 

Daniel huffs another soft laugh, stepping up to the marble railing and leaning back against it and facing you. 

“You’re going to stretch a muscle, reaching for those insults.” 

He looks as smug as he sounds as you turn an irritated eye toward him. Something softens in his expression within a couple of blinks, his eyes wandering you. 

“You look good,” He murmurs. 

“I know.” 

“Cold, though.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“So you’re shivering for fun?” 

You say nothing. You just raise your glass to your lips and drain it. Then, unable to help yourself, you fling the glass over the side of the balcony. There’s something oddly gratifying about the sound of it crashing on the walkway below. Daniel’s smile widens, and you have to clench your jaw. You only just manage to halt your own smile, and you damn the fluttering in your stomach at the sight. 

You hate that you know it’s one of his rare, real smiles—one that you’d been privy to at the very start of the relationship. They’d dwindled as you’d grown more serious, and damn near disappeared by the time he’d finally brought you home for the holidays. Yours had disappeared, too. 

“...You look good,” he murmurs. 

“You said that.” 

“I mean it.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“You don’t think I think you look good?” 

“I don’t give a fuck what you think, Daniel, I really don’t.” 

“You never did lie well. It’s one of the reasons you didn’t fit in here.” 

“Oh one of the reasons,” You laugh a little hysterically. “My god, just list them all out now, why don’t you.” 

“Sure, I can do that—” 

“I’m being sarcastic, asshole.” 

“Well, there’s the fact that you don’t know how to have fun, your complete lack of skill at Jenga—”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m great at Jenga.” 

“You are not.” 

“I am!” 

“Your hands shake when you’re nervous.” 

“You were all staring at me!” 

“It was Jenga.”  

“Oh—For fuckssake, I could kick your ass at Jenga—I could kick anyone’s ass at Jenga.”

“We’ll pencil it in for tomorrow night, then.” 

Your fire is sapped at the reminder, and you glance away from him, arms folding across your chest. 

“I’m not sure I’ll be staying that long.” 

“Really.” 

Daniel’s tone is a touch too joyous. You want to punch him. You want to slap his gorgeous, vaguely sad face. You glance over as Daniel gets up, and you frown as he shrugs out of his jacket. 

“What are you doing?” You shake your head. 

“You’re shivering.” 

“I’m fine—”

“Sure.”

You open your mouth to argue, but fall silent as he wraps his warm jacket around your shoulders. You anger is sapped, replaced with surprise and nerves at his sudden closeness. You look at Daniel almost nervously, eyes wandering his face. He’s focused on tightening the jacket around your shoulders, but as his eyes catch yours, he goes still. His gaze searches yours as you watch one another. He’s so warm, and so close—and he smells so good. Daniel always smelled so good. You used to cuddle up with him and press your face into his shoulder, breathing in the warm, woodsy scent of him. You’d had a sweater of his after you’d broken up, and kept it long after the smell of his cologne had faded. 

Daniel takes a step closer, hands settling on your shoulder, the heat of him bleeding through the jacket. Your heart leaps into your throat as his gaze drifts, then lingers on your lips. 

And then the call of, “Honey?” Cuts over your head, and you take a large step back. Your gaze drops to his chest, arms tightening around your chest as the click of heels grows closer. You can feel Daniel watching you still before he finally tears his gaze from yours. 

“Sweetheart,” He bats back. “Come meet James’ girlfriend.” Then, “Remind me what your name is?” 

Your gaze shoots to him, your anger and fire burning any warm, cuddly feelings you had for him just moments ago. 

“I’m not sure that’s important to you,” You shrug the jacket off, flinging it back at him. He catches it without a flinch, without missing a beat. The woman that comes to stand beside him is frigid in her beauty, her eyes sweeping yours as Daniel wordlessly puts the jacket around her shoulders in turn. 

“This is my wife, Charity,” Daniel tacks on. 

“Nice to meet you,” She offers. She has that same veneer that other members of the Le Domas family had when you met them—shiny and bright, but hollow. 

“You, too,” You nod before taking a step back. “Excuse me—I should find James.” 

“Sure,” Charity nods, speaking over Daniel’s, “Great idea.” 

You turn from the two of them, gripping at your dress skirt and drawing it up from your shoes to avoid tripping up the scant steps to get inside. You move with careful determination, not wanting to trip in front of either of them. You have two more days worth of this mess—of needling teasing. It won’t do to fall apart now. 

--  

You manage to keep out of the family’s way for most of the following day. You hide out in the library for the most part. It had been your only safe haven the last time you were there, too. James has spent most of the day rubbing elbows with the Le Domas family. In truth, you’re already thinking of the best way to break up with him once you’re home—and Considering the frosty reception you’d gotten when you’d gone to bed, you’re certain that James is considering the same thing. For now, there’s a silent, knowing accord—grin and bear it. 

But you have been wrangled into going on a hike with the family and a few of the other guests that afternoon. 

Charity sidles up to you before you can say or do a thing. She has a glint in her eye that wasn’t there the night before—one that’s no doubt a result of Daniel filling her in on some particulars.

You think, maybe, that she won’t be like the others. 

You hope, truthfully, that when she persuades you to leave the group with her, to look at an old hiking trail Alex and Danny used to love, that she’s legitimately planning on showing you. 

And you realize, fully, when she ditches you, that she’s just as nasty as the rest of the fucking family. 

-- 

When she doesn’t come back with the others, Daniel’s hackles are raised. He asks James casually where his girlfriend’s gotten to, and the jackass simply says that he’s not sure—that she must be wandering somewhere, that she must be admiring nature. 

Daniel lets it go for a bit—and then it starts to get dark. He lingers by the windows, scotch in hand, eyeing the treeline. 

