#Morgana whining

[morgana-ren]

There's a lot of discourse around 'booktok' and I genuinely believe we could fix a lot of it if we stopped pretending it's about novels and books of genuine substance like the name implies and instead acknowledged it's literally just a horny fanfic community. Middle age white women discovering kinky fanfic community for the first time but it's the wild West on tiktok. They never learned rules or etiquette and that's why they're unhinged all over the internet. They're just reading glorified fanfic that costs money.

They'd absolutely lose their everloving shit if you showed them X reader.

[taldigi]

hmmm no I dont think I like the english voices

[descendantsramblings]

Sunday Night

Morgie le Fay x Pixie!Reader

Pronouns Used: she/her/hers

Summary: After his friends let him down Morgie runs to his girlfriend for comfort and she convinces him to come try meeting her friends instead. (slightly inspired by that post about how Morgie would be sweeter than Bridget if the AKs took him in instead of the Vks)

Warnings: Sfw dominance (she does undo his scarf and shirt for him though), reader is a touch possessive, Morgie is a touch insecure, a few swears here and there, Uliana and the crew treat Morgie awfully, a touch of angst/ hurt/comfort, the reader snaps and then literally throws Uli, literally so many pet names (Mainly used by the reader), Morgie has mommy issues (If Morgana won't properly baby Morgie his gf will).

Word Count: 3.6K

Left, right, down, flick! 

      On any normal Sunday night, Morgie would be tucked around his girlfriend as she did her weekend homework. Sat in her lap with his legs dangling behind her and his face tucked into her neck as she worked, whining for her to finish her work faster. Her reading the things she was studying out loud to him if they both took the class, in hopes of helping raise his grades (something he’d hate to admit was actually working).  He’d laugh when she was finally done, dragging her to the bathroom connecting her dorm to her neighbor’s with excitement so they could do skin care together. Sundays, to the pixie, were for preparing for the week. They existed to prepare yourself for what the week had ready to throw at you, both physically and mentally. For her boyfriend, Sundays were for being babied by his girlfriend, and she’d never tell him otherwise. It was her favorite part of their relationship and anyone who knew her knew it. She’d grown too used to the feeling of having gentle kisses placed on her shoulder and neck while she worked; to sit there without them was driving her crazy. Maybe she owed her boyfriend an apology, always teasing him that she couldn’t focus when he was sat on her lap. Turns out, Morgie might have been the only thing keeping her focused. Somehow the pixie had made her one hour of homework turn into two and a half as she kept letting her eyes flicker to her door. Willing her boyfriend to appear behind the wood.

    Left, right, down, flick! 

   Finally she succeeds in making the stupid pillow in the center of her bed fly back to its set spot on the headboard. It wasn’t exactly the spell in how they’d do it for the test on Tuesday but she hoped it would be close enough. Morgie would’ve cheered for her by now, groaning out a teasing “finally” beforehand. She didn’t realize how much she’d miss that with him gone for only one weekend.

    It made her feel selfish in a way, she got an invite to the birthday party that Morgie was throwing for Uliana tonight. But he knew the second he extended it that she’d never take it.  Maybe if the party was for Hook she’d be there, she might even grin and bare it for Maleficent if she had to. But her hatred for the sea witch stopped her from being willing to go, even in support of her sweet boyfriend. (Y/n) regretted that now, realizing just how much her Sunday nights depended on him. Sundays were supposed to be the day that she excitedly waits for all week, instead it left her feeling lonely. The Black Lagoon wasn’t that far, she could go now. It wouldn’t draw too much attention if she just slipped in now. There’s a moment, as her lip rests between her teeth and her fingers drum on the desk in front of her that she considers this. How long was Morgie planning to keep the party going? Did she have the time to get an outfit on and get to the Lagoon before it was over? With the way Hook partied, there had to be. But how would Uliana react if she showed up without a gift? Did she really want to deal with that? And what would she even wear? One of Morgie’s nice button ups should be hanging in her closet, surely she could find something to do with that if she wanted to. 

     Her fleece blanket starts to slip down her shoulders and she reaches up to grab it, pulling it back up her arms, solidifying her choice for her. She wanted to be with the person she loved, even if she had to deal with assholes too. Not that she’d get the time to get ready though, instead stilled as a shallow knock hits the hollow wood of her dorm room’s door. 

     She could recognize the sound trying to be the way that her boyfriend knocked. The familiar two knocks, pause, one knock, pause, three knocks that she heard multiple times a week but it was too timid. (Y/n) pauses, heading to her door with furrowed brows. Her eyes drink him in, looking over the person she had just longed for with a new heat bubbling in her chest. Hazel eyes gleamed a little too green in the bloodshot and wet sockets that held them, making the color stand out against a splotchy red and tear stained face. “Oh, Darling,” she reaches out for him, pulling him in the room and closing the door behind him. Morgie opens his mouth to respond, letting it fall closed when the only thing he can manage to get out is a voice crack. He sits down on her desk, hands pressed to the cold, polished wood as he lets out a slow, shaky breath. She slots herself between his legs, soft hands cradling his face as she wipes away the stray tears that still clung to his soft, heated skin. The sorcerer's hands slot onto her waist, clinging to her as if she’d float away. Or maybe using her touch to ground himself, she couldn’t be quite sure if she was honest.   

     “What happened, sweetness? Who upset my boy?” The corners of his lips flicker up for a moment as she coos at him, eyes scanning over her face. “She,” his voice cuts out and he pulls her closer, letting his forehead lean gently against her shoulder, “Why do I try?” Her arms wrap around his shoulders to hold him, one hand resting on his back while the other softly scratches at his scalp. Morgie relaxes slightly into his girlfriend’s touch, fingers toying with the hem of her pajama top as he tries to steady his breathing. “What did she do, Darling?” (Y/n) does her best to keep her voice gentle, her focus had to be on him right now, not whoever hurt him. 

     “None of them showed up, they were all at Uliana’s dorm instead. They all forgot I planned a party for her,” he pulls back slightly from her shoulder so he could look at her, “They all forgot about plans we’d had for a month and then didn’t even invite me to their other plans.” Uliana hadn't forgotten, that's something the pixie was sure of. Her hand on the back of his head slides down to cup his jaw, forcing him to keep eye contact with her. “Oh Morgz,” she breathes, doing her best to keep her face even as she looks him over, “You put so much effort into that party.” He lets his eyes flicker from hers, “I just want them to see me. Wanted to, I don’t know.” He nearly whines as she lets go of his face, hands instead moving to his scarf. Undoing the fabric and placing it down on the table beside him. Fingers moving back to his neck, with her thumbs brushing over his now exposed flesh in gentle circling motions. An action that made him relax into her touch with a needy whine and closed eyes. 

     “I hate the way they treat you,” her voice is soft, eyes ghosting over him, “You’re too sweet to hang around villains.” He hums, “It’s better than when the hero kids were just staring at me all the time. They’re the only people who would take me in. Ya know, my mom and all.” Hazel eyes flicker back open to look up at her again, “Other than you. Sometimes I don’t know why you want me around when even my friends don’t.” That one was a stab into the chest, they’d made him so insecure that he didn’t even think she wanted him around? Because what? His shitty friends that treat him like a dog didn’t? That was her boy, how dare they make him feel that way? 

      “Oh no Sir,” (Y/n) gasps, her hands falling down to the buttons on his shirt, “Don’t you dare think like that.” “Why not?” His eyes are still glassy as he stares at her, voice weak and soft. Her fingers start to work over the buttons and Morgie leans back to give her better access to them. “Because,” she hums, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his collarbone, “Unlike those idiots,” another kiss is pressed to his shoulder as she pulls the fabric off them, “I know that you’re better than how they have ever dared to let themselves see you.” She presses a kiss to the column of his neck, “I know that you’re funny,” another kiss to his jaw, “And gentle,” his cheek, “Kind,” his forehead, “and so much better than they are in every way.” As she got further up on his exposed skin she could taste the salt that lingered on it, a mix of the misty air at the black lagoon and the tears staining his cheeks. She presses her lips to his nose next, “I know you deserve more than your friends, and your mom, have ever given you.” Another kiss to his other cheek, “And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will want you forever because I am so proud to be your girl.” A final gentle kiss to his chin, “Because I am so proud of you.” 

     His hand slots forward against her jaw, pulling her down into a real kiss. It’s needy, lips working against each other’s with passion. Rough and emotional and raw as if he needed her. He did, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he did need her. The way her hands rested on him like his body was made for her to hold onto, how her voice sounded like an angel’s choir. Everything about her seemed to set him on fire, and he loved to burn. She was proud of him. She took pride in people knowing he was hers.  “Do you,” he’s a touch breathless as he pulls away, letting a hand fall to one of hers that rests on his bare chest, “Do you mean that?” She hums, nodding her head as she softly cradles his face, “I’ll mean it forever, Darling.” His face leans against her palm, nuzzling against it. “How about you get some of your pajamas out of the drawer and come meet me in the bathroom to do skincare, huh? Let me get you all cleaned up?” 

    He nods, letting his grip slip off of her, his eyes following her as she walks away. Paying close attention to every detail of her as if trying to mark her into his memory. The black and gold shorts she had on, the forest green tee shirt that nearly covered them, decked out in colors he loved as if she was dressed for him. Surely that was one of his shirts, not that he’d complain.  She could take all of his clothes if she wanted, he’d get more. Drinking in the soft bounce in her step that made it seem as if she’d take flight at any given moment. Sometimes he saw himself as lucky that she couldn’t, he could barely get close enough with them both bound to the ground, he’d hate it if she was able to fly. “I can feel your eyes on me, Sweetie, best get changed.” He nods seemingly to himself as he slides off of the surface and over to her dresser, toeing off his shoes as he goes. Hands reaching out for the top drawer of her dresser, grabbing a golden toned tee shirt and dragging it over his head. He shuffles through the drawer as he uses one hand to undo his pants, letting them drop as he finds the pair of sweat shorts he’s looking for and pulls them on. 

