#swelll

[fabaceous]

Friday morale boost if anyone needs it…my mom’s dog (who I have now inherited…good thing he didn’t have to go thru probate! Ha ha estate and will jokes) is so cute and loves to cuddle

[sylviasplatt]

Never felt more embarrassed !!

[uhhhhhhhh-might-go]

I can’t wait till your cunt is full with my cum and we've got our baby buried inside you, my baby making your stomach swelll and your tits fill with milk to feed and care for them, I can’t wait for the day your leaky tits are in my mouth as I suck alll my milk out of them under the idea that I'm helping you produce more, hoping with more milk needing to be made that your tits will just grooow and grow.

[barstoolblues]

average SWELLL height has jumped to nearly 12 ft max wave height is almost 20 ft WHYYYYYYY

[lemongrass77777-moved]

Prompt: November 17th 2023 - Fog

For @prongsfoot-microfic

Wordcount: 427

****************************************************

Azkaban had took many things away from Sirius, but what hurt the most was the fact he could no longer recall his past clearly. 

He remembers the larger beats of his life, but most of it was foggy. James was foggy, it felt as if he only had echoes left of the love of his life; small fragments of a mural lost to history. He has their mirrors, he has a few photos, he has Harry. He wishes he could tell Harry more about his father, but when he focuses on one memory too long it seems to disappear from his hands like smoke from a pyre. 

Now, Sirius is sitting on his bed, in his old chamber in that house of shades, tears streaming down his face. His hands gripped the dusty linen sheets. Sirius rarely cried, crying was for the weak, but…well, no one was there to see him.

Earlier that night, while Remus had been visiting him, they’d talked about Tonks. Remus had mentioned how lovely he found her snort of a laugh. It had suddenly occurred to Sirius that he couldn't remember what James’ laugh sounded like, and emotion had swellled up in his chest. He’d asked to be excused from the rest of dinner, leaving a nonplussed Remus in his wake. Remus’ll leave the haunted house soon enough, he never stays for long.

Sirius felt like he was experiencing a death by a thousand cuts. Last year, he had at least been able to make use of himself and take his mind off of his lost, by helping Harry, but he couldn't help now. He has no agency over his life. He was stuck in this house. James was oftentimes all he could think about, and if James could see what was left of his partner in crime now…would he think he was pathetic? Sirius thinks he’s pathetic. James had always chosen to see the best in him when they were together, but Sirius had got him killed; if he were alive, he would almost certainly think different of him now.

Sirius’ heart throbbed painfully in his chest. 

Sirius wills himself into his animagus form. It was easier as Padfoot at least. He searches the poster covered walls for a barren spot. His gaze finally settles on a patch of blank plaster, and he stares, and he stares, and stares, as the clock inches ever closer to midnight. The witching hour drags him into the world of darkness, and the liminal space between life and death. At rest, at last.

[wolvesandvisions]

i am so happy with the adult finn design yall.. it would have been so easy to mess that up and make him seem not like himself… thats still finn. i feel so happy with it… makes my heart swelll

[itsgrimeytime]

@imaginemyfavoritefics

Magnolia in May (Part Nine) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs @curlycarley

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: secrets, crying, confrontation, insecurities, and yelling (more so emotionally stressed words).

[[A/N: y'all ready for this one? I don't think so besties. Repeat after me, FAMILY DRAMA!!! Confrontation beyond belief in a very regency-accurate way. So... Thanks for reading :)) ]]

You don't know how long you stayed there, by the letters, the notes, the envelopes -staring at them as if their words would change. Their intentions would change.

The notes, the letter- It all seemed too much then, as you detailed each date, trying to confirm that he was still waiting, that you had a chance. That you had a choice.

And you heard the door -it was the only thing that shook you out of your state -rereading each one with a sort of hope that only diminished as you continued to think of it. The dates were haunting your head, as you tried to scour if you'd remembered any noise of Lori leaving the estate, or any news of reconciliation for that matter-

But it was of no consequence, as if any such gossip existed your close companions wouldn't have told you so. You were treated as a rather fragile doll, for good reason, but still, the idea of everyone teetering around you so tediously did not feel good.

You'd found Maggie even hesitant to discuss any of the happenings with Mr. Rhee, you always had to prod them out of her. It wasn't that she wasn't wishing to share, more so it was she didn't want to brag -to hurt you. It was a sweet notion, but made you feel as though you were stuck out like a sore thumb -not as involved with your sisters' lives as you once were. It stung the wound you'd already held.