She’d never liked it out there. She’d told him last time that the grounds around the house gave her the willies. He couldn’t imagine that it was any different this time. He can’t shake the sinking feeling that something is deeply, worryingly wrong. It doesn’t help that Charity has a sinister little curl to her lips when she tells Daniel that it’s time for dinner���and that there’s no use waiting by the window. 

Daniel slams back the rest of his drink, setting it on the windowsill. His wife makes no effort to stop him, just watches as he grabs his coat and goes out into the night. 

-- 

He sees a panic in her eyes at the sight of him, one that he once had nervous nightmares of. He'd always been afraid of his family getting to her like this. Some nights, he dreamt of her stumbling into him, an arrow piercing her side, a growing stain of blood marring a white wedding dress.

Daniel can't speak for a moment, but he doesn't have to. She's darting to him and hooking her arms around his neck as she sobs into his chest. Her dirt-riddled fingers curl in the fabric of his pristine Armani jacket. He can barely make out the words she's spluttering—"Lost," and "Cold," and "Abandoned."

Daniel's body snaps into action. This hand holding the flashlight drops it automatically, plunging them into partial darkness as he hurries to wrap his arms tightly around her.

"It's okay," He soothes, pressing the promise against her temple. "You're alright. I've got you."

-- 

You’re freezing, irritated, tired. You don’t argue as Daniel bundles you into his jacket and guides you back, but you go still as you catch sight of the house. You tighten his jacket around you, anger and annoyance and fatigue beginning to well in you. Daniel glances between you and the house for a moment before he says, “Okay…Okay. Wait here.” 

You frown, brow furrowing as he jogs to the house. You move to cower by the treeline, keeping yourself out of sight. You jump whenever you hear a branch snap, heart rabbitting in your chest. It’s ten minutes before you see Daniel leaving the house, a dufflebag in hand. He glances back toward the door before he waves you closer, taking your hand and leading you away. 

“What’ve you got?” You ask. 

“You’ll see.” Daniel smiles back at you before he guides you toward the trees again. You freeze, nervously digging in your heels, and Daniel stops fully. 

“Hey,” He murmurs, “You trust me?” 

You shouldn’t. Daniel Le Domas has never given you a good reason to trust him. But you find yourself nodding. He gives your hand a squeeze, your arm a tug, and leads you into the trees. 

-- 

You’d never seen the two-floor pool house when you were on the property before. The house had seemed so damn expansive that you’d never thought to look elsewhere. Besides, anything beyond the treeline had given you the willies. 

“I couldn’t get to your stuff, so—You gonna be okay with these?” Daniel asks, lifting a pair of sweatpants and a henley of his out of the duffle bag. You glance down at yourself, eyeing your dirt-riddled clothing. 

“Do I have a choice?” You counter, taking hold of the clothes before nodding toward the duffle. “What else is in there?” 

“Go shower,” Daniel waves you off without answering. “You smell like sweat and mud.” 

You huff, turning and looking for the bathroom. 

“Upstairs,” He says, waving toward the staircase. “First door on the left.” 

“I bet your fucking garden shed has a wine cellar in it,” You grumble as you go. 

You take your damn time showering, washing off the outdoors, and the hours of frantic worry and searching. As you clean yourself up, the stress of the day, and the situation, finally take you over. You lower yourself to the tiled shower floor, letting the tears that you’ve been holding back since you first saw the house flow free. You press a hand back against your mouth, stifling your whimpers and sniffles as the warm spray mingles with your tears. 

When you finally pull yourself together and towel yourself dry, you reach for the clothing Daniel handed you. You can’t help the urge to raise the henley to your nose, taking a whiff. It’s that same warm, clean, woodsy scent. It makes your shoulders relax, though it shouldn’t. You draw in one more sniffle as you get dressed, buttoning up the henley and reveling in the comfort. 

When you open the bathroom door, you’re greeted with a surprising, delicious scent. You frown, taking slow, careful steps down the stairs, as if you’re wary of spooking someone. You can hear the odd clink of glasses, dishes, and plates. You pull the sleeves of the henley down over your hands as you spot two plates, two glasses, and a bottle of champagne on the kitchen counter. 

“What’s this?” You ask. 

Daniel glances back from the stove, then toward the stove again. 

“Grilled cheese.” 

You grin. You can’t help it. 

“That always was the only thing you could make,” You chuckle, walking closer to him. “Are these floors heated?” 

“Yep. We sold our souls for heated floors.” 

“Ha-ha. I’m opening the champagne.” 

“Knock yourself out.” 

“Nearly did when I fell out of the tree,” You mumble.

“You climbed a tree?” Daniel frowns, glancing back toward you again. 

“I was trying to see if I could spot the house.” You reach out, unwinding the foil and the muselet.

“Did you see it?” 

“I saw the sky, I saw some branches—” You twist the cork, wincing at the pop of the bottle. “And then I saw the ground.” You take up your glass, filling it, waiting for the foam to lessen, and then topping it up further. “You want one?” 

“You think I got that other glass down for you to double-fist?” 

“After the weekend I’ve had, I deserve it.” 

You push yourself up onto the wide marble counter, swinging your feet back and forth. You watch Daniel for a moment, taking him in. He’s so far from where he is around his family—around his wife. 

“Where’s the bitch think you are, anyway?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it, but you’ve had a long day. 

“Probably out drinking somewhere.” 

“Which isn’t untrue.”

“It is not.” 

“I want bacon on mine.” 

“It’s in the other pan.” 

“Good boy.” 

You raise your glass to your lips as Daniel throws a stunned, amused glance back at you. 

“What gives you license to talk to me like a dog?” 

“The fact that you’re acting like one.” 

Daniel’s smile wilts before he turns away from you. You resolve to not feel bad for the comment, or his reaction. 