     Morgie makes a b line from her dresser to her bathroom after that, letting his hands slot back onto her waist the second he reaches her. “Took you long enough, Darling,” she turns in his arms with a wet rag, softly brushing it over his face. “I wanted to make you miss me.” She hums, dropping some of her face wash into her hands and rubbing them together before touching them to his face. Her fingertips work soft circles over his skin, gently rubbing off the salt on his skin. He leans into her touch, enjoying each and every gentle touch or teasing word that she’d give him. Any ounce of praise or affection had him falling deeper and deeper for her. “I missed you all night, no need to prolong it,” she presses a quick peck to his lips as she finishes rinsing his face off, “There we go.” He smiles, reaching behind her to grab her face mask brush and the small container. “Can I put yours on?” She bites her lip, eyes flickering from the arabian mud mask he’s delicately holding to the excited look on his face. “Do not get it in my eyebrows this time, Morgz.” “Ma’am yes ma’am,” gives her a playful salute, smiling as he watches her climb up on her sink, beckoning for him to start. 

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    “You staying with me tonight?” (Y/n) finally asks as she taps his eye cream onto his under eyes. Usually it wouldn’t be a question, Morgie loved to sleep over and she loved to have him. It wasn’t like there was much time to be all over each other in any other scenario. The VKs hated that they were together at all, let alone how much she “babied” him. So on the rare occasions he got her to come hang out with them the most they did was sit with interlocked pinkies or his arm around her waist or shoulders when he much preferred to cling to her. And with the way that his friends acted towards hers, Morgie was scared to be around them for too long. But with how upset he’d been, (Y/n) didn’t want to make any assumptions, his friends could be a touchy subject.

     “Do you want me to?” She smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck, “If it was up to me, we’d be roommates, Sweetie. You know that.” Morgie nods, his lip finding its way between his teeth as he looks up at her from his place between her legs. “Sweetness,” she coos, prompting him to look her in the eyes. “Can I request something from you?” “Anything,” he moves closer, his hands falling lazily to her hips as he hangs onto her words. “How about you ditch your friends tomorrow? Come hang out with me and my friends.” He doesn’t respond, pulling away from her. “Morgie.” He looks to her with big eyes, “Can we go lay down please?” 

    (Y/n) slides off the bathroom counter with a sigh, following him to her room. She lays down, opening her arms for him to come lay on her chest. Morgie’s face fits into the curve of her neck, as if he was built for it, arms wrapping around her to pull her as close as he can. Humming as he feels her hand softly start scratching at his scalp, pressing a needy little kiss to her neck. “Pretty boy,” her hand slips up under his shirt as she talks, tickling his skin. “Yes, baby?” “I’m serious, you should come out with us tomorrow. You’re not a villain, why keep hanging around them if they don’t even treat you right?” “Because, my mom is a villain.” She tuts, gripping his hair slightly to pull his head back. Eyes searching his as he patiently waits on what she has to say. “Morgie le Fay, you are not your mother.” He opens his mouth to argue but lets it fall back closed. Instead settling back into her neck. “One day, and if they hate me then I’m staying with my friends.” 

     She hums, deciding not to argue with him. Her friends would love him, sure Ella might have her qualms but Bridget accepts everyone with open arms. And Charming was cool enough, he could get along with anyone. He could have better people hang around him than a sea witch who uses him and her crew of lackeys. But the conversation dies, (Y/n) instead focusing on scratching his head, humming to him as she soothes her lover to sleep. Morgie tries to ignore the nerves in his stomach, falling into a tranquil state as his mind begins to focus on her. He notices the way she hums “So This Is Love”, a sweet little love song that he’d only ever admit to her was his favorite. His girlfriend had him exactly where she wanted him and they both knew it. 

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    Morgie came to realize how ridiculous his nerves were when he actually sat down with her friends at lunch the next day. “Ladies, Charming,” she bows to both of the playfully before putting an arm around her boyfriend’s waist, “Hope you don’t mind but I wanted to bring my boyfriend today.” Charming gives him a slight nod, as Bridget reaches over to place a cupcake in front of the boy. “Oh,” he takes it, eyeing the pretty pink frosting and chocolate pearls that decorate the top of the  rich red cake, “Thank you.” “Of course,” she chirps, sitting back in her spot between (Y/n) and Ella, “(Y/n) talks about you all the time. I’m so glad you finally decided to give us a chance. She’s always going on and on about how sweet you are and how your friends don’t deserve you.”  His eyes cut to her, taking in the soft blushed hue that warms her cheeks. “Bridget, please,” she whines, letting her face nuzzle into his shoulder. 

     “You talk about me when I’m not around?” Ella rolls her eyes, “She never shuts up about you. You’re like,” she waves her hand as she talks, “Her only conversation topic.” (Y/n) pulls away from her boyfriend’s shoulder to glare at her friend, “As if you’re any better without Charming around.” “Hey!”  Her friends are more playful than his, teasingly pushing each other, but never enough to hurt them. Sharing snacks and homework answers, warning each other about stupid questions on tests. Is this what normal friends were like? Morgie couldn’t help but fear that he’d been missing out. 

     “There you are,” the thick accent causes all five of them to turn. The villains are standing behind them, looking over the couple with distaste. “What exactly do you think you’re doing here?” Uliana raises an eyebrow as she stares him down. “I,” he tries to explain himself but he has no clue what to say to her. “Well? You what?” 

     “He’s ditching you,” the words are so perky and sugary sweet you’d think she didn’t know what they meant, “Isn’t that your little group’s thing? Ditching people and leaving them out?” Uliana laughs, shaking her head as she turns to the pixie, “No one was talking to you. And even if I was, what I do is not your concern. He answers to me, he should be with my group. Not running around with your pathetic little friends.” There’s a visible shift in her as she untangles herself from Morgie, back straightening and shoulders stiffening. A grin that rivaled only the Cheshire cat stretches across her face, body turning in her seat to properly face the little group. “Pathetic?” “Yeah,” she says as if talking to a toddler, “Pathetic. I’m sure Morgie would need the definition but I thought you were smarter than that.” 

     Uliana doesn’t see the soft silver glow around the girl’s hand as she lifts it. “You wanna see pathetic, Uli?” She flicks her wrist up, sending the sea witch floating up into the air. “What’s pathetic,” she  rotates her wrist to flip the girl upside down, “Is needing to be cruel to everyone, including people who only want to please you, just so you can feel good about yourself in comparison.” “Aye Lass, put her down,” Hook interjects and (Y/n)’s head shoots to the side to look at him. “You wanna join her, fishbait?” His hands fly up, stepping back in surrender.  So she turns her attention back to the sea witch as she moves her hand, angling Uliana to the bushes on the edge of the courtyard. “You’re so insecure that everyone in this school can feel it. Maybe this year can change that for you, happy birthday,” she flings her wrist forward sending the sea witch flying into the bushes. Her friends run after her, leaving the lunch table in the dust as they go to check on her. 

     “(Y/n)!” Bridget’s voice rings out, making her turn back to her own friends. “You could’ve hurt her!” “Oh please, Bridge, she’ll be fine. It’s amazing she even went that far with how gently I threw her. She needed someone to knock her down a peg.” Her eyes flicker to Morgie, his hazel eyes a mix of worry and adoration. “Plus, she called the people I love pathetic. No one is going to disrespect the people I love.” He reaches out for her, face leaning on her shoulder as he clings to her, “She’s gonna make your year awful now, you know that, right?” She laughs, snaking an arm around him, “Of course she is. Unlucky for her though, I have someone who knows her way of thinking on my side. And even if I didn’t, she’s as scary as a seapony.”

[stubz]

Storyteller

"Hello Max, I'm here to surprise Pollix with a early pick up."

"Oh how nice, although I don't know if he'll want to go right now."

"Why not? Is he in the middle of a game?"

"No, its story time."

The tighalax smirks. "You really think he won't want to come because of 'story time'?" he laughs.

"Just look and see." the human smiles.

The teacher leads the giant feline being through the child centre to a corner where a colorful and beautiful plush carpet lays on the floor. Not that you could see it as it was covered by sitting younglings. All entranced by the human standing before them telling them a story rather animatedly and loudly.

"Pollix, lets go." calls Dux, looking at his cub.

Not even a glance.

"Pollix."

An ear twitch but still no look.

"...Pollix!"

The whole class looks including Kim.

"Oh, Pollix, your dad is here."

"Papa, not yet! The story isn't done." whines the cub.

"...you want to finish the story?"

"Pollix wants to finish the story! Jax and Morgana are fighting the monster now!" cries Nova.

"...is it almost over?"

"Oh, um, almost but, Pollix I can tell you the rest tomorrow-"

"My Papa says its okay!" Pollix cries interrupting Kim

"...is it okay if I...?" trails a very embarrassed Kim.

The tighalax nods and actually goes to sit next his cub. The sight making Max snort as the 8 foot tall feline like being towers over the younglings. After he settles in and Pollix snuggles in on his Papa's lap he gives Kim the okay to continue.

"...story teacher!" whines the children, their teacher taking too long for their liking to continue the story.

"Oh...right...okay then." she mutters, face red from nerves and embarrassment. This was the first time a parent saw her tell a story.

"...the monster roared at our heroes, swinging his mighty axe down at them. Flung into the air our hero, Jax, is grabbed by the giant's fist and thrown into the monster's mouth." The cubs gasp as the human acts out the catching their hero. Her voice slowly getting louder again.

"NO!"

"What does Morgana do?!"

"Is he dead?!"

"Morgana, seeing that the villain ate her friend charges at him as soon as she lands. Her sword drawn and ready, her face angry, eyes full of tears, and with a mighty cry leaps at the giant." She begins to act out the story, going back to her story telling enthusiasm.

"The monster in turn swings his axe at her, with her in the air it will definitely hit her. The axe hits Morgana and she falls to the ground badly hurt...but not without killing the beast. At the last moment she gathers all her magic into her sword and throws it at the giant monster, piercing his evil heart!" cries Kim, thrusting her hand out as if she had just thrown the very sword.

"...and then..." whispers Nova.

"The monster fades away, revealing a hurt but alive Jax. Seeing Morgana he drags himself to her and they hug, happy to see each other again. Even if they're both not in one piece. The healers arrive and the two head home where they continue the rest of their adventure together, as they were always meant to be. The end."