"Y/N, darling," Headmistress started -loud and arrogant, ready to talk your ear off as she always was, "-you will simply not believe what the Henningtons were wearing out! In broad daylight-"

Suddenly, her eyes landed upon you -in a right state, and her mouth opened to speak, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Something in you bit at the concern she showed, as she had most directly been meddling in your life and now, now you weren't even sure you could fix it.

She stood rather frozen in the entryway, detailing the very chaos you'd slipped onto the table -torn paper and messy stacks. Just before she could speak though, her eyes caught on the envelopes -her own handwriting sticking out brightly for her to see. She was caught, and something in you glowered with the knowledge.

"Beth, dear, go to your room."

Beth, who had peeked her head around the door merely stalled upon the paper -a sort of guilt flickering through her blue eyes that almost made you forgive her for sending the letters right there. And despite the orders, she stayed rather still. Expectant.

"Beth-" Headmistress repeated, but you couldn't let her continue -heart vulnerable, thrown out onto the table, you had to know why.

"How long?"

"Y/N, please-" she echoed rather composed but you saw something shrink underneath her skin -pride maybe, "-don't make this matter so public. Let's wait for Beth to-"

"How long?"

Your Headmistress sighed -a deep, disappointed sigh, and motioned to the mess on the table, "I believe you know that."

"Well," you tilted -voice shaky and cracked but still with power, with feeling, "-let's say I wish to hear it from you. How long?"

"I've rather lost count," she responded, pulling herself into a chair -sort of a deep defeated sort of air around her, "-but I believe since the day you went to his estate. And, every few days since."

"Is this-" you echoed, holding the stack close to your chest (you'd put them in your ribs right next to your heart if you could), "-Is this all of them?"

"Yes," she answered, directly, "-unless we are to receive one today. That is the lot of them."

"You believe," you started -a sort of broken sob in between what you could say, "-You believe he's still sending them?"

"Darling," Headmistress spoke -openly and vulnerably, "-I'd very much doubt those are his last effort."

"How could you know that?" you spoke -incredulously, "You've kept me from even responding, how do I not know that the time has passed that you have rui-"

"He was there," Beth suddenly spoke, eager to help -something in you softened at the effort, "-at the, at the shops. He was there."

You stopped, "What...? Did he-"

She cut you off, rushing up to your side -blue eyes sparkling in a way you found rather endearing (realizing this was her way of fixing something you weren't half as bothered by), "All he spoke of was you, asked if you were well. He was worried, I could tell. Followed us around through the markets. When Headmistress wasn't looking, he... he thanked me for-"

"Sending the letters," you finished, smoothing your face into one of ease -you didn't wish her to worry, "-I know. The courier is a bit of a tattle."

Beth smiled, big and bright, with a sort of natural ease wrapping you in her arms -it was a touch awkward, just because of the height difference. But you found you didn't mind. Something in you clicking back into place, fixed.

"Headmistress," you spoke through a few sniffles and a dry throat, "-did you... did you read them?"

She seemed a bit surprised at the question -face flickering between a few movements, "No, I- I didn't wish to. I thought it was best. If I wouldn't let you, why should I? I'd heard from the papers the story and wasn't going to let smooth words offer your heart on a platter. I suppose I... I supposed I made a rather quick assumption."

"Would you?" you asked -open and genuine, "-Would you read them?"

"I suppose, if you wish me to, I wouldn't have a reason not to."

"Thank you," you answered, simply, before your head got a treacherous idea -a terrible one really, but time was not on your side, "-I... Do you think he's still there? At the markets?"

"Frankly, dear," the Headmistress said rather bluntly -gently carding through the paper you'd ever-so-gently handed her, "-I'm surprised he's not at our front door."

"He is," Beth answered, rather quickly -as the two of you turned to match her, "-I go to the library some evenings to... to gather my new read, and I sit at the rather large window. If no book interests me, I often people watch to pass the time, but I-" she regains focus, "-I've seen him. He stays rather long at the market, particularly at a single stall-"

Something clicked in you then, as you whispered (hope sparking up your soul so fervently it nearly burned), "Mr. Elliotts.'"

"The fruit stall?" Headmistress asked -rather judgementally, "-surely not. That man is-"

She stopped, staring at you -dark eyes broke open, vulnerable, and a sort of understanding smoothing over her features -something of guilt tinged her tone, "It's where you met, isn't it?"

"It is," you exhaled, tears biting at your eyes but something of a smile urging across your lips. You felt as if you'd giggle soon enough, you surely must've looked deranged to anyone else, but Headmistress understood.

"Oh, darling," she echoed -somewhat of happy tears choking up her throat as well, "-you're falling in love with him, aren't you?"