“...I’ve been a shit, huh.” 

“You’ve been worse than a shit.” 

“But not worse than your boyfriend.” 

“The two of you are on par.” 

Daniel opens his mouth to argue, but you’re cut off by a pounding knock on the door. You nearly choke as you inhale your champagne. Daniel shuts up the oven off, taking the glass from your hand and gripping your wrist. You wobble as you’re tugged off of the counter and down the hall, into a back room. 

“Daniel, what are you—” 

“Ssssh!” He hisses, nudging you into a closet. He passes you the glass of champagne back,wide-eyed and harried. “Stay in here, and don’t—don’t move, don’t say a thing. Okay? Just keep quiet and hold still, no matter what.” 

“But—” 

Before you can argue, Daniel shoves the closet door shut, plunging you into darkness. You frown, pulling your phone out of your pocket and shining it up and around. You’re surrounded by designer gowns and coats—things that are surely worth more than you make in a year. You huff, shuffling to the back of the closet and carefully lowering yourself to sit on the floor. You shine the light up toward the nearest dress. You lean up, squinting at the still-attached tag and balking at the cost. Christ alive.

You lean back, raising the glass to your lips and draining it. You swallow roughly, clapping your hand over your mouth as you hear Charity’s voice grow louder. Her heels click along the pristine hall floor. Daniel’s just behind. You can hear them arguing; you can hear her opening and closing doors roughly. 

“What makes you think she’s here?” You hear Daniel snap. 

“So you haven’t seen her?” Charity’s tone is rife with disbelief. 

“By all accounts, you’re the last one to see her. Why don’t you tell me where she is.”

You hurriedly shove your phone under your thigh, hiding the shine of the flashlight before you tuck yourself up more tightly into the corner of the closet. Your heart thunders in your chest as you hear the floorboards outside of the closet creaking. 

“...You really think I’d shove her in a closet?” Daniel asks dryly. 

“Why are you out here instead of at the house, then?” Charity bats back. Through the slats in the door, you can see her turning back to Daniel, her hands planting on her slim hips. 

“I needed a break from the circlejerk of thankfulness.” 

You press your hand more tightly against your lips, shoulders shaking with a laugh. 

“Are you coming back?” Charity asks. 

“Eventually, yeah. Gonna have to. All of my shit’s over there, and I’ll never hear the end of it from dad.” 

Charity turns to look at the closet again, her eyes sweeping the doors. Your stomach churns with nerves as she raises a hand to the doorknob…

Then lowers it, and strides to the door.

“Come back soon, alright? That business partner of yours is a fucking creep.” 

“I only deal with creeps, darling. That’s how I met you, remember?” Daniel retorts dryly, shutting the door behind the two of them. You let out a slow, relieved breath, the panic beginning to trickle from you. You tip your head back against the wall, keeping yourself tucked tightly into the corner. You draw in deep, steady breaths, trying to calm your pounding heart as you wait.

You go stiff and nervous again as you hear the thudding of footsteps, then the closet door being thrown open. You bite your lip, watching as the dresses above you are shifted and tugged—and then Daniel comes into view, poking his head between and a Dior dress and a Chanel trenchcoat. 

“Jesus,” He holds a hand out to help you up. “Thought you’d moved somewhere else for a second there.” 

“Nah. Find a good place and stay there,” You wince as he pulls you to your feet. You breeze past him, tacking on, “First rule of hide and seek.”

--

All of the shades in the pool house have been closed, the curtains shut tightly around them. 

“They’re gonna be watching for you,” Daniel warns. He plucks your empty champagne flute out of your hand, heading back for the kitchen. 

“How are we gonna get out of here?”

“Don’t worry about that. I know a way.” 

You follow him back to the kitchen, watching him fling the unfinished grilled cheese into the trash. 

“Dude!”

“We’ve got more,” He waves you off. You shake your head, looking around for the dishes. 

“What’d you do with the—?” 

“The plates? Stashed ‘em in the oven.”

“Wow,” You mutter. “You work fast.”

--

“Want another one?”

“No, god. I’ll burst,” You mumble, still chewing the crust of your second grilled cheese. Daniel takes up your plates, walking over to the sink. You watch him for a moment before you reach out, taking up the champagne. It’s the second bottle—the two of you practically decimated the first one before you’d even started eating. Your head is beginning to feel a little fuzzy, and heavy from fatigue. 

“Daniel?”

“Mm.”

“Why’d you come looking for me?” 

Daniel doesn’t answer right away. He just focuses fastidiously on getting the pans and cooking utensils into the sink. 

“I may not have a soul, but I still have a heart.”

You grunt, topping up both glasses before setting the bottle aside. 

“News to me.” 

He turns to face you slowly, hands braced on the edge of the sink. He’s looking toward you, but not really looking at you. 

“Would you rather I left you out there?” He asks. 

“You sure as hell left me out to dry at the party last night.” 

“Well, you weren’t at risk of dying of exposure at the party.” 

“...What’d you tell Charity about me?”

“Just that we were together for a while. Mom and dad corroborated.” 

“A while,” You repeat with a scoffing laugh. “Three years is more than a while, Daniel.”

“You know what I mean.” 

“That’s all you told her? That made her lead me into the middle of the fucking woods?”

Daniel’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze dropping to the floor as he seems to consider his answer.

“You’re the only other woman I’ve ever brought home, and she’s…She’s accustomed to a certain standard of living. Guess she felt threatened.”

“There’s no way a woman like that could feel threatened by me.” 

Daniel smiles a little bit, shaking his head and turning back to the sink. 

“Oh—don’t pretend you’re gonna do the dishes, Daniel Le Domas. You’re not fooling anyone.” 

Daniel chuckles, turning from the sink and nodding, “Yeah, alright. What do you wanna do?”