The cubs cheer with most asking for another story.

"No, no more stories for today. Let's give Kim a break, okay, she's already told you 4 stories." Max ushers the kids towards the toys.

"That was a very good tale teacher Kim, I never knew Earth had such interesting history."

"Hmm? Oh that wasn't our history."

"A legend or folktale then?"

"No, just a made up story."

"Ah, could you tell me the name of it? I would like to read it to Pollix at home, it sounded very interesting."

"Oh uh, I actually just made it up." the human smiles.

"You made it up!? How long ago? Must have taken you ages." Praised Dux, tail flicking in excitement.

"Actually I just made it up now, I make the story up as I go."

"...you make it up as you go...y'know that offer to quit your job and join my pack still stands right? Our planet and culture greatly value Storytellers such as yourselves, you could even make a great living if you worked for me."

"Thanks but I don't think I could ever do that, I hate public speaking!" grins the human.

"...but you just-"

"Children are the exception."

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (I) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

Part II / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant, cursing, Kreacher is a little shit

Following the sudden death of Cedric Diggory months before, the magical world flipped on its nose. The Daily Prophet pumped out towers of articles denouncing The Boy Who Lived, dubbing Harry as The Boy Who Lied.

Clever. Seriously, people actually subscribe to read that shit?

Surprisingly, Dumbledore forbid any form of contact with Harry during the summer--Hermione and Ron threw quite the fit after receiving the news. The most unsurprising reaction came from the ex-convict himself, Sirius Black.

Azkaban somehow became even less appealing after having to sit through his meltdown at the dinner table.

Who knew dementors could twist your spirit so far as to make petulant meltdowns a regular occurrence.

If his word was anything to go by, he got the better end of the deal compared to his murderous, psychopathic cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Entirely reassuring.

The inability to rant to Harry via letters, deal with Ron's whining, engage Hermione in her tangents, or sit around Sirius left you with no choice but to venture around on your own.

There was virtually no chance of running into anybody but the twins (who seriously needed their apparating privileges revoked) on your little escapade.

The hallways were dusty and suffocating from the sheer amount of unkempt gothic vintage furniture lining the perimeter. While an uncanny atmosphere of suffering blanketed every centimeter of the walls.

Wandering aimlessly, a sudden pulse of magic combined with your reckless compulsion steers your attention towards a tall, black door. The crystal door knob was dull in the dim light, the keyhole and backing rusting with age.

Clearly, no one has gone into the room in years--decades, even.

The room was located on the third floor of the house, far away from the bedrooms the Weasleys were sleeping in and even farther away from the restless master of the house (who was pacing like a maniac in the kitchen for the nth hour straight).

What's the worse that can happen?

Famous last words (Harry's impulsivity was definitely rubbing off on you).

The door put up quite a fight when you tried to twist the knob, creaking in protest before finally giving way as you pushed with your entire body.

You stumbled in, nearly choking on the cloud of dust that danced up into the air with your ever so graceful entrance. Taking a look around, you came to one conclusion.

The room was utterly boring.

Boxes lined nearly every inch of the floor, the wallpaper peeling and dragging down the walls, and the small window across the room was clouded by dirt. A lone ray of light illuminated a small black dresser table against the wall. Curiously, you carefully weaved around the boxes on the floor and padded towards the dresser.

Just as you reached to pull one of the drawers open, an unsettling prickle ran down your spine. Instinctively grasping at your wand, you spun around only to be met with the opposite wall and more dust.

Quickly scanning the room again, your breath caught in your throat as you locked eyes with a pair of narrowed ones.

It was a bloody portrait.

“Who are you? Who let you in here?”

The boy in the painting seemed only a few years older than you with pin-straight posture and sharp features to match. His voice echoed with firmness, a voice that seemed used to commanding respect and attention.

But Merlin and Morgana…he was divine. So divine that even Draco Malfoy would lose his composure if someone this attractive showed up at Hogwarts.

“No one...I'm no one. Who are you? You look…er-familiar.”

Your last words came out as more of a question as you slowly drank up every detail of his features.

The boy’s eyes narrowed further into a glare, seemingly starting to become irate with your dodgy answer. Before he could retort, a familiar pop sounded through the room and before you could even comprehend what was happening, a familiar house elf was barreling through the boxes and dropping in front of the portrait.

“Master Regulus! Kreacher has failed you! Disgraceful Master Sirius has stolen everything! Oh my poor Mistress!”

The boy seemed taken aback by the sudden intrusion and the rather emotional outburst from Kreacher.

Seriously, could portraits take that many steps back?

Watching for a few more moments with wide eyes, it seemed that nothing the boy was saying was registering to the inconsolable elf.

Going to give the elf and Regulus some privacy, you scampered away and closed the door with much effort and an audible huff.

As you started walking away, a sudden bang nearly snatched your soul out of your body. Spinning around, confusion washed over you as Kreacher struggled to clamber off of the worn carpet, a disgruntled noise echoing around the hall.

Kreacher had just flew into the wall. Did the elf lose some screws and try to become a part of the bloody wallpaper?

“Kreacher? What happened?!”

Before the snippy elf could reply, loud footsteps pounded nearby and a disheveled Sirius bounded up from the staircase, shooting a look of mixed disbelief and contempt at his elf.

“What the hell?! Kreacher what are you doing?! You can’t just leave when I’m telling you to do something!”

Feeling, again, like an intruder to a conversation, you shuffled against the wall and towards the stairs as the house elf snarled at the older man, briefly eyeing you with confusion. Raising your eyebrows, you watch as the elf shoots glances behind him towards the room before popping away from a screaming Sirius.

Rolling your eyes, you say a silent farewell to the mysterious room only to notice the door was no longer there. The area where the door should have been was replaced with nothing more than peeling wall and a dusty wall lamp.

Did you just hallucinate the last 10 minutes of your life?

Apparently not. A few days had passed since your strange encounter with Regulus Black in the disappearing storage room, and you had somehow gained the undivided attention of Kreacher.

It seemed the barmy elf held some newfound admiration for you since you somehow reunited him with the young master he actually liked.

You were nose-deep in a book about Ancient Property Magic from the Black Library when the elf hesitantly approached you.

"Kreacher has a question for the young blood-traitor."

What a punk.

Placing the book off to the side, you rub the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

How did Hermione go on for hours reading in these conditions?

All the words were blending together and your eyes stung from all the damn dust in the house.

"Hello Kreacher. What do you need?"

"How did the young blood-traitor find Master Regulus? Kreacher doesn't know how Master Regulus is here...Kreacher has failed...Master Sirius is a lawless traitor undeserving--"

"Woah! Okay...while I am not too sure about how exactly I found that room. I suppose it is a good thing you have such er--apprehensions about Sirius. I don't think he would appreciate me breaking into one of the rooms here."

Which was entirely true.

Sirius was off his rocker. The combination of being away from his godson, listening to his mother screech every morning, and having to deal with Molly fussing over everyone was working him up the wall.

You felt almost bad for not telling Sirius about Regulus, but he had plenty on his plate and it felt nice to have something to yourself--your own little summer secret.

Granted, it was more accurate to describe it as a dead-pureblood-heir summer quest. Though, not as weird as giving a troll brain damage in your first year at Hogwarts.

Suddenly, you had a great idea.

"Hey Kreacher, want to go exploring with me?"

The house elf was skeptical for most of your trek upstairs, and he looked positively gleeful when you managed to somehow summon the secret door.

Apparently, Kreacher was magically expelled from the room the moment you left. So you were somehow the key to accessing the missing Young Master.

Before you could even caution the elf or come up with a speech for Regulus, the little thing was already flying for the door knob.

"You are back."

Regulus looked all but the same, except more tired than suspicious this time around.

"Yes. I hope you don't mind that I'm here. I have brought Kreacher as an olive branch to show that I am of no threat."

The boy's eyes flicker towards the unusually silent elf, and then pierces you again. Something akin to amusement danced in his eyes and you were almost offended.

You were no Harry Potter, but you weren't magically inept.

"Answer my question from last time. Who are you?"

"My name is Y/N. I don't know how or why this room exists, and it doesn't seem like Sirius has any knowledge of it. But from the looks of it, I'm the only one who can find this room."

"Sirius? He is alive then?"

Your lip quirks at the remark and you turn your gaze to the ceiling, "Yes, but he isn't quite himself".

"What?"

"Azkaban tends to have that effect."

"What?"

"You've missed a lot, Regulus. Like a lot. You're different from what I've heard though, pleasantly so. After all you haven't called me a foul, loathsome blood traitor. Nor have you tried to preach blood purity to me yet."

Regulus considers you for a few moments, eyes imperceptibly running over your expression. It is only for the briefest moment that you see something comparable to respect shine in his eyes.

Kreacher shifts uncomfortably and looked ready to butthead you, but Regulus interrupts the sudden blanket of silence.

"Kreacher, could you give us some privacy?"

The elf looked ready to vehemently protest in a manner similar to how he denies Sirius, but seemed to remember that he actually gave a flying handle about Regulus‘ opinion of him.

"If you wish, Master Regulus. Kreacher will be outside."

The elf pops away and you turn to maintain steady eye contact with the boy, becoming more intrigued with every passing second.

"You are right. I haven't tried to indoctrinate you or denounce your beliefs. I have been here for a long blur of time. I have had the space to formulate my own thoughts and opinions."

"Oh? A death eater finding salvation and seeing the light. Of course it'd be a feat only achievable through death."

"You speak as though we--they are still at large. Are there still death eaters around?" The disbelief flickering across his face spurred you to entertain him with an answer despite your former apprehension towards him.

"Yes. Many are well and alive. Lucius Malfoy prides himself in being able to circumvent the law and maintain his job in the Ministry despite his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Not that it will do him any good. From what I can deduce, the Dark Lord is not very forgiving."

Regulus looks like he's been suckerpunched in the gut, grimacing at every word that passes through your lips.

"You are right. Lucius will be punished for his treachery. I had hoped that the world would be rid of the Dark Lord after my death."