"At this point," you laughed, a sort of unbelievable surge of giddiness brushing along your skin, "-I'm nearly finished."

"Oh, this is surely wonderful," Headmistress stood -fanning desperately at her face, impatiently, "-darling, let's go. Up, up! You cannot greet the man looking as you do. Beth, come. She must be stunning-"

"Headmistress, I really-"

"Nonsense, darling," she interrupted you, already tugging your hair loose, "-let Ms. Elisa do her magic, yes?"

It was a strangely quick process, you found. Merely a few moments were spent tying your hair up and away and the most were spent choosing the dress -she'd been persistent on a casual sort of tone. Something light and airy, one you'd happily wear around the residence - "As if you'd never changed at all." Even going as far as pulling a few framing hairs loose and keeping your frustratingly pink cheeks natural.

After it all, you were essentially shoved out the door -hearing the metal drag of the lock behind you.

You'd felt quite odd as if you were floating -stalled in place, as the evening sun settled across your skin. The idea of approaching him wasn't as disconnected as it was mere seconds ago when it had only been a connection through paper -when it hadn't quite been real.

Even standing here, you could see the bustle of people from the markets -women holding new purses, men brandishing new coats, and children playing with new toys. The flow of the crowd was directly from the center of stalls -a wonderous sort of buzz to and fro.

With a deep breath, you started upon the road -legs guiding you as your heart beat ever so loudly in your chest. It was as if you were the only one on the street, all sound drowning out other than the thrum of your pulse -a sort of sense of calm and anxiety rattling against your skull. Your feet were naturally guided, this path was so in tune with you -it was one you'd harbor you could follow in your sleep, it was so familiar.

Feet paddling against the pavement, you made your way to the stalls -it was rather unfamiliar in the evening light, but somehow far more beautiful than it was in the mornings. The beautiful tinge of orange swallows the wood of each stall and the storefronts reflect the tone wondrously -something you could find ever so slightly put you at ease. Slowing your heart, you trailed to the center of the plaza -watching as groups slid past -eyes peered for someone you yearned to finally see again.

Thoughts echoing in your head, loud and brash, what if I'm too late? What if he had lost hope? What if he wasn't here? Did you have the guts to attend to the estate?

Sure, you were invited but at this point in time, you weren't sure you'd be welcomed. The idea was so far from tangible, much like the idea that he'd ever choose you -you could barely grasp it now, but the idea that you may have missed it? Would leave you more desolate than you think could ever be fixed -especially after the letter, and the notes.

Your eyes swung across the square, feet leading you far ahead than where your mind was -searching desperately, hoping.

What if he was gone? you suddenly thought -a flurry of anxious words, hope snuffing out as you roamed closer and closer, What if this was it? Could you even-

And then, you saw him.

Stood just by Mr. Elliotts' stall -a basket of fruit teetering on his arm, as he seemed focused on the man, lost in one of his stories. You'd imagine you'd already heard it and briefly wondered perhaps which ones he knew now. Mr. Grimes looked casual, curls rather messy against his tanned skin -white button-up rolled up at the sleeves and dirt, actual dirt, stained across the expanse of ivory. Gone were the vests, and instead was a brown coat held by the tips of his fingers as it was thrown over his shoulder -expecting the cold of the sun setting. Far more prepared than you had been.

It was then, the world decided, as you stood -rather aimlessly that Mr. Elliotts startlingly saw you.

You hadn't known exactly why he'd looked your way, you couldn't even guess really but he did. A sort of sweep over you, as if in disbelief, perhaps because you looked rather disheveled. On top of the deliberate moves by your Headmistress, you'd brushed upon crowds of people -so focused that you couldn't quite see what was in front of you. You scrubbed at your cheek, insecurely, fully aware that you looked as though you'd been crying.

Mr. Grimes naturally caught the dispersed attention, and you could swear the world slowed as he seemed to follow Mr. Elliotts' attention -blue eyes landing squarely on you. Properly deranged-looking you without a proper coat for the chill of night, dress crumpled, flushed cheeks for far more than one reason. You were sure you looked rather improper, less than graceful, full of a crowd of women who certainly looked much more composed-

And yet, he stalled -eyes flickering over you like he could hardly believe you were real. Eyes lingering along your hands, you realized just then that you still held his letter -in a sort of death grip between your fingers, the paper crinkling ever so slightly at the pressure.

His eyes hovered there, over the letter of which he knew of the exact context -something so vulnerable there. Even as the blue swam over your face noticeably focused on your eyes -your cheeks, where you could see your lack of composure. The crying-

Before you could even blink, he was making strides toward you -intense eyes settling upon you, gentle, concerned.