“...Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“I just wanna go to bed.” 

Daniel nods, hands tapping on the counter. 

“Alright. Let’s go over how to set the security system, and then you can just sleep in whatever bedroom you want.”

“You’re not staying?” The question leaves you with a nervous tone. Daniel’s mouth moves wordlessly for a second before he admits,

“Uh…Wasn’t planning on it.” Then, after a moment of apprehensive silence between the two of you, “Do you want me to?” 

– 

He sets the alarm ahead of the two of you going upstairs. You find yourself lingering in the stairway, watching him. Some nervous little part of you is terrified that he’ll simply leave, that he’ll raise the alarm to his family that he’s found you. But he comes to join you at the stairs and sets a hand on your lower back, guiding you upstairs. He leads you to the master bedroom, and lingers in the doorway. 

You think for another panicked moment that he may not join you, but he walks the rest of the way inside, shutting and locking the door behind the two of you. 

“Don’t turn the light on,” He urges as you reach for a lamp. 

“You think they’re watching that closely?” 

“Who fucking knows with them.”

You lower yourself onto the side of the bed. 

“What exactly do you think they’ll do if they find us?” You frown.

“Make us go back. What, you dying to see James right now?”

“We’re adults. We can do whatever the fuck we want.” 

“Sure.”

“...Daniel.” 

He doesn’t answer you this time. He just sits on the edge of the bed and tugs his shoes off. You sigh, pushing yourself back against the headboard. 

“You never could stand up to them. That was the problem.”

“That was half the problem,” He argues. 

“Oh yeah? What was the other half?” 

“Don’t. Don’t start.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You really wanna do this now?” 

“Can’t think of a better time.”

Daniel hops up from the bed, beginning to pace irritatedly. You watch him as he goes, back and forth, back and forth. 

“What was the other half?” You press.

“You’re not like us!” 

It leaves him in a manic burst, and it sucks the air out of your lungs. You know that you’re not like them. 

“No, I’m not,” You agree, irritation surging through you. “I’m not rich, I’m not from a fucking legacy, I’m not—”

“That’s what you think this is about?” Daniel laughs a little hysterically. He whirls toward you, crossing the room in quick, steady strides. You’re stunned as he sits beside you and takes your hands in his. 

“You’re not ruthless,” He swears, eyes wide. His hands begin to shake around yours. “You’re not self-involved, you’re not…You’re not hollow.”

Your eyes search his palid, stricken face. 

“Daniel,” You breathe, drawing a hand from his and cupping his cheek. “Neither are you.”

Daniel doesn’t answer. He just tips his head forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You can feel him pulling in deep breaths, trying to steady himself as his hands tighten around yours. You slide your hand to rest on the nape of his neck, smoothing your thumb up and down. 

You should be more irate. Your welcome during the weekend has been less than hospitable. Daniel has been an asshole—an aloof shithead, and a complete moron.

But he came looking for you. 

James would never come looking for you. 

You dip your head, nuzzling his dark curls gently. You suck in a stunned breath as his arms curl around your middle, drawing you closer. You feel Daniel tip his chin up, feeling his nose brush your jaw. A familiar anticipatory tingle makes its way through your belly. You turn your head down toward him, intent on saying that you ought to go to bed—but Daniel’s nose brushes yours. You hold one another’s gazes with steady, nervous care. Daniel’s fingers curl in the fabric of the shirt you’re wearing. 

This is a bad idea. You’re technically still dating James, though he’s got a sense of inflated ego, and an absolute disregard for you. Daniel is married. 

Daniel’s eyelids flutter slightly as you nuzzle your nose against his. His hand slides down, fingers skimming tantalizingly along the bare skin exposed between the henley and the sweatpants. 

“I always liked you in my shirts,” He mumbles, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“Daniel—” 

“Loved it when I could see that you were mine.” His teeth graze your jaw, making your shoulders tighten, your stomach churning with surprise. 

“Daniel,” You repeat weakly. “We shouldn’t. I—You’re married—” 

Before the protest can leave you fully, Danicel reels back. You watch him tug off his wedding ring, flinging it into the far corner. You hardly have time to hear the gold ping against the ground before Daniel is grasping your face and drawing you in. 

You go. You shouldn’t, but you do. You lean into Daniel, a shivering moan leaving you as he laps lustily across your lips. You know that him throwing his ring off makes no difference to what you’re doing. If anything, it simply means you won’t have the band of metal pressing into your skin. But you push yourself up, kneeling to straddle his hips. He tips head back, mouth opening in a groan as you cradle the base of his skull in your hands. You can’t help the wiggle and twitch of your hips down against his. Daniel tips back against the mattress, drawing you down with him. 

Kissing Daniel is at once foreign and familiar. You know the favored tipping of his head, the slide of his lips. You know the way his hands shift and slide and squeeze as he likes and where he likes. But you haven’t been kissed or held or touched like this in such a long time. Sex with James is a dispassionate; kisses are perfunctory; touches are rare, and fleeting. 

Daniel rolls you over, climbing over you. His knees press into the mattress, pushing you further up the mattress as his hands brace on either side of your head. He grips the hem of the henley, shoving it up to your neck. You wriggle it off, tossing it over the side of the bed and whining as Daniel dips his head to your breasts. His tongue flickers out, tipping back and forth, swirling and teasing your pebbling nipples. You whine, pressing your hips up against his and tightening your grip in his hair. 