Confusion passes through you in waves as an indecipherable emotion mars his face.

So he wasn't a valiant supporter of the Dark Lord? Then it would seem the rumors that he was killed by the Dark Lord or his followers have some credibility.

"Well, the Dark Lord was gone, so to speak, for a while at least. It is only as of a few months ago did he come back in full form."

"I see."

"You don't seem surprised. Well, he killed one of my friends and traumatized my best friend so I hope you'll give me permission to wring his neck."

"You're quite vulgar."

"I am a saint compared to your brother, and my vulgarity is very much justified."

Regulus hums in understanding and you could almost see a miniscule smile stretching at his lips.

"Well, for your sake, I hope you never have to come face to face with the Dark Lord."

"I don't have much of a choice, he's been trying to eviscerate my friends and I since we were 11."

"Ah...well it would appear that you are to join me in the afterlife soon then."

"You'd like that wouldn't you? But I have no plans on dying anytime soon."

"Shame."

"Sod off. You're fine on your own...right?"

Dumb question, the man is literally stuck inside a painting in an abandoned secret room.

"It does get a bit lonely. But it is only the punishment for my sins."

"Well, I think you're quite swell. So don't worry, I have the whole entire summer to bother you. Think of it as an added layer of punishment."

"If you insist." His words conveyed exasperation, but the boyish smile that lit up his face told you a completely different story.

You couldn't help but admire his expression, committing it to memory because you were sure that his smiles were a rarity.

Pretty.

Wow. You were absolutely screwed.

[softagenda]

antidote (kuras)

kuras x reader(f)

aphrodisiac au / short fic

series: sweet poison (scenario-based collection of character imagines)

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

You’re an idiot for drinking that. An absolute idiot.

You’re spilled across the floor, head swimming, burning from the inside as though you’d swallowed a star. The velvet rug brushed soft and cloying against your prickling skin as you squirmed, your heart pounding in your ears and beating an insistent rhythm in your groin.

Cooing at you from the table, her cat’s eyes curled in satisfaction, Morgana asked, “Something the matter? You look positively feverish.” She twirled a curly black lock around her finger.

Bitch. 

Paintings of naked people - bathing in springs, dancing around a fire, having an orgy in front of a temple - swirled into one colorful blob as you turned on your side, fisting the rug. You attempted to pull yourself to where you remembered the door but stalled a couple inches in, weak as a newborn kitten and stifling a moan as your body rubbed on the carpet.

“Now, now, where’s the fire? Stay a while.” She rose from her chair and stood over you, her arms crossing under her full chest. “You’re clearly hot under the collar. The thought of you wandering the streets like this concerns me deeply.”

You glared up at her, using every ounce of willpower not to writhe on the floor like a worm on a hook. Your hand felt clumsily around your hip for the dagger. 

“I’ll take that,” she chirped, snatching the weapon from your belt and tossing it behind her. “Can’t have you nicking that lovely skin.” Her heel braced on the other side of you, straddling your back. Her hands tugged the shirt from your waist before dragging warm palms up your back, her nails scratching on the return journey.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan rocketing through your chest, as every nerve in your body vibrated with electric pleasure. Your hips pressed hard into the floor, growing ever desperate for friction even as you struggled to focus.

Morgana sunk her hand into your nape, drawing your hair back from your face. When she leaned down to brush her painted lips against your ear, goosebumps erupted down your neck. “We’ll start with the bandages, shall we?”

____________ prologue end ______________

With her left hand holding your head to the ground, Morgana traced her right across your shoulder, scratching gently at the fabric here and there as though offering scritches along a cat’s back. 

You bit the inside of your cheek until the taste of blood slipped over your tongue. 

Heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs, accompanied by the faint murmur of voices, until the conversation slipped amongst the folds of the curtains. ‘-- with a client right now, but she will address the issue as soon as she is available. So, please - “

A knock sounded at the door.

Morgana froze. Her grip tightened on your neck, nails pricking your skin. 

A woman’s voice pleaded, her voice hushed but increasingly frantic, “Please, sir, the mistress must not be disturbed -” 

“Pardon my intrusion,” said the man, opening the door with only a moment’s pause, clearly not giving a single fuck about his clear intrusion.

You squinted through your hair, recognized the spotless white coat and curling waterfall of hair trailing over his chest, before letting your face fall to the floor once more, a whine of humiliation stifled against the luxurious threads.

Of all people to walk in like this. What must he think of you, trapped under a pleasure house mistress?

“Doctor, while I am forever grateful for your services, I must say this is rather… inappropriate,” Morgana purred, just enough of an edge to her voice to bare her claws. 

Kuras folded one hand on his chest and gave a short bow, his glowing eyes holding hers, his smile sweet. “I do apologize, but I fear the matter is quite urgent. When your employee visited my clinic this afternoon, they appear to have grabbed another patient’s prescription.”

She froze. “Oh?”

“Yes. This patient suffered from infection of the stomach, brought on by parasitic worms crushed into his food. I had a vial of evulsion agent waiting for him.” His gaze swept the room perfunctorily, passing over the massive bed piled with silks, the open chest of brightly colored sex toys, and the lurid paintings on the wall without batting an eye, before settling on the table, where the bottle of aphrodisiac had tipped on its side..

Kuras strode into the room, skirting around your tangled form, his brow furrowing slightly. “Ah.”

Morgana shifted uneasily, inadvertently sending a shiver down your back. “What?” She paused. “Was that not Fever Dream?” 

With a hum in the back of his throat, the doctor stepped back and stared down into your face, his expression purely clinical. “Do you know how much she consumed?”

“... at least half.”

“Ah.”

“What’s going to happen?” All lustre and verve had dropped like a stone from her voice. Her hands still pinned you in place, but her palms curled away like she was touching something contagious or slimy. “What are the side effects? She seemed fine - no different from the usual effects of the drug.”

“Well, I suppose the initial symptoms present in similar ways. Fever, confusion, muscle weakness, temporary loss of motor function.” Kuras paused then added, “Treatment of parasitic infestation of the stomach naturally involves expulsion of the organisms.”

The body hovering on your back vanished in a heartbeat. 

“She’s about to start vomiting?” Morgana snapped her fingers at the woman lingering in the doorway. “Imelda. Carry her to the back entrance, now.”

Kuras interrupted with a wave of his hand. “No need.”

Polished white boots stopped inches from your hand, twisting feebly in the rug. With a feeble twist, you met his gaze, teeth gritted against the fire swimming in your veins. 

“Do not be afraid. I can treat what ails you,” he consoled, the essence of civility and professionalism, but for his eyes, the gold brimming with hidden amusement. His arms slipped under your shoulders and knees, lifting you up to his chest with ease. “My lovely patient.”

“Thank you for your quick handling of the situation, Doctor,” Morgana said, trailing behind as Kuras turned on his heel and strode out of the room. “Is the rest of the order contaminated, or just the one bottle?”

“The rest should be fine.” 

Not soon enough, he stepped out onto the street. Cool air washed over you in a wave, exhuming the heavy incense and smoke from your lungs and nose. Your legs and outside arm swayed with every step, draped over him like a limpet. Cheek pressed to his chest, you could smell the scent of herbs and magnolia pressed into his clothing - maybe his skin, after all this time. 

Your nose pressed into the crook of his neck before you could stop yourself. Your mouth opened, lips brushing against his skin, wrestling desperately with the temptation to lick, to taste.

“Kuras,” you said, breathless, voice cracking. 

He watched you from above, with that impartial curiosity he had always affected when working with patients, except his eyes. The intensity, unblinking and frightening, of those golden eyes reached deep down into your gut with fear and arousal.

His mouth curved at the edges. “You must be feeling the effects quite strongly now.” His head lowered until his breath drifted over your ear. “Feverish. Elevated pulse. Heightened arousal,” he murmured, velvet smooth.

A full-body shudder wracked through you. 

Kuras smiled. “Once we return to the clinic, I can administer the antidote.” At your confused look, he added, “the privacy of my patients is of the utmost importance. My tendency has never trended toward exhibitionism.”

_______________________________

a/n: thanks for reading!

[honestlydarkprincess]

writing patterns

tagged by @wikiangela !!

rules: share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shootin' stars

When Buck had agreed to change flights because of overbooking, he hadn’t been told that the flight they wanted him to switch to wasn’t for another four hours. He was exhausted. He had already waited for his connection and now he had to wait even longer? By the time he boards the new flight its with a scowl and bloodshot eyes. He had spent his four hour wait sipping shitty coffee, draining the battery on his phone, and fighting a migraine.

that should have been plan A

Jake knew he was running late, that he was supposed to have met the other Daggers about thirty minutes ago, but he had had a bit of a fashion emergency.

this is gonna get long so to save ur dash i'll be the rest under the cut!

don't let go

“Well, that was a fucking exhausting shift,” Buck groaned, following Eddie into the Diaz house.

you chase away the pain

Gwen hummed to herself as she walked to her lady’s chambers, a pep in her step that was always there when she was about to see Morgana. Her crush was a doomed one, there was no way that Morgana would ever feel the same way towards her, but she couldn’t help it. Morgana was beautiful, strong, and kind. Who wouldn’t fall for her?

i only want you

Clarke had known it was a stupid idea to go to the party. She didn’t want to go to a party in the first place but Finn had insisted and Clarke had given in, desperate to try and make things work with him. She didn’t like him all that much but at least he was a distraction from her soul crushing crush on Bellamy Blake, her best friend’s older brother. Bellamy was a few years older than them and lived off campus while Clarke shared a dorm with Octavia, his sister.

think pawsitive

“Maddie, you don’t understand, he’s being weird,” Buck whined, throwing up his arms as he paced in front of the TV. He turned towards his sister and raised a brow. “Are you even listening to me?”

a gift i've never gotten before

Buck was nervous.

until you're feline better

“Alright, Ember, what do you think?” Buck asked, turning around and facing the kitten— who was starting to outgrow the title of kitten— that was perched on his bed, watching him intently. Buck was getting ready for a date with Tommy— it was their six month anniversary and Tommy said that he wanted to take Buck someplace special so Buck had gotten dressed up.

and it was purrfect

Buck was exhausted.

you gotta be kitten me

A few weeks after Tommy had turned his world upside down— in the very best way, of course— Buck was walking with him after a lovely dinner and trying to work up the courage to grab his hand. They walked side by side, shoulders brushing, and Buck was very aware that Tommy was right there, that he could just reach out and grab his hand and there was nothing stopping him. He could hold his boyfriend’s hand if he wanted to. That never failed to make him smile— he had a boyfriend now. They hadn’t talked about labels yet but internally Buck had started to think of Tommy as his boyfriend. He just hadn’t gotten the courage yet to ask him. First he’d work on holding his hand, then he’d ask about having the boyfriend talk.

wow okay the pattern is that i like a long ass intro

n ee way

tagging: @bigfootsmom, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @lonelychicago, @monsterrae1, @watchyourbuck

@father-salmon, @underwaterninja13, @devirnis, @itdoesntrhyme, @insecuregodcomplex

@thiamsxbitch, @remembertheskittles, @maygrantgf, @beyourownanchor6, @exhuastedpigeon

[awriternamedart]

“He needs to be stopped.”