"Ms. Greene," he exhaled, breathless -it made your heart thrum against your skin, "-I... Is everythin' alright? Do you need anythin' from-"

Your mind was like a low hum, everything spinning around you so harshly -something warm at him being here, right in front of you. It felt like so many different things had built up until now like a wave pushed past you -your mouth opening before you could properly decide what you wished to say-

"I got your letter."

And your voice was surely broken, and cracked and your cheeks scrubbed pink. Your hair was out of place, your dress crumpled -you were anything but composed.

But he looked at you so carefully still like a gust of wind could blow you away and he'd wished to have you stay-

"You did? Daryl-" he started, slowly, "-Mr. Dixon said you had. I suppose I jus' wasn't sure-"

"If I received it?" you finished, rather directly, "-I did, I've... Despite a few setbacks, I've read them all."

"The invitations?" he echoed -his eyes still echoing a deep sort of wonder that you stood before him, it made your head swirl.

"Yes," you answered, "-everything, I've- everything."

It was silent for a moment, a heavy sort of silence that felt as if it was suffocating -swallowing you whole. And something in your brain ticked, a desperate sort of thought of if you had been too late -if your moment had passed, if you didn't say it now would you ever be able to, if he was truly here for you how much longer-

"I-" you echoed, bursting from your soul -spilling past your lips, "-Forgive me for my frankness, but I can hardly think of anything else. Has the time passed? I've read through your notes, your letter, and I hope... I hate to hope, truly. But I hope to not be too late, Mr. Grimes because I-"

He opened his mouth to speak, but you couldn't let him, not when you had so much to say-

"-I believe I've fallen in love with you. Most completely."

You couldn't bare to look at him, squeezing the letter to your chest -fingers finding solace in its texture. You know you should've stopped there, but it only kept coming to you, like everything you had wanted to say was spilling over.

So, your mouth moved before you could rationalize it, "-And I know the situation is rather complicated, as you've written, and that even though your affections may lie with me, you may still choose differently. I understand that it's a rather complex issue that has been brought upon you and I'm certainly not making it any easier-"

"Ms. Greene-"

"-and your notes were far from today, your feelings may have changed somewhere along the way. In that case, there is nothing for me here. So, I wish to ask you-"

"Ms. Greene-"

"-if you wish to answer, I suppose, am I too late? If those sentiments you've written are no longer true, I must know now, despite the devastation it might cause-"

"Y/N, please," he interrupted, improperly but he spoke softly, trying to gain your attention, gain your focus, "-breathe."

You paused, inhaling a deep sort of breath, and trying desperately to stop the urge of the tears behind your eyes, "I'm sorry, Mr. Grimes, I know this is all rather sudden, and I look dreadful -I've been crying all evening, it's been an unbelievable span of days. But I truly just wished you to know-"

"Ms. Greene," he urged, soft and the low timber of his voice -hand extended forward with a handkerchief (white satin and embroidered), "-please, I ask of ya to not speak of yourself 'at way. You look far from dreadful."

"Oh please," you echoed -gently accepting the handkerchief like it was a sort of priceless gem, "-Mr. Grimes, there is no need to flatter me so, I know-"

"Ms. Greene, you are certainly the finest woman I 'ave ever laid my eyes on. Especially now."

"Mr. Grimes..."

"And to clear somethin' up directly," he added, tone soft and careful like maybe you were a sort of priceless gem, "-there was never a 'too late'. Not- Not for you."

"That's preposterous, truly," you retorted, "-I would not believe so. I'm not- You must have had a limit, and there is no shame in that for I deserve it-"

"Ms. Y/N," he whispered, eyes so blue that you'd nearly forgotten how to breathe, "-if you wished me to, I would've waited forever."

"You-" you started, breathless and a bit in disbelief, "-I'm not asking you to wait forever. I'm... I'm here. And you're at the fruit stall, and I guess I thought- I guess I thought maybe you'd chosen me."

"There was no choosing, Ms. Greene, I-" he paused, flitting over you for a second -thoughtful, fond, "-I'm suddenly not very sure I was clear enough."

"You were," you echoed but it seemed a little hollow. Even now, as you stood here. You couldn't believe it, you weren't sure.

"If there was enough doubt in your mind to break your heart as it did," he spoke -tone serious and unflinching, "-then I certainly was not clear enough."

"Mr. Grimes, your letters-" you started, trying to soothe, to fix, to patch, "-they spoke plenty. You don't-"

"I wish to," he responded, pulling your hands up (letter tucked safely into your palm) to press his lips to them -soft and yet pointed, before smirking, a familiar sort of look settled upon his face, "-Think of it as a gift."