You can still stop. You can tell Daniel that you shouldn’t do this—that it’s wrong. You do raise your hands, pushing at his shoulders. Daniel reels back, lips pinking and swollen as he straightens, watching you. You raise your hands to the buttons of his suit pants, hurriedly unbuttoning and unzipping them before shoving them down around his thighs. He steps out of them, kicking them away. You lean up, undoing the buttons on his shirt from the bottom as he undoes them from the top. Your hands meet in the middle, and you push at the shirt, shoving it off of his shoulders. You lower a hand to the growing bulge in his briefs, swiping your tongue along your lower lip. You slide your fingers into the waistband, tugging them down around his thighs. You take him in hand, sliding your hand over his hard length. You turn your head, tongue flicking against his glans. He groans low in his throat, hand flexing against your shoulder. He watches you intently as you take him between his lips, bobbing his head and moaning around him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He mumbles, “Just—Fuck—Just like that.” 

You preen under his praise, picking up your pace and swiping your tongue along the underside of his cock. He rests his hands on your cheeks, holding your head still as he controls the length and pace of his pleasure. You let him draw you deeply onto his cock, and struggle not to choke and gag on him. You draw back with a wet gasp, tongue swiping along your lower lip as he peers down at you. He gives your jaw a shove before he bends down, hands tucking beneath your thighs and easing you further back against your bed. You hardly have a moment to adjust before Daniel is diving between your thighs. He spreads your lips, lapping broadly against your wetting pussy with a groan. 

You pull in a stunned little breath, the sensation trickling along the base of your spine. He sucks a kiss to your cunt, then another before swipes his tongue along your clit. Your thighs tense, heels digging into the mattress. You use the leverage to roll your hips down against his hungry mouth. His stubble catches against your tender skin. He seals his mouth over your pussy, nose brushing your pubic mound. He watches each twitch and grind, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he draws back with a slick suck. He leans back just a touch, easing two fingers into you in one firm push. Your jaw drops at the stretching sensation, cunt fluttering around his thick digits. 

“Dan—Daniel, fuck,” You whimper. He hums encouragingly, tongue making firm, upward flicks over your throbbing clit. He leans back, eyeing your spit- and cum-slicked cunt before he draws away, slapping your hip. You roll over, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. Daniel is on the bed and behind you before you can draw in a deep breath. He curls his arm around your neck, steadying you as he eases into you. Your head hangs heavy, eyes slipping shut as you revel in the press of his thick cock, and the pressure of his arm against your neck. 

Daniel presses himself flush to your back, nipping and sucking across your neck and shoulders. You grind back against him desperately, pussy dripping and gripping at him. 

“Fuck,” He groans into your neck, breath hot against your neck, “Fuck I missed you, baby.” 

You can feel tears welling in your eyes, and you squeeze them shut tightly. Your bodies move as one. You revel in the press of his chest against your back, and the dip and slap of his fingers against your nipple. You tip your head back against him, whining as he takes your nipple between his knuckles, twiddling it just enough to make you throb around him. 

“Daniel,” You whimper.

It’s too much—missing him, seeing him, being held in a way that you haven’t been held in years. 

--  

“...I think I can see the sun,” You mumble. You’re boneless and sleepy, worn out as you eye the windows. Daniel sighs softly, nuzzling against your stomach. 

“We’ll have to go soon,” He mumbles, “But hey. ‘Least we made it to morning. It’s possible.” 

You frown, shifting your head on the pillow to get a better look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Daniel doesn’t answer. He just takes hold of your hand, toying tenderly with your fingers. “...Daniel.” 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” 

“Better button-up on the petnames,” You warn, “And better figure out where the heck you threw your ring.”

“I’ll just get another one. It’s not the first one I’ve lost.” 

“Not the first one you’ve lost, or not the first one you’ve thrown?” 

“Same-same.” 

You roll your eyes, resting your hand beneath your head and peering up at the ceiling. 

There have been moments throughout the night that you’ve felt like you once did with Daniel—cared for, buoyant. Happy. 

Maybe it’s been his enthusiasm. Maybe it’s the almost absolute certainty that this is the last time you’ll see him. Either way, you’ve found a spot of joy in this hellish weekend. Daniel pushes himself up over you, hands on either side of your head. 

“Promise me something,” He murmurs. 

“What?” “Promise me you’ll find someone good for you.” 

“...James hasn’t been all that—” 

“Promise me.” 

He’s so firm about it, so insistent that you can’t bring yourself to tell him that he’s someone good for you—that you want him and only him, if he can shake himself from the grips of his family. So you raise your hands, stroking gently over his cheeks. 

“Alright,” You murmur, nodding. “I promise.” 

Daniel nods, lowering his forehead to yours. 

“Promise me something else,” He murmurs. 

“What is it?”

“Never, ever play hide and seek.” 

“Why not?” You pout. “I’m good at it.” 

“Promise, or I’m not letting you out of this bed.” 

“You’re giving me fewer reasons to promise.” 

“...Please.” His voice is quiet and wavers like a frightened little boy’s. You nod a little despite yourself and murmur, “Alright. Alright, I promise.” 

Daniel sighs softly, lowering himself against your again and nuzzling into your neck. The two of you lay together, eyeing the window and watching the sky lighten. Daniel’s hands smooth up your sides and thighs. You hear him sigh heavily, and peer down at him. 

“What is it?” You murmur. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen a nicer sunrise.” 

[sheepsfluff]

Imagine: Filled Out Kitty

What's ahead: an extended weight gain/tf imagine story about the fattening that results when the protag's witch roommate accidentally transforms them into a house cat.

--

Imagine you become roommates with a timid-seeming girl who practices witchcraft. You don't think much of it at first since she's an exemplary roommate otherwise, until you end up inadvertently consuming one of her potions from out of the fridge (perhaps mistaking it for a regular milkshake). The next morning you wake up in your bed feeling strange--and you realize you've been transformed into a cat!

After taking a moment to get used to your new bearings you go and meow incessantly at the door to your roommate's room, knowing immediately that she's the reason this has happened. After quite a bit of confusion and struggle, you are able to get her to realize what has happened, and she's rightly horrified. She explains that the potion you drank was experimental, that she had no clue it would do this and she unfortunately has no clue how to turn you back.