“Whadda want me to do about it?!”

“I dunno, but you gotta do something!!” Futaba whined, clinging to Ryuji sleeve. “He’s become a monster!”

They both glanced back to the middle of the room where Akira sat with Ann, Yusuke, and Makoto- all of them groaning in sync as Akira set down another eight- flushing out the cards with a smirk.

It was true- in terms of Tycoon, Akira had become scarily good. It was borderline terrifying, he seemed to know everyones tells- and showed no mercy to anyone. Anyone.

Akira placed down his final four cards, leaving the rest scrambling as he called a revolution. He proudly sat back, the title of Tycoon still sitting proudly with him- round 2 being yet another victory for him.

“See?? Cmon, Ryuji- you're like, the only one who can save us here!” As the rest finished off the round, Ryuji pulled his hand to the back of his neck, groaning.

“Cmon, ‘Taba, what can I even do?? Ya know well as I do that breakin ‘Kira outta a focus is a pain in the ass!” He bemoaned- besides, he had already had his own ass kicked multiple times in Tycoon, and not just by Akira. He showed no weakness to anyone, not even his best friend turned boyfriend.

“Which is why we catch him off guard.” The grin on Futaba’s face suddenly sharped, a wicked look that almost seemed to reflect Akira’s for a second. Ryuji felt a shiver shoot down his back- god no, there were two of them now.

“..whaddya mean by that.”

“What I mean is that we gotta do a major sneak attack on his ass. Ambush him just enough to throw him off his game and give literally anyone, mostly me, but anyone a chance to win! So heres the plan…” By now, their vicious whisper arguments had dragged some minor attention, but they both shut up as the final round ended, Akira once again being placed as the Tycoon.

“Ugh, no fair!” Ann whined, tossing her remaining cards onto the pile. “Begger is not fun at all.”

Makoto just sighed, pushing the hair from her face.

“You are seriously too good at this game.”

“Indeed. It's really quite impressive- a display of passion.” Yusuke may have ended up the Poor, but it was better than his usual beggar. He much rather would build a house of the cards, besides. “Exquisite display as always, Akira.”

“Who’s next then?” His grey eyes darted around the room, landing on where Futaba and Ryuji were still huddled up in the corner, their whispered argument having come to a halt. In a few seconds, Futaba bounced up, exclaiming that her turn was next, and that she was gonna take Akira down.

“I have a secret weapon~!” She proclaimed with her whole chest, hands on her hips- glasses falling slightly askew. “You stand no chance, Kurusu!!”

“If you say so.” Without fail, he met her challenge, shuffling the deck with ease as she plopped herself on his left. “What about you, Ryuji?”

“Nah, man- I've had enough of gettin my ass kicked.” With a slight chuckle, Ryuji lifted himself from the little corner alcove, grabbin the chair to sit on it. Morgana leapt from his sunbathing spot, exclaiming that he wanted to play- though no one was quite sure how that would work until Haru offered to hold his cards for him.

The final spot was taken by Makoto again, her fiery desire to take the crown from Akira once and for all still shining bright.

And so, the round began yet again, Futaba starting them off. It was an average round, Akira quickly taking control of the turns to get as many cards down as he could. It was fascinating to watch, the ease in which he took everyones attacks into stride- quickly twisting them to his advantage. In a card game of all places, Akira’s abilities truly shone.

Not like Akira had gotten a great hand, either- Ryuji peered over his shoulder, grimacing slightly at the cards Akira held. Not a great start, but Akira made it look effortlessly easy- manipulating the cards just right to force others to place their highest cards.

And when Akira pulled a stop to the round that looked like Morgana could take by slamming down his three of spades- they all collectively groaned, knowing this round was over.

“You are too good.” Makoto sighed as she took Rich, placing her final card she had been holding for far too long. Morgana-Haru duo took Beggar, and Futaba placed Poor, making her grumble as she hid her face in her knees- eyes narrowly taking in the sight before her.

“About that secret weapon, ‘Taba-”

She shot Akira a glare, making him laugh a bit as he finished shuffling. He handed the deck to Haru, letting her deal the stacks, customary of beggar.

“Just you wait. Your goin down, pretty boy.”

“You think I'm pretty?”

“Ugh, gross!”

The entire team had to hide a laugh as Akira faked a pout, Futaba just sticking out her tongue at him. Both took their hands from Haru, who was still giggling a little before she began to organize Morgana’s hand for him.

Ryuji’s leg started bouncin.

As Morgana began the round, he could feel his cheeks light up, not failing to notice the sideways looks Futaba was giving him. They had a deal, he couldn’t back out now- besides, it would be nice to see literally anyone win other than Akira. Sure, he was datin the guy- but other people deserved at least a chance, right? Thats what the Phantom Thieves did, gave the chance to the good people in the world.

So about halfway through the round, Futaba whined out an elongated version of Akira’s name- the signal.

Red flooded his neck and cheeks as he meandered up from where he sat, rubbing the short hairs on the back of his neck. Ugh, was he really goin through with this.. ?

Akira looked back, Ryuji comin up directly behind him.

“Yuji? Whats wrong?”

“Nothin, man.” Miraculously, he managed to keep his voice even, lips twisting into a scowl as Futaba snickered. Tiny gremlin.

“Oh, then, let me finish-”

He didnt get a chance to turn back to the game, Ryuji leaning over his shoulder and catching him off guard. Akira’s eyes widened as his glasses were knocked askew, the entire team going dead silent as Ryuji pulled back from placing the kiss on Akira’s lips.

“Im uh- Im gonna go grab some more snacks. Ill be back.” Despite the red on his face, Ryuji barely managed to play it off, a shaky shark grin dancing on his face as he got back up. It didnt take much for him to skid down the stairs- stealing a glance at Akira as he dashed down.

His glasses were still askew, eyes open in what could only be described as shock.

By the time he was down the stairs, he kinda lamented not looking longer- was his face pink, or red maybe? He was pale as eff, so Ryuji’s bet was on red- just how red was what he didn't quite know.

He idly shifted through the fridge, right- snacks. Where had..

Luckily, Boss had shut down the cafe for the night hours ago. They had all been lingering, since Akira was on room lock right now. Still had people thinkin he was as dead as could be.

“You’re mean.”

Looking up from where he had his head practically buried in his backpack, Ryuji felt a grin on his face grow upon seeing Akira at the base of the stairs. Mussed up black hair n all, glasses discarded who knows where- and pink rouge still lingering in his cheeks.

“Sorry, man- Futaba offered me a good deal on an exclusive manga she got her hands on.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. God, he needed a haircut. “Didja win?”

“..no.” Rolling his eyes, Akira finally stepped onto the cafe floor, leaning on the bar. “The secret weapon worked.”

He got a laugh at that, before tugging out a pack of salty snacks he had and tossing them at Akira’s chest.

“Sorry, dude- someone had to humble you eventually.”

“Oh, cause my ego is practically soaring above yours.” He snorted, catching the pack and easily tearing open the side. “How mean of you to absolutely crush it like its nothing.”

“Hey! If ya wanna blame someone, blame the gremlin!”

“But my beloved boyfriend betrayed me.”

Ryuji just rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t a bone in his body that could retort to that, face lighting on fire as he tried to laugh it off.

“Cmon, man- yknow I wouldn't do that.”

“...Yeah, I know.” The sudden softness in Akira’s voice made Ryuji’s head dart up, surprise dancing across his tan face.

It was quickly clouded up by black hair, that damned, piercing stare looking at him as a quick kiss was pressed to his lips again, red splotches immediately growing across his neck and cheeks- but he wasted no time in returning the favor, rolling his eyes as he felt Akira snicker. Bastard.

-

The Secret Weapon- Your Brother's Boyfriend

awriternamedart

[coredetenebris]

Okey- so I was on a plane yesterday and got this random idea of wizards having to use a plane after ep 17 to run away from Gardenia since they didn’t have magic. And since the flight was boring I decided to write this down, so here we go.

Ogron vs Planes

Ogron was sweating, it wasn’t easy to stress him out in any situation, but he was not used to this. They were currently waiting for Duman who activated the metal detector for the fifth time.

„You were supposed to take out your piercing before we walk through this” Anagan whined looking at the time.

„Upssssss~” Duman smiled, but finally the security let them go, checking their documents one more time. Ogron felt his stomach turn at this, Anagan’s fake documents he always pulls up for them were never detected but if they were… in the past they could teleport, now on the other hand….. Ogron cursed the Winx.

„Earth to Ogron” Duman poked his arm.

„Huh?”

„We’re good, we can go now” ‚Great, just great’ Ogron thought. He has never been on a plane, he never had to, he could just teleport. Before the flight Duman hastily explained him everything (god knows why he ever used planes) but it was not enough.

He hurried after the rest trying to listen to their conversation instead of his thoughts.

„-because it’s expensive and you want me to pay” Gantlos exclaimed with annoyance.

„But Gantlooooos I will fall asleep, buy me coffee or buy me a pillow” Anagan said looking at the cafe display.

„You really think a latte will keep you from falling asleep?”