You laughed, pushing through the stuffiness of your nose, "Haven't you had enough of that already?"

He grinned, the kind that crinkled at the eyes before faltering, pulling your hands down to envelope them with his own -all calloused fingertips and tan skin, "Your hands are cold."

"It's a rather chilly night, Mr. Grimes."

He rolled his eyes playfully, but the concern stayed firmly where it was, "And your coat?"

"I... I forgot it," you spoke honestly, "-I didn't want to miss you somehow, I- I wasn't thinking."

He merely smiled, a little teasingly, "But ya remembered my letter?"

"I was-" you groaned but bit back a grin -you had missed this dearly, "-I feel as though I can't say anything right here, Mr. Grimes."

He laughed, out loud -something in you was nearly giddy, and without hesitation, shrugged off his brown coat you'd noticed from earlier. Before you could so much as speak a word, he'd draped it over the back of your shoulders -brown fabric a mere sponge for the woodsy fragrance that seemed to trail him around. You found it to be rather comforting, and rather warm.

"That wasn't necessary," you spoke, softly -fondly at the man in front of you. Something in your heart flipped as he seemed to preen with you wearing his coat -proud.

"It was," he argued with no bite.

"Right, and what's supposed to keep you warm then?"

"You," he answered -simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, wrapping his hand around yours again, "-can I walk ya home, Ms. Greene?"

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to think about it -tapping your chin in mock thought, "-I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Only because I believe I have a stalker," you spoke, tone anything but serious. And even still, you felt him stiffen slightly as you took his arm.

"No-" he stressed -dramatically.

"Oh, yes," you continued, tightening your fingertips around his arm -just for the comfort of him being real, being there, "-keeps sending me letters by couriers every day, very, very persistent, he is."

Mr. Grimes smiled, a sort of hazy, fond one, before fully turning to you -eyes focused, "If I summon you, will ya come tomorrow?"

"Yes," you responded -unflinchingly, "-I find I'd do rather anything you'd ask of me, Mr. Grimes."

Mr. Grimes stalled for a moment, blue eyes just staring (as he always was), and with the tiniest of movements, he pushed one of your framing hairs back behind your ear. A deep thrum of his attention laid heavily on you, once again, turned you a rather further crimson.

"Good," he merely smiled at the flush (fond), before stepping back -reasserting your hold on his arm and walking towards your home, "-we 'ave a lot to discuss."

[gaykey]

idk if I’m just face blind but I really can’t see a difference in Key’s face other than a bit of weight loss.. like maybe he’s had something done on his lips but he also pouts in half of his selfies so I’m not really sure

anonymous asked: i know kibum had one nose job in like 2016 but i feel like he keeps messing with it and he needs to leave it alone it's starting to look even more different from the side too and it makes me a little sad

anonymous asked: I see what you mean but I think he’s using a filter there too…I need to see a raw photo of him lol also it’s not like he looks bad or anything but I wish they didn’t always feel this pressure to “maintain/improve” their visuals, but that’s the industry …

this is always a hot topic in the inbox

anon one, no doubt weight has a factor in how his face looks - he's always had a very delicate bone structure - the type that when he loses weight, it shows on his face - but we basicaly know he's had work done at this point like?? he's talked about it vaguely, and that he's the type of person to be very image concious. and like c'mon, his nose and jaw are clearly a different shape in comparison to a few years ago.

anons two & three.

yeah filters factor into it, but i've seen recent raw pics from kibum, and it's that same uncanny look.

i wish he'd leave it alone, and not because i think he looks bad at all. i still think kbum is so amazingly beautiful. he's always had such a unique look to him that draws me in - but i do feel he's starting to lose some of those characteristics.

it's weird though - and this is why i think he leans towards more temporary procedures - because sometimes i look at him and i'm like 'yep, that's kibum, i know that face!' and then other times, he just looks slightly off to me. his face swellling goes down and his filters disolve? maybe??

it makes me sad too, because i'd hate for him to erase all those unique features that make him so beautiful.

the industry is a beast though, and the pressure on idols looks (edpecially older idols) is only getting greater.

[mistovyee]

'Look at that pure love blooming in their heart, nourishing their soul with fragment of heaven.' Her heart swellled with pride at the walking memory lanes in her hands. Some colorful, some black and white. " They look happy. " A part of her wondered if it lasts as long as poets all over the world claims. She drowns for the most part of it, but she never let anyone else drowns in her sorrow. She makes sure her love keeps them floating over the surface. Where they could breath the heavenly fog. Sometimes she wonders who is more unlucky, she herself or her lover? One sees too much and the other was deprived of perception.