So, you're stuck as a cat for the time being. You're rightly annoyed by this, but you quickly begin to realize the many benefits to being a cat. You get to laze around and nap all day, and it feels so much better to do so when covered in fur. Your old surroundings suddenly feel new again in your new form, full of chances for exploration. There's also, well...the food.

Your roommate, out of both guilt at what she'd done and inexperience with taking care of cats, ends up feeding you more or less to your heart's content. For some reason you don't register exactly how much food you should be eating at your new size, and so you accept as however much you're given (although she does make sure to exclude food toxic to cats). Eating human food as a cat also feels all the more indulgent somehow.

Of course, these eating habits almost immediately leads to you beginning to pile the pounds onto your now much smaller frame. It's hard to notice at first underneath all the fluff, however. This initial added jiggle makes you all the more comfortable to pet, something your roommate starts to enjoy more and more. At first you found it awkward, until you realized being stroked was quite enjoyable. Soon you were purring as she stroked your growing belly after every meal.

Your roommate also continues to furiously research a reversal to your condition. She constantly updates you on her progress, although you find yourself caring less and less about the prospect of becoming human again. However, you are hit with a shock one day when she confronts you as you laze on a windowsill. She says sadly that she's deduced from her research that the longer you stay a cat, the more you will mentally become one. This explains why you've become more and more content with lying in sunbeams and eating all day, but you're still present enough to be shocked by the news.

This information almost seems to send your roommate's sense of guilt into overdrive, so she plies you even more with food and sweets. You find yourself with an increasing appreciation for actual cat food, so she makes sure to supply you with the fanciest wet food at your every command.

You've started to round out intensely at this point, your belly bowing out and completely eliminating any suggestion of a waist you'd had previously. When standing your tummy sticks out obviously from your sides, and when sitting it pools as a furry mass between your legs. You begin to notice that it's harder and more painful to move around on your legs, but since you spend most of your days lounging you don't really care. Your roommate, for her part, seems to find you cuter for all the weight you've gained, and takes to calling you her "roly-poly kitty".

It isn't until your roommate happens to have a friend over (someone who doesn't know about your condition, since it's been months since you were turned) that your plight is finally discovered. At one point as the two sit and talk over coffee, you lumber in after your latest meal and walk up to the couch where your roommate sits. You lazily attempt to jump up onto it with her, but of course you're a bit too weighty to actually do so. You need only look up at your roommate in order for her to reach down to lift you onto the couch, eliciting a groan from both her and the couch in the process. Your lay there on your side like a sack of potatoes, belly splayed out before you.

"dude, your cat is FAT" your roommate's friend comments.

Your ears perk up slightly, but it's been a while since things like body image were of any concern to you.

"Oh I know, isn't it a cutie?" Your roommate asks, reaching out to jiggle your belly slightly (something you're very accustomed to by now).

"No, I mean like, REALLY fat. I don't think it's healthy."

"....Oh" Says your roommate, looking down at you with a frown.

You do not realize the significance of this exchange at the time, but later your roommate makes an attempt to explain that she's going to have to put you on a diet and start feeding you like a normal cat. You've no longer had much interest in concepts like "diets" and "normal" for a while now, but a memory does stir in you when you're met with only one measly can of wet food mixed with kibble for breakfast and dinner respectively.

Compared to the buffet you'd been used to for the past few months, this new "normal cat diet" leaves you feeling absolutely starved. You find yourself wailing and scratching at your roommates door for hours each day as your stomach screams out in emptiness. Usually you do manage to wheedle a few extra cans out of her, but still not enough to sate your burning hunger.

This hunger seems to accelerate your mind's transition into that of a cat, as it consumes all other thoughts in your brain. It comes to a head when your roommate goes out for the day after feeding you only one tiny bowl of food and a handful of treats. Within an hour you are howling with hunger, and your one-track mind leads you to the cupboard where your roommate keeps the kibble. In an uncharacteristic flash of human intelligence, you manage to get the cabinet open and push the bag out onto the floor, scattering food everywhere.

Hunger the only thing on your mind you begin to absolutely gorge yourself on the spilled kibble. You do this until you're full, only taking breaks to drink from your water bowl, and then pass out in a food coma before waking up to start the whole process over. By the time your roommate makes it home you're lying immobile on your back on the kitchen floor, having consumed the entire bag and only thrown up twice.

Your roommate is of course horrified when she gets home to find you a bloated mess. She kneels besides you rubbing your distended belly as she scolds you.

"I can't believe you really did that! hopefully you'll be ok... I guess I found the answer to reversing your spell just in time!" She says brightly, pulling a book out of her bag to show to you. You're too blissed out to respond with more than a weak meow as you fall back into sleep.

You wake up in your bed--someplace you actually haven't slept in a while--but something's strange. Everything feels heavy, but even more than usual. You slowly open your lids to realize with shock that you've been turned back into a human.

As you look at yourself you realize the true implications of your stuffing the past few months. The obesity of your cat body has translated into the obesity of your human body, complete with your huge rotund belly spread out between nearly useless appendages. Your cat-sized stuffing has also resulted in a human-sized bloat, giving your already large belly a domed-out look. Without a doubt none of the clothes in your wardrobe would even have a chance of fitting anymore. You look nothing like your former human self, having completely taken on the physical weight of your cat self, and you're still too mentally checked out to mind all that much. You reach out and begin to rub the top of your massive belly to soothe it, AND Finally you realize your roommate is standing at the edge of the bed waiting for you to wake up.

"I'm so sorry it happened this way..." She says, taking in your now massive body. "I promise I'll take care of you just like I did before, since it's my fault you ended up like this."