„Who said I want latte?-”

„Guys, we have fifteen minutes so decide quickly” Duman said looking at one of the screens with (for Ogron) unreadable sets of numbers and letters.

„Pleaseeeeeee Gantlos” Anagan started giving Gantlos puppy dog eyes.

„…..”

Ogron watched Gantlos ordering Anagan’s coffee still trying to calm his nerves before getting on a 250-ton pile of metal that will throws him 12000 meters in the air without his magic.

„You good?” Anagan’s voice summoned Ogron to reality.

„I’m fine” He snapped looking out of the window at a few planes standing innocently on their parking places.

„….Okey” Anagan didn’t seem convinced but he forgot about it once Gantlos give him his coffee. They all wondered around for some time until Duman said it’s time for boarding.

Ogron sighed trying to act casual around mortals. He somehow managed to use a qr-code to unlock an automatic door, show his ID card and ticket, run after Duman to the taxi bus, get into the plane and finally…he needed to find his seat.

„23B….What does that supposed to mean?”

„Just follow me, I’m 23A” Said Duman with a mischievous smile. Ogron sighed internally. ,Maybe being killed by Morgana isn’t such a bad idea after all’

He followed Duman to their seat, Ogron was in the middle with Duman on his right, Anagan on his left and Gantlos in front of them. Duman looked out the window with excitement.

„We ask that you please fasten your seatbelts at this time and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. We also ask that your seats and table trays are in the upright position for take-off. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones” Said a voice through the speaker.

„If you won’t do this you will fly away when the plane lifts-off-”

„Duman stop stressing him out” Said Anagan seeing that Ogron was clinging to his armrests.

„I’m not stressed out” Ogron snapped again, his grip tightening when he felt the plane drove up to the runway. The engine roared starting acceleration for lift-off. In a few seconds the plane lifted and started climbing. Ogron felt a wave of nausea washing over him, his ears popping.

„Hey- it’s okay” Anagan said gently, only then Ogron noticed he held his arm in a death grip. He flushed.

„Of course it is” He said quickly letting go of Anagan.

„Ogron look! It’s our warehouse” Duman said glued to his window. ‚This is going to be a long flight..’

But for the next half an hour Duman was calm except for a few ‚ohh and ahh” as he watched the world beneath them. Ogron managed to calm down a little. He occupied himself with watching some couple drama a few seats in front of him.

„Gantlos! Gantlos, Snack cart!”

„No”

„But Gantlos-„

„We just eat one hour ago and food here is expensive” Gantlos said firmly. Anagan sunk into his seat with disappointment. For a few minutes they sat in silence. The soap opera that Ogron was watching seemed to reconcile. He started to look for some new form of entertainment until-

„Ogron!” Duman exclaimed in a theatric whisper „I think- I think something is sitting on the wing”

„WHA-„

„Duman stop it!” Anagan hissed sending Duman into a laughing fit.

„This is not funny-” Ogron blushes again.

„You should’ve seen your face-”

„Shut it! All of you” said Gantlos.

„How much longer?” Ogron asked, just wanting this to be over. At this moment the voice from the speakers spoke.

„We are approaching landing in about 15 minutes”

Ogron sighed with relief, but then-

„Please remain seated and fasten your seatbelts, possible turbulences ahead”

‚The universe hates me- doesn’t it?’ Ogron thought fastening his seatbelts and gripping his armrests again.

When the turbulence began, Ogron decided (was forced to) let go of his pride as he clung to Anagan breathing wildly. Anagan hugged him trying to calm him down at the same time giving Duman a ‚Don’t you even dare speak’ glare.

Fortunately, even Duman seemed to be uncomfortable during the turbulences so he kept quiet.

After what seemed to be forever, the turbulences stopped and they started to descend slowly. but Ogron stayed glued to Anagan till they hit the ground and stopped.

As they finally stood on the ground again Ogron hissed „We shall never speak of this again, we will go back via train or we won’t come back at all, understood?!”

The rest nodded in unison.

[apostlearcana]

🌸 - the scribbles of a madwoman trying to figure out an angry wolf's voice.

"You're nothing but a stain on our name!"

No. No, he never- he didn't-

"All you do is whine and complain, and I'm trying to catch him. I need time!"

He couldn't—

"So why don't you just fuck off and leave me alone while I clean up the mess you've made of our FAMILY, Akane!"

Joker gripped the knife, preparing to summon Raoul before a figure blitzed past him and sliced at the Lock Keeper with an unmistakable cry of anger. The right blade connected with the greatsword, the combatant shaking as he pushed into the sharp edge.

"Shut. Up."

Wolf's eyes blazed sky blue, lips peeled back in a snarl. "I'm not that man- she's been misremembering that night. This whole time."

"You believe her memory is tainted? How CUTE."

"VALJEAN!"

The scream tore through his throat, Megido blinding the small group as Wolf slammed his sword down on the Lock Keeper's once more with gritted teeth. "I won't let this FUCKING memory be skewed!"

Wolf landed on his feet, swinging the sword once again across his body with another howl. Noir had stopped attacking, eyes wide with shock as Morgana and Joker watched the newest Thief tear into his prey much like his namesake.

"I'M NOT THAT MAN ANYMORE! I'VE CHANGED. I'LL PROVE IT- RIGHT NOW!"

[morgana-ren]

Alrighty, everyone mute me here cause I'm about to go on a tirade.

Look, I've been playing video games since I was young. Very young. Probably too young, if we're being completely honest. We had an old Nintendo 64 from my step-dad's youth that I used to play religiously. I played my ps2 for hours and hours a day as a way to cope with a.. shall we say unstable household. I had Gameboy Advanced, Gameboy color, all the way up to Nintendo DS to the switch. This is something I've been doing since I was barely old enough to speak. I used to get games at Blockbuster, okay? I played the OG Baldur's Gate and Neverwinter Nights on a clunky old computer. Even when we were flat-busted ass broke with absolutely no money to spare, I would play at friend's houses. I would play old AV consoles on those fat ass TVs. It's my oldest hobby besides reading, is the point here.

My point is I'm old enough to remember when gaming was a niche hobby that you could actually get bullied for. It was back when studios made games mostly out of passion, and not to sell to a broader audience. There wasn't really even such a thing as microtransactions. You bought a full and complete game. Blizzard released good products, actually (unbelievable, I know.) Games knew their audience, and there wasn't necessarily an assload of money in it, so it was mostly made out of love for the games and their community.

Gaming has grown in popularity over the last 10-20 years, and that can be an excellent thing! Really! It can be! But Baldur's Gate 3 winning game of the year brought something to my attention that has been driving me mad for a few days now. It's a concept I've found myself repeating for a long time, but barely just sort of sat down to analyze it:

Not everything is for you.

The last few winners of GOTY have had some... sour people be very upset. Not that this is uncommon, but especially the last few years. People saying Elden Ring is 'too hard,' people saying that Baldur's Gate 3 is nothing but pedantic dice rolls, etc. People who, in general, were very unhappy that these games did not appeal to them in particular, and they were very vocal about how these games should be changed to appeal to them personally.

What I'm saying is that these people, along with most others, were not there during the days of niche gaming, where when you didn't like a game, you didn't necessarily throw a tantrum and stamp your feet and demand that these games aren't good and that they need to change, but rather, you just... didn't play them. They weren't made for you.

We live in an age where absolutely everything is being scraped for every last dollar. Games that used to be made out of passion for their communities are now being made to sell, sell, sell as many copies as physically possible to everyone. If it won't pander to every last person, it's not going to be made. Things are being 'streamlined' to make the games appeal to anyone and everyone who might play them.

'Streamlined' in this case, means 'dumbed down.' As Bethesda famously says, KISS: Keep It Simple Stupid.

Games that used to be a little bit more 'niche' and 'complex' like Morrowind, are now games like Skyrim, that are dumbed down to sell to everyone. They remove a lot of the aspects that made them beloved in the name of 'garnering a new and broader audience.' Older folks, adults, children, everyone. But this attitude of inclusivity isn't as great as it might seem initially. It isn't done out of community. It is done to get absolutely every last person possible to empty their wallet at the altar. To get every last fucking dollar out of everyone.

Games are passionless money pits. They sell you a half-baked, simple product that insults your intelligence. It's impossible to fail quests, because God forbid one person doesn't like that and asks for their money back. They won't touch on complex topics, because they don't want to cause a controversy that might drain their prospective bank account. They can't make things so intricate that God forbid a toddler might not understand them. They are milquettoast, miserable little games that appeal not even to people who enjoy games, but rather, people who don't.

Yes, they are making games to try and get money from people who don't even like them. They can't make anything nuanced or put a learning curve or put any actual work or fun into the game, because people who don't actually like playing games might realize "Hey, actually, I'm not enjoying this at all." and not give anymore money.

I'll get to the point.

Games being disliked by certain people is a good thing. It means those companies were unwavering on their vision and their loyalty to their fans. It means it was a game made from passion, and not just to be marketed and sold to literally every living person. They were made with their communities in mind, and no offense, but if you aren't one of the people that likes the things those communities stand for, maybe you should seek it elsewhere rather than trying to change something someone loves to suit you instead. You are not the demographic here.

You hear people that hate turnbased saying that Baldur's Gate 3 should not have been turnbased. Guess what? That's literally DnD. It's a DnD game. Don't like the lack of day cycles? Again, that's long resting in DnD. Pedantic dice rolls? That's fucking DnD, baby. Maybe you don't like it, but just because the game got popular does not mean it was made for you. Too much gay? Go away. Baldur's Gate was not made to sell copies to everyone. In fact, it was a relatively niche prospect that gained massive popularity near the end because of a scandal. I've been with them since Patch 2 of Early Access, and it very much was a passion project by people who loved DnD and TT games. They did not think it was going to hit this level of popularity, and they stuck to their guns even when it did. I cannot tell you how rare and remarkable that is.