[jack-of-crowns]

@flashfictionfridayofficial

'You Know What They're Like' by @jack-of-crowns

"Can you believe this?" Gladys was pointing with exasperation at the hapless grocer's assistant, who was replacing the price ticket on the Jerusalem artichokes for the fourth time that month "I really can't believe this, Edna", she said again to her friend.

"Absolutely unbelievable", Edna murmured, gloved fingers absent-mindedly stroking the pearls of her necklace like prayer beads. "You would have thought that when Zenith let all of those people stay here because of the farm worker shortage, well-"

"Well, ladies, can I help you with anything?" Burt, the grocer, had come out from the cooler at the back of the Superette, rubbing his hands dry on the front of his grease and fat-stained butcher's apron. "You know how it is these days", he added, nodding sideways at the assistant to take themselves a break.

Gladys, in no mood to be appeased, shot Burt a sharp look. "Now see here, we've been shopping here since you were knee high to a grasshopper and your father would never have run the Superette like this and he CERTAINLY wouldn't hire one of...them!" Edna was shaking her head up and down vociferously in agreement, and a few other regulars had begun to pay attention to the commotion.

"Now Gladys," Burt began a bit nervously, "None of the high school kids want to work here these days and anyone else healthy enough from the contagion goes to the mill. We're all doing our best here."

"Doing our best? When my dear Donald's pension can't even buy us a decent meal anymore!?" Now Lou and Joey from the mill had moved in behind Gladys and Edna, scowling and clenching thei fists. "And what's next, Burt," Lou snarled, "your little helper or one of their buddies comes for my job?"

Burt's face began to redden with frustration as his voice pitched up with nervousness. "Everyone take a step back now." He had a chef's knife in the pocket of his apron if it came down to it, but he was feeling a bit light-headed from all the commotion and was afraid that he wouldn't be able to handle the situation if Lou and Joey kept escalating their anger.

Just then the grocer's assistant darted out from where the storage room where they had been hiding and bolted off down the street, determined not to be another statistic in the ongoing epidemic that was slowly consuming the city of Zenith. Burt sank down on a stool as the four patrons returned to their shopping, seemingly unaware of his condition. Only Gladys seemed to take notice once she had added a clutch of Jerusalem artichokes to her shopping bag.

"There, there, Burt," she smiled down at him reassuringly. "Catch your breath a moment and you'll be just fine." Burt's face was beginning to darken and swelll as he sat gasping for air, then his eyes closed as he slumped and stilled. Obliviously, Gladys concluded, "You'll do much better without that sort around. You know what they're like."

[hunters-playlist]

@nerfherdingteleporter ^ this bit

[skylarsilva098]

What type of Enslavers are you being invaded by Skylar? Tell us how they work and why they were unreleased?

P P

Pulsar Ennslavers!, like BimBBombbbs but they swelll up then contractt back dowwn slowly at firstt getting fassster each timme until they pppop resultingg in gapped and sometimes prollapsedd holeesQ

Theyy4e unreleasssed because theyrer toooo powerfilll and breakk mindfss toomuvj!

[selfdiagnosedeyemotif]

“So... cold...” 

Trousseau’s voice sounded pained, efforted. He clutched at his bleeding side, head bowed. His white hair was stained crimson, his face splattered with poison and blood. 

“I’ve watched so many die... Time and time again...” 

He chuckled weakly, shoulders trembling. Castti could only stare, only watch in horror as the one she once called a friend died slowly before her eyes. 

“So this... is what death feels like... Of course. This is it... Salvation.” 

The look of relief on his face was underlined with pain, with something akin to sorrow. Somewhere deep down, Trousseau didn’t truly want to die. 

“Trousseau...” Castti began. But what would she say? That she was sorry? That she had well and truly hoped that they could be friends again? 

Trousseau only looked up at her, his eyes pale and far away. The blood on his cheek had started to dry, cracking and darkening against his pale skin. He had always looked sickly... 

“How’s it feel, Chief? To take a life?” He asked, and Castti felt sick. Her hands tingled and burned where Trousseau’s blood had spilt, her axe clattering to the ground from a slackened grip. 

No, she decided. She refused to allow this. Apothecaries were not meant to take lives. 

“I’m afraid I won’t know the answer to that,” she answered, sinking to her knees in front of him. She would have to act quickly if she wanted to keep the already-fading poison from infecting his wound. 

Trousseau fell silent as she started pulling at his robes, but complied nonetheless. Lifting his arms so she could peel off the outer layer, then dilligently keeping them raised so she could work without hinderance. 