You rub your stomach thoughtfully for a second, then ask; "Will you come rub my tummy for me like you usually do? Some of it is hard for me to reach."

Her face breaks out in a huge smile, and she approaches you on the bed. "Of course I will. And in just a bit I'll make you something to eat as well. I bet you'll be happy to have human food again." Her hand lands comfortably on the lower part of your belly and rubs it just as tenderly as usual.

You nod, your new fleshy chins jiggling. To be honest, you're not really feeling picky as to what food it is, but you don't tell her that. "Yes I'd--uurp--Like that. I think I'll be hungry again soon."

Your stomach rumbles as if on cue, and she grins at you again. In another life you might have thought she'd somehow planned all of this on purpose, but in your current one you're too happy to care.

[marytunno]

-read below-

premise: Now I know why a book hasn’t come out in 13 years… just thinking about everything gave me a huge headache. I wanted to have some coherence in this small fic and study all the loose ends after Affc seeing what things in Adwd could have happened in the 5 years and so on and my brain exploded, this gap solves some problems but creates some huge holes everywhere… thank god I’m not Grrm… Generally speaking, I think that Arya would have grown up in the Fm but having serious problems about forgetting who she is (killing the deserter, Raff, the dreams ecc…), her being disobedient would have caused her a lot of problems… I have to be sincere, I'm not the biggest fan of the Fm… cool secret assassins? creepy cult of death? not for me… please let’s just explore and make friends in Braavos it’s colorful and so full of interesting people!! or let’s go back frolicking in the woods with the brotherhood… Anyway I’m very conflicted about Arya keeping or not the abilities she learned with the Fm… they are useful and would be cool for some plot twists and stuff… but I really hope she stays Arya and doesn’t become “no one” and if she stays herself it would be wrong for her to have the powers of a faceless man… Btw if my baby Arya ends up losing herself forever I’ll cry. I think it would have been cool in the 5 year gap if she got involved with Dany and consequently reached Westeros with her… but I don’t know how it could happen… In my head her arc will take her to face Lady Stoneheart, unite with Nymeria and her Pack, fight alongside Jon (if he fucking wakes up, it’s been 84 years George plis)... I see her as someone that will really care about the smallfolk and be a good “guide”… I think the main difference between what will happen in the next books and the 5 year skip is just that now Arya will be still young and her training with the faceless men will be rushed… she’ll be like barely around 13 I think when leaving braavos instead of being at least around 16/17 so probably too young for whatever Grrm will make her do anyway. Btw i feel like the time that has passed since the beginning Agot is like ten years and it’s just been like three or something… soo much happens to these poor characters help After this rambling premise expect a very cute and fluffy fanfiction… I’ll try to stay coherent to the books as much as I can but… it is what it is…

THERE IT GOES

At some point they had met again, while an endless winter had turned the world into a silent and unwelcoming land, she had been travelling, northbound, a pack of wolves in tow. Relentless, riding a she-wolf huge as a horse, howling under the starless sky, cold wind guiding her home.

The brotherhood had stayed… their merciless leader, thirsty for justice and blood… When winter had come some had fled south, some had left hunting for food, for survival but most had stayed, he had, hunting for men: Frey, Lannister, Bolton men… hundreds of bodies hanging lulled by the wind, frostbite erasing their faces.

The brotherhood had attacked her, unaware that Arya Stark of Winterfell was hidden under her cloak, their torches reflecting in the wolves' eyes. 

As they crossed swords, well sword and hammer, he noticed the familiar blade: Needle, a sharp pain and the sound of his nose breaking had brought him back from his thoughts. 

- Arya?- 

Her name, it had been so long since someone had called her name. 

He had been the first to join her, kneeling in the snow, swearing his loyalty to her, asking her to let him follow her, fight for her… her brother needed men to fight against the dead and so Arya agreed. 

An army of wolves and outlaws now followed her north, a righteous leader now guiding them… a Stark. 

At first it had been had, after all the time they had spent apart, deep silence, long stares and quick glances: her long braid, his broad shoulders, building from the ashes what had been between them. 

Slowly the silence had turned into small conversations and blossomed into nights spent talking about the past, Arya’s adventures in Braavos, what had become of the Brotherhood… cold gazes turning into warm smiles, learning to be friends again.

Something unspoken, something different this time, something new and probably dangerous but something they both felt and so they decided to let it happen. 

Arya understood what the feeling in her belly, the flutter in her chest meant, she also understood that the way Gendry looked at her, his hands playing absently with her hair, his eyes following her, his scowl melting into a smile every time she was around, she understood it meant something. 

Arya definitely wasn’t a coward and was quite aware that wasting time while the world was slowly ending under the unstoppable ice crawling its way south was stupid, so she decided to take the matter into her own hands. 

Nymeria and her pack had been hunting, the men resting inside of the ruins of what once had been a great holdfast, Gendry’s turn to tend the fire. 

- Do you wish to fuck me?- she had asked bluntly, no accusation in her tone

Young Gendry would have blushed and told her how improper for a lady that matter was, he would have left or cursed at her and they would have fought… but they weren't their young selves anymore.

He had stayed silent for a while, the crackling of the fire and the howling of the snowstorm outside the stone walls the only sounds. 

- Sometimes…- there was no point in lying, and there was no point in arguing with her about what she could or couldn't talk about

- But you don’t have to worry about that… It’ll pass… you are a woman… you’re nice... and I’m an idiot…- he explained hoping she wouldn’t be upset about his words

She wasn’t. 

- Is that why you are following me now?- some accusation in her tone 

- No, it’s not that… following you is… just the right thing to do… it’s what I should have always done…- 

Arya smiled and walked forward, to then sit close to him, he must have said the right thing.