Dark Souls is too hard? Maybe it's not the game for you. If you don't like certain design aspects, that's fine and okay! But Miyazaki and Fromsoft should not be forced to change their vision of their passion project because you personally do not like it. It was around before you, and they have a loyal community that does love the game just how it is. If you want a game with a difficulty slider, maybe you should play a game that has one. I'm sorry if you don't like the fundamentals of the game, but they exist for a reason, the community likes it, and no, it's not just for elitist reasons like I see all too often. You just do not understand because you don't like the game and do not like being told no for once by a company that has integrity.

I'm not trying to insult you. I'm being honest when I say that it's an attitude that is expected in the current climate where everything is changed when people complain the loudest because changing it means more money, and more money is the goal. These people are not your friends. Do not forget that. They are not changing it because they care about you. They are changing it because they think they can con you out of another dime.

People have a masochistic relationship with these companies. They have gotten used to being pandered to. They have gotten used to being sold a shitty game that everyone from their grandmother to their toddler niece and nephew can beat. And no, there's nothing wrong with games for everyone. But it's not because they wanted to make a game for everyone. It was because they wanted everyone's money.

People make hour long youtube videos about how Baldur's Gate would have been better if it was real time, and if it was more like this game and that game (namely games that pander to everyone) and then, in the same week, release a video bewailing that all games are so bad now and they don't understand why. They grasp that greed has a part in it, but they don't understand that they are directly contributing to the problem.

Games are bad because when everything is for everyone, nothing is truly for you. You won't have a chance to be passionate about anything, because on the off chance you find something you love, you will inevitably watch it die the same way that those of us who have been here forever did, because someone outside of the community doesn't like it, so it has to go because Christ forbid they don't sell two more copies.

And no, I am not talking about 'woke' or 'political correctness' so you alt-right weirdos can keep the fuck off of this post. I am talking about things like a lack of quest markers. Complex puzzles that you can fail. Political nuance. Things that take brainpower and are fun but not everyone likes.

Maybe not everything is for you. Maybe a game is allowed to exist even if you don't like it. Maybe communities are allowed to have their thing while you have yours. Maybe you have gotten so used to being pandered and catered to with every game being this blase, half-baked experience that is sorta liked by most, but... beloved by none. It's a forgettable, boring experience that garners no real loyalty, but at most a "Ha, that was alright." And then you put it on the shelf never to touch it again.

It means these companies aren't thinking of money; they are thinking of their communities. They are thinking of their fans and the people who love their games. Every time Miyazaki says 'no' to changing the formula that we love about his games, he is thinking of his loyalty to his community and his passion to the game. When Sven refuses to change aspects of the game to suit people who don't like DnD, he is staying loyal to the DnD community.

More companies should be doing this. Not less.

But consumers need to remember that one little creedo: Not everything is for me.

It can exist and I can exist. I do not have to play it and I do not have to enjoy it. It doesn't mean that it's bad. It means it's not for me. And that's fine.

[adhd-merlin]

Awake

Fill for @merlinmicrofic prompt 'Awake’, Morgana & Gwen, Gen, 100 words

When Morgana opens her eyes, there's darkness.

At her back, a cold wall. Water trickles down her manacled wrists. Something shifts against her thigh, whining pitifully.

Then stone grinds against stone, uncovering a crescent of night sky.

In the feeble moonlight, Morgana meets the gleaming eyes of a skeletal creature.

She screams.

“Morgana!" A familiar voice — a beloved voice. "It's a dream. Only a dream.”

Later, as she observes Gwen's sleeping face in the moonlight, Morgana savours the memory of Gwen saying her name — not “my lady”.

It brings her a peace she could never hope to find in slumber.

[angelynmoon]

"We're not calling Merlin." Arthur said as he stared at the mess of his Castle, "He deserves time away with Lancelot."

"But it's not coming off." Gwaine whined as he scrubbed.

"I know." Arthur said, "But if we call him he'll never let us babysit again."

"What do you think he'll do when he comes back tomorrow and sees the state of the Castle?" Gwaine asked as he threw his rag in the bucket and gestured, "He has been gone a day and look."

Arthur looked and sighed, the twins had seen not having their parents around as permission to use their Magic as they pleased and now every wall in the Castle was painted with a variety of colors and scenes, although, Morgana, Leon, and Elyan had caused a fair bit of the mess.

It hadn't stopped there either, the terrors had gone on a rampage and caused a dough explosion in the kitchens and the laundry was ruined, whites had been washed with a load of red Camelot capes and now all the knights' linens were an uneven pink color.

They had terrorized the chickens and Arthur thought Effie may have even hunted one for their dinner.

And now the group was nowhere to be found, Arthur had every one of his knights looking for them, though he knew Elyan would keep the children safe, the last thing Arthur needed was for them to still be missing when Lancelot and Merlin came back tomorrow.

"I don't know how Merlin keeps the Castle running." Arthur said, "He's been gone a day and everything is broken."

"You should give him a raise." Gwaine said as he looked at the wall they had been scrubbing, "Do you suppose we can just leave it and say we were encouraging the childrens' creativity?"

"Don't you dare." Gwen said as she dropped a clean bucket of water next to them, "You will clean this or paint the wall a solid color."

"Yes, ma'am." Gwaine said as he returned to his task.

"Have they been found?" Arthur asked as he continued as well.

"No, but one of the maids said Elyan stopped in the kitchens for snacks and there's been suspicious noises near the library, Geoffery claims he's heard nothing of the sort, and that he hasn't seen them either." Gwen sighed, "We might have to call Merlin."

"We'll never get to babysit again." Arthur cried.

"I know." Gwen agreed as she sat next to Arthur, "I don't know how Merlin does it."

The three of them looked at each other and grinned, "Magic." They said together.

"What about Magic?" Lancelot asked as he and Merlin entered the courtyard.

"Um..." Arthur stood up, hiding his wet rag behind him, "We can explain."

Merlin raised an eyebrow and looked at the walls, "Hmm, looks like Morgana's Magic came back on it's own."

Merlin waved a hand and the children's mischief washed away in a golden river.

"That's not fair." Gwaine whined, "We've been scrubbing for hours."

Merlin laughed, gave Lancelot a kiss and walked off.

In short order Merlin cleaned up the kitchens, righted the laundry and collected Elyan and the children from a hidden room in the library, scolding Geoffery for harboring the fugutives, all of whom Merlin then confined to their quarters, Elyan included.

"How did you know?" Percival asked at dinner, the mischief makers seated on the floor near their responsible adult, Elyan had been assigned a knight to keep him from trouble and was pouting about it.

"Merlin put up a monitoring ward." Lancelot told him.

"What?!" Arthur yelled.

"You didn't trust us?" Gwen asked quietly.

"It wasn't you I didn't trust." Merlin said, gently and looked at his Dragonlings and their co-conspiritors, "With good reason, apparently. Since this was our first trip away, I guessed that their might be a revolt against whoever was left in charge."

"The day away was nice though." Lancelot said, "Next time we'll get Hunith to come. She raised you after all, she could probably handle it."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at his Mate.

"Are you implying I was worse than two hatchlings, a child Morgana, an impulsive knight and Leon?" Merlin asked.

"No, I'm sure you were worse." Lancelot said and dodged Merlin's swipe, "Merlin, you convinced me to commit identity fraud not even a full day after we met, not to mention every thing else you've done to keep Arthur safe and Camelot standing."

Merlin glared but sighed, "Alright, that's fair."

"Can we go back a moment? You commited identity fraud?" Gwaine asked, voice an octive higher than it usually was.

"I mean, we met in a tavern brawl, Gwaine, I'm not sure what you expected." Merlin pointed out.

"Next thing you know you'll cop to an assassination attempt on the king!" Gwaine cried.

"Well..." Merlin started.

"It wasn't an assassination attempt." Arthur snapped.

"It was just a fight in the lower town, at least their second meeting was." Gwen threw them under the wagon, "Although, Merlin did throw a puch at him during their first meeting."

"He deserved it." Merlin grumbled, "There was no need for him to be throwing knives at a servant."

"He had a shield." Arthur protested.

"Stop digging, Arthur." Gwen patted his hand soothingly.

"I've learned so much." Percival said quietly as Gwaine stared into space in shocked silence while Elyan looked at Merlin with new eyes.

Lancelot, however, looked at Merlin the same as always, besotted and willing to follow him wherever he might lead him.

--

A/n: so Merlin amd Lancelotxs vacation was cut short because their Chaotic children were left unsupervise, Theron was an angel and tucked away in a baby wrap the whole fic that's why no mention, he slept most of the time so.

[thegainingdesk]

The Crossroads of the Goddess

Zach heard the front door open and close, and frantically shoved his erection into his pants and buttoned up his trousers. Zach took one last look at the image on his phone, a man easily weighing over 400 pounds, hoisting his gut up with one arm, the other arm straining down to grip a small nub of cock still visible poking out of the soft pillow of fat at his groin, before he closed the window, hiding all evidence of his wrongdoings.

"You're back early," Zach said to Ellis as he came down the stairs.

"You're one to talk" Ellis snapped. "Why aren't you at the gym?"

Zach stifled a sigh. It was going to be one of those evenings. "I just think I pulled a tendon, I was going to take it easy for a while," he lied.

Ellis scoffed. "Do you really think that's a good idea? Do you remember what you looked like when we started going out? That gross little pot belly?"

"I remember," Zach said sadly. What Ellis remembered as a pot belly, Zach thought back on as a starter belly, the seed of something that could have been so much more.

"Then you understand why you can't just decide to take days off at the gym." Ellis marched into the kitchen and pulled out two tupperware containers filled with portioned out rice, chicken breast and broccoli. "I'm going to take some out of yours," he told Zach matter-of-factly. "You've not spent the energy at the gym so it'll be excess calories."

Zach felt his stomach ache as he watched the food fall into the bin.

-

"Would you like sex tonight?" Ellis asked bluntly, not looking up from his phone.

Zach looked up from across the room. He was gripping his phone tightly and unnaturally high, so that he was sure his screen was hidden from Ellis. "No, it's fine," he said. "I'm quite tired." He went back to reading a story about a man who was magically gaining one pound a day, imagining himself as the protagonist.

"Okay, that works for me," Ellis replied. "I might go to the gym early tomorrow so that I can get to work and prep for that meeting."