“...Why are you doing this? Why won’t you let me die? I’m worthless anyway. I’ve killed so many, who’s to say I won’t kill you, too? I’ve already tried twice.” 

Castti looked up briefly from his wound, already dressed and halfway bandaged. She felt numbness starting to creep into her fingertips, the black swellling aching deep in her bones. 

“Because I will extend a helping hand to all in need.” 

Trousseau looked away, eyes shining. 

“...I know the cure to the poison,” he said, and Castti paused, the bandages wrapped tight around the wound. The fact that she caused it still made her feel ill, perhaps made worse by the poison in her system. 

“You... What?” 

“I know the cure, Chief. Please... Let me help you. Let me extend my hand one last time.” 

Castti nodded, and Trousseau shifted, one hand gripping his coat tightly. 

“Purebalm, scalebark leaf, skybalm, santanejo nlossom... And snowdrop petals. Those should create a cure for the poison. Please, Chief... Test it on me. I want to be the first to know if it works. I know it’s a selfish request, but please.” 

Selfish? No. Not selfish. Dangerous. Much too dangerous for someone in such a fragile state. 

Castti shook her head. “No. Not in your state, your condition is too unstable. I’m testing it on myself.” 

“If it doesn’t work, kill me,” Trousseau responded, and Castti paused. She hated how he made her hesitate, how he stunned her constantly. She needed to act fast, and he was hindering her. 

“I won’t,” she said, and Trousseau leaned forward weakly to grab at her axe. 

“Then I’ll do it myself.” 

She kicked it out of his reach, frantically mixing the ingredients together. If this cure worked, she would owe Trousseau her life. If it didn’t... She would risk that life to find the true cure. 

“...Cheers,” she murmured to Trousseau, lifting the bottle of tincture in a morbid toast. Trousseau simply stared at her with blank eyes, watching. 

She took a hearty sip, and waited. Sure enough, she felt the antidote take place almost immediately. Her breathing and heart rate returned to normal, the black swellings disappeared, and the bleeding of said swellings vanished. 

“Trousseau, it worked! Your cure worked! Here, drink.” 

She handed the bottle to Trousseau, who stared at it blankly. 

“I don’t want to be saved. I don’t care about salvation anymore... It should be my punishment instead.” 

Castti took the bottle from his limp hands. 

“Trousseau... Just the very fact that you think you deserve to be punished for what you did proves that you are a better person than you give yourself credit for. You can still change. And if we hurry, there won’t be any casualties of today. Now drink, so we can save the rest of the townspeople.” 

She placed the bottle back in his hands, and after a moment he swigged it, taking a single gulp. 

Slowly, he rose to his feet, favouring the side without the injury. Castti did that, she hurt the one who looked up to her, she tried to cleave the most eager member of the group in half- 

“Come on, Chief. They’re waiting for Eir’s Apothecaries. Let’s not keep them waiting,” Trousssau murmured, and Castti took his hand, bottle in his other. She scooped up her axe, putting it back in her belt. She tried to ignore the way Trousseau seemed to flinch slightly when she picked it up. 

Just as they were about to rush down the stairs, Edmund came running up. 

“Bonemender, are you-” 

He paused, eyes trained on Trousseau. 

“...Isn’t this the guy who tried to mess everything up? Hell’s he doin’ alive?” He asked, and Trousssau gave a weak smile. 

“That’s what I would like to know as well. Unfortunately, Chief isn’t very good at reasons. Excellent at action, though. That’s why she’s on her way to cure everyone afflicted with poison.” 

“With the cure that Trousseau created,” Castti added, and Trousseau’s smile vanished. 

“Chief is the one who created it. I just told her ingredients that might work. In any case, we don’t have time to argue about the intricacies of my survival. At the moment, there are many in town who likely need a dosage of the cure. If you would be so kind as to let us through..?” 

Edmund stepped aside wordlessly, and Castti made her way cautiously down the stairs into the castle. At some point, Trousseau had ended up on Edmund’s back, being carried like a child through the twisting corridors. Not that he seemed to mind. In fact, Trousseau seemed quite content to be as limp as a sleeping young one and just as quiet. 

It was almost terrifying how silent he was, but Castti chose to ignore her anxiety for the time being. There were people who needed saving. 

It seemed like aeons before her and Trousseau were staggering into the tavern with a drained bottle of antidote. Everyone was safe, and Castti was so, so tired. 

“You can rest easy, Chief,” Trousseau’s soft voice assured her as her eyes fell shut. “Everyone is safe.” 