- Yes… you should have…- 

Deep silence again.

- And… I’m sorry for being… I know it won’t happen… It’s just… you are pretty and I’m... a man…- 

She scrunched up her nose

- So you're telling me that all brotherhood knights must want to fuck me as well… since they are men…- 

-Some of them... more than you would imagine… but it doesn’t change things… they follow you because they believe in you… they respect you… I do respect you…- 

Arya bit her lip, they were marching toward danger, toward war and death, but it was stupid to stop life so early, Nymeria and the wolves kept hunting and running and birthing their pups even if the world was going to end… even winter couldn't stop what was just… natural… 

- You could kiss me… I think I’d like that…- she said looking at him with her gray eyes 

His heart skipped a beat, Arya always had the worst timing for some things, or maybe the best timing, he wasn’t sure… 

- I could never no that…- the knight in him spoke 

- I thought you wanted to… you just said…- she started, her voice nervous 

- Of course I want to… but… it would be wrong…- Gendry truly hated himself in that moment 

- Why?- 

-It just is… - 

She snorted and crossed her arms 

- Stupid! if you don’t kiss me right now… you’re a coward!- she spat, her eyes never leaving his. 

He sighed and looked at her lips, he was many things… but he definitely wasn’t a coward.

here it is, I'm late again... having to spend the summer with my Italian chaotic family doesn't help... I really like the next fic I wrote... I'll post it in a few minutes... enjoy<3<3

[voidcat-senket]

“You have shit timing, you know that?” from the whump ask game!

okay but Davi what if I do hxh. "whomp" though not so much --------------------------

It's obviously not Killua's first time in a club- he's been slipping into places he wasn't supposed to be since infancy. And yet, it doesn't take much effort to make himself seem like a newbie; fidgeting, biting his lip, his gaze traveling the room over and over. He made himself pretty too- "you're always pretty," Alluka always laughs- so prettier then. Black eyeliner, glossy lips, grey sparkling nails, skin-tight lycra pants in shimmering almost-black and a leather harness that fits his exact proportions, fitted over an eye-catching, translucent electric-blue shirt that hints at see-through under the right light.

Technically, he's information gathering. Really, he's looking for a distraction from his life, short-lived by preference. Alluka kicked him out of their shared hotel room for 'climbing up the walls' and what he really needs is a physical outlet. Better not to fight anyone who would be even slightly matched with him, it'll attract the sort of attention they need to avoid. Dancing and destruction it is.

See, the thing is- Killua doesn't want to be an assassin. But killing? Killing is nothing to him. And frankly? There's something about cutting down a predator that feels good in a way he can't explain. To make a hunter become the hunted- if it's cliche it's because it's a common feeling. And there's something so delicious in taking someone who thinks they have just won a lovely little prize and to make them lose absolutely everything.

If they're monsters, Killua is a monster too. He's not under any impressions about that.

The base is heavy in his chest, rattling so loud it makes him short of breath, and he knows his cheeks are pink when he sidles up to the bar and orders something sticky, sweet and bright orange. He sets himself up by a tall table and drinks from a straw while he looks around the room. His hips move with the beat but subtly, matched to his bouncing head, like he's waiting for permission. It doesn't take long at all before someone joins him.

The man in question is probably twice Killua's age, wearing logoed clothes from head to toe and both a watch and chain that scream 'rich'- or it would to someone who didn't know better, but Killua could recognize a knockoff from a mile away. He's bald, too, and it looks good on him, but Killua wonders if it's because he's losing his hair.

Well. At least he didn't go for a toupee.

The man starts with "New, right?" His grin shows off two gold teeth. "I'd know if I'd seen you before." Killua supposes it's slightly better than the usual way he hears that line, purely because it's both more confident and more flattering that 'do you come here often?' though obviously not much more original. Killua smiles back, blushing (from the body heat here) and demure, looking at the man through his lashes.

"Yeah… I was supposed to come with friends but they kinda bailed on me." He bites his lip and shifts his weight, his gaze flicking away and back.

"Well. I better keep you company then." The man's smirk is downright lascivious as his eyes drag down Killua's form. "Shall I grab you a drink?"

"I have one."

"Surely you'll need another soon."

"Well if you insist."

"Oh but I do."

Hook line and sinker. He hardly had to do any work.

The night continues. It's not difficult to keep the man's attention, and he's being plied with drinks at a frightening speed. It's obvious the man has done this to unsuspecting people before, and Killua's not sure he's even convincing in faking drunkenness, but the man sure doesn't seem to notice. He 'goes to the bathroom' and watches the man slip something into his next drink with a snort. Overkill much? He stumbles over his own feet when he comes back and trips into the man on purpose.

As he's straightening up, the man's head slams into the wall so hard that it sticks there, and six different people scream.

Killua takes a deep sigh, his expression flattening. Annoyed. He was going to kill that man slowly and painfully, thank you. He was going to enjoy it. "You have shit timing, you know that?"

Gon frowns, his face melting into a childish pout.

He's gorgeous, though. As usual. "But Killua-"

"Never mind," he cuts his friend off. "How did you find me?"

"I smelled you outside," Gon grins, and Killua immediately flushes a dark red.

"And why did you knock out my prey?"

"He wanted to do something terrible to you, Killua."

"And? Who do you think I am? Do you think he would've succeeded?"

"Of course not, Killua! But I wasn't going to let him try. Forgive me?" The speed with which Gon goes from apologetic to angry and back makes him dizzy.

"Mmm." Killua smirks and takes a step closer. He reaches out to touch Gon- presses his palm against hard muscle, his mouth suddenly so dry. "Spar with me and I'll forgive you."

"I don't have any nen."

"So I won't use any," Killua purrs, and he already knows he likely won't be satisfied with just a fight.