"Oh, umm, yeah. Good luck with that, you'll do great," Zach tried to offer.

Ellis stared. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. Zach recognised the tone Ellis used when he wanted an argument. "Do you think it won't go well?"

"No, that's not what I- I was just trying to say something nice," Zach said quietly.

"Well I don't need luck, I'm good at my fucking job, alright? Why don't you try and remember that while you sleep in the spare room that we can only afford because of my job."

Zach bit his tongue, knowing that pointing out that his job paid more than Ellis' would just make things worse. "I'm sorry, you're right,' he said instead, as he did so often.

Ellis left the room in a huff.

Zach rubbed his face with his hands and stood up to get some bedding for the spare room.

-

A woman stood at the crossroads in front of Zach. Despite the cold wind he felt through his pyjamas, her long dress and hair were unmoving. Zach almost began to think she was a statue until she began to speak.

"I am Morgana, Zachary. We have both been brought here by the Goddess to this space between time." Her voice was imperious, strong and clear. Zachary thought he could hear the ocean in it, could hear memory and mercury and power. As he approached, she smelled of gunpowder and ancient forests. "Actually, could we speed this up? I know you're in awe and stuff but actually I've got this date with this hot lesbian who looks like Aubrey Plaza and I'd quite like to go get eaten out, if it's all the same to you." Zach could hear impatience in her voice now, and a slight whine.

"Am I dreaming?" Zach asked.

"Are you- is he dreaming, he fucking asks," the woman, Morgana, said. "You went to sleep, right, and now you're stood at a misty crossroads with a mysterious and powerful woman. Yes you are fucking dreaming." She felt distinctly less mysterious and powerful now, but Zach thought it better not to say anything.

"This doesn't feel like a normal dream," Zach said.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "You've read the Sandman? Or at least seen the show?"

"I'm listening to the audioboo-"

"Oh, I haven't listened to them yet, are they good? It's that sort of shit, anyway. Dreams define reality, reality defines yada-yada-yada." Morgana looked at a watch on her wrist. "Anyway, I've been sent here as an emissary to the Goddess as the patron saint of sad sacks or something, despite the terms of our agreement being quite clear, and previous exchanges being very adequate!" She said this last part up to the sky, her voice raising to its previous grandeur, but still tinged with the whine she'd adopted. She looked back at Zach. "You're not happy," she said simply.

"I'm not happy," Zach replied, just as simply.

"Good," Morgana said. "Not good, sorry, but at least, like, you're the right person."

"No, it's fine," Zach reassured her.

"I'm here to give you a do-over, another chance," she told him. She pulled out a pocket watch from somewhere in her dress. "This dress has pockets!" she told him gleefully. "I'm going to send you back to a point in your life where you made a choice," she continued. "And let you make that choice again, see what might have been. Then I'll bring you back here, and you can decide." She looked closely at Zach.

"Why me?" he asked.

"Because you're sad," she replied.

"But why me?" he repeated. "There's loads of sad people. People who would choose differently. Why me?"

Morgana shrugged. "Luck of the draw, guardian angel, interesting narrative device. Take your pick." She raised the pocket watch. "I hope you make the most of this chance Zach."

The pocket watch opened.

Zach fell, through the ground, through a swirling mass of colour and sounds and smell and sensation. Zach fell through clouds made of time and felt winds made of potential. Zach fell and fell and fell, spiraling so fast and so long he thought he would die. The clouds dissipated, the wind stopped, and he could see the ground below him. He was going too fast, he had to slow down, he could see buildings and streets and gardens and oh god he was going to hit the ground he was going to hit the ground and die and this was it this is how he died the ground was so close now there was nothing he could do he was going to die he was going to die in his pyjamas and the ground was coming closer and closer as it hurtled up to meet him he was about to crash into it and he would die and that would be it.

Zach stood outside The Rabbit and Stoat, a pub he remembered fondly from his time at uni. Wasn't he dead? He was sure he was about to die. He didn't feel dead.

He looked down at himself. He was wearing his favourite shirt from uni. Light blue with little pictures of otters all over it. What had happened to this shirt? His jeans were tight as well, far tighter and sexier than he'd wear nowadays. In fact, wasn't this-

"My date outfit," Zach said out loud to himself. "This is my old date outfit, I'm about to go on a date."

"Good for you love," an old woman said as she walked past.

Zach examined himself in the reflection of a nearby shop window. His skin looked youthful and fresh, and he laughed as he caught sight of the wispy stubble that grew along his sharp jawline, remembering how proud he was of what was in hindsight, barely a beard at all. His hair was the same dark orange he remembered, although perhaps his hairline was a little fuller and further down than he was used to.

There was nothing else for it. Zach squared his shoulders and walked forwards through the door, and looked around. Morgana said he'd be going into his own past, so he should recognise someone surely. And old flame? Some poor Grindr date he'd met once and rejected?

Zach froze when he spotted him. Josh. Sat nursing a pint and eating a bag of pork scratchings, handsome and tall and bearded and… well, and fat. A gut hung over his waistline, his shirt hugged his torso, and a heavy beard failed to hide heavy cheeks.

Josh was where it had started. The gainer porn, the stolen glances at beer bellies and dad bods in public, the obsession with all things fat. His relationship with Josh, all too brief, was the spark that ignited it all.

Josh was also where it ended. After they broke up, Zach was too scared, too self-conscious, to ever act on his desires again. Instead, Zach had to make do with his mind wandering back to Josh time and time again, while he returned to convention and expectation.

Josh had spotted him, and he raised his hand in greeting, a smile further rounding out his chubby cheeks. Zach forced his legs to move.

"Hi, Josh right?" he asked as he approached.

"Yeah, yeah. Zach?" Josh extended out a large hand, which Zach took. A jolt of electricity ran down Zach's spine. "It's so awkward on a first date isn't it, trying to guess what the other person looks like based off a few pictures."

Zach gave a small, nervous laugh. "Yeah, awkward."

Josh grinned, downed his drink and stood. Zach forgot just how big Josh was. Over 6 feet tall and broad, he'd have been heavy without the gut. Zach's eyes briefly slipped down to the meaty bulge at his crotch.

"I'll get the first round," Josh said with a wide smile. "What'll it be?"

Josh came back shortly after carrying two pints and a bag of scampi fries. Zach was mesmerised by his thick thighs and the pot belly they supported. Josh placed the pints down and settled down himself, grinning at Zach, opening up the bag of crisps and putting them on the table between them.

"So, tell me about this Zach character I keep on heating about," Josh said with a wink as he took his first sip.

The date was as easy and carefree as Zach had remembered. Josh was charming and funny and smart and so very sexy, and Zach felt his confidence growing as the date went on, flirting back, making his own jokes, hell, he even felt pretty sexy himself. Even if this was just a dream, Zach was determined to make the most of it.

As the night wore on, and the two drank more and more, each round accompanied by snacks, it became more difficult to keep their hands off each other. They would steal glances around the bar, checking no one was looking, before grabbing a squeeze of a thigh, or a pec, or of Josh's gut. Eventually, the two couldn't contain themselves, moving into a dark corner to steal a snog. Josh's hand moved slowly across Zach's tented chrotch, and he had to stifle a moan.

"We should go," Zach whispered.

Josh nodding, breathing heavily. "I live round the corner," he said. "If you wanted to?"

Zach didn't reply, simply pulling Josh up with him, and the two stumbled out of the pub laughing.

By the time they'd reached Josh's room, the two couldn't keep their hands off each other, and Josh began to unbutton Zach's trousers before they even got in. "Your housemates…" Zach began.

"Fuck 'em," Josh growled, before continuing with his groping and kissing. The two stumbled through the door, Zach clumsily unbuttoning Josh's shirt, finally getting to run his hands along that wide, heavy gut, sinking his fingers in, feeling the size and weight of it.

Josh smirked. "You like that, do you?" Zach simply nodded and kissed Josh hungrily, never taking his hands off of Josh's gut.

Josh maneuvered Zach backwards and pushed him down. Zach didn't hit the bed. He thought for a second that Josh had miscalculated and pushed him onto the floor, before the room dissolved into clouds, and he fell further and further down. Far above him, Josh seemed to blur and spread like ink in water, until he too eventually joined the storm that Zach was falling through.

He felt his shirt tighten around him, buttons straining against a thickening body. His jeans slid down, until there was a gap of several inches between the waistline and the hem of his shirt. As he fell, he pressed a finger into the fresh fat of his newly grown stomach, watching as it sunk into the second knuckle.

He landed on his feet, still wearing the same clothes, now in his own bedroom from uni. Light streamed in through the wide window he'd loved so much while he lived there, and he stood in front of a full-length mirror.

His shirt and jeans, once his favourite, once a mainstay of dates, were comically small now. A paunch swelled out over his waistline, and buttons gaped around soft flesh. A full-blown muffin top rose like dough between his shirt and jeans, filling a gap that could never hope to be closed.

In the mirror he saw Josh walk up behind him, chuckling. Leaning down, he kissed Zach's neck from behind and stroked Zach's gut with both hands, one finger dancing around his belly button. "Mmm, I'm not sure this fits anymore," Josh teased. Zach could see a smile growing on Josh's face, and his gut pressed into his back. "To be honest, I thought it was a little small when you wore it to that buffet last month, but you were just so cute that I couldn't bear to say anything."

Zach turned around, his face flushing. He remembered this moment, in vivid detail. It had played in his head hundreds of times since. He knew what happened next. He'd stormed out, tearing off the too small shirt and throwing it in the back of a cupboard, never to be seen again. He calmed down, but there was a tension in the relationship from that moment on, and they broke up a few weeks later. It wasn't long before he met Ellis, who whipped him back into shape.

It took a long time for Zach to respond. Eventually his eyes flicked up to meet Josh's. "Do you mind?"

Josh's smile grew wider and he leant into Zach's ear. "I fucking love it," he whispered, before kissing Zach slowly. He pulled back. "But best find another shirt for tonight. I'm not sure the fine patrons of Nandos will appreciate it quite so much, eh?" Zach laughed, relieved. Josh began to unbutton his shirt for him. "You want me to get rid of this for you?" Josh asked.

Zach