“Even you...?” She asked sleepily, and heard a breathy chuckle from above her head as it fell onto her arms. 

“After the effort you put in to keep me alive? I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, even if I wanted to. Don’t worry, Chief. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Go ahead and rest. You deserve it.” 

Trousseau was right. Castti did deserve to rest after what she’d gone through. 

Before she knew it, she was falling asleep, and dreaming of Eir’s Apothecaries, with Trousseau there merrily laughing with the others as though he’d never even heard of the black blood poison. 

In her sleep she smiled, dreaming of bygone days that whispered in her mind like a pleasant memory. 

And when she woke up, Trousseau was still there, fast asleep on the table, looking more peaceful than he ever had before. 

“Sleep well, Trousseau.”

while i cant say im partial to the concept itself, the writing in this is definitely worthy of being called a Mav Classic

[tyunniez]

omwemgee. HI JINI !! not sure if you remember me but its ✉️ anon ! I super duper gooly apologize that i haven't sent you a message for like i dont know how long ?? it really has been that long that i dont even know how long it has been 😿 .. but that aside, how r you?!! I hope your feeling great these days ! If your not, cheer up ς(>‿<.) ! i hope you keep yourself safe and that you should always know that whenever you're feeling down, you'll have me and others as your support ! and random, i recommended u to listen to cheers to youth by seventeen ! its rlly calming butt has a deep meaning to it too ! i feel like thats all ive gotta say .. but dw !! I'll definitely send you more messages in thr future if i can !

– ✉️ anon

HAII MAIL ANONNIEE!! pls dont apologize lol i myself haven't even been that active here and i understand that we're both probably busy hihhih. am doing swelll, school's been on my ass and im js holdin on!!! thx for the support and love you're always providin me am eternally grateful for it <333 im not sure if yall know this but im actually a huge kpop stan and im a newbie carat!! my bias is DK ;)) listenin to the song rn and i love how like nostalgic it sounds, you get me?? don't force yourself to send me messages mail anonnie!! take ur time okayy.. take care and sendin hugs your way!!! <3333

[missamyrisa2]

I think Miss Amy needs to have her cute feet tickled and worshiped until she melts and babbles like crazy. If we notice anything growing under the cute belt then I guess we need to tickle that spot under your toes until Amy gigglecums a few times. If miss Amy takes too long we know a few taps on your belt will do the trick 😉

(ahhhhh stopppiiiiittt ohh my gossh~<333)

I suppose it's a divine design, erogenous spots being assigned to the part of my body which is most distant from my mind and nearly out of reach and also attached to a part that I am eternally embarrassed about having seen or touched. My feet are too honking big. They've always been extra wide, even at times necessitating special shoe orders and now they're both wide and long. Which means more tickle spots. Did I mention they're deathly ticklish? Of course that should be known which is what is making me scream with laughs in this moment as I'm shackled to a rack and helpless to stop those loving fingers and soft tools from worshipping my weird soles. Every wrinkle is felt. I can't stop looking even though I hate looking at my feet with my oversized big toe and way too small other toes. Just so ugly. And sooo sooo tickle hot I suppose which is what I shriek as my hands pound trying to reach at those fingers as they wiggle under my toes.

A giggle moan slips ~ fuuuuuudge~

It's all over now ~ my princess part is full on protesting, pressing to the softness of my panties screaming for release. Every tickle in that ~spot~ sends unstoppable amorous energy to my royal zones. I slip gigglemoan after snickermoan, my hips bucking in rhythm. The princess part grows and reaches the flower. The panties couldn't contain the excitement, what hope does the belt have? The flower moves slightly, the swell growing in my shorts. Well that's just swelll ~~ and now I'm gasping. They're persistent, these foot worshippers. Tongues? Well now I'm definitely screwed. It's like being screwed, a twisting hotwire working my body. I can kick and shriek and pound and whip my hair ~ and I do alllll of that ~ and yet the sensations still come ~ my shorts are quivering, the flower almost bouncing now as it tries to contain the royal part's reactions ~ and then one more touch in that hot spot, the line of erogenous tickle spots under my toes as they curl tightly ~ and I think i have it under control ~ until that finger wriggles tauntingly ~ Mmhhh I whimper every No I can muster, I plead and beg my case but it's over in a matter of seconds because that bullying can't be stopped ~ the tappppsssss and now it's nothing but these uncontrollable gyrations and struggles as I endure the overload, the fireworks erupting in my panties~

such silliness~~~

[elekid]

science side of tumblr: is my thumb broken?🤔 is this swellling bad? i dont know but we will hopefully find out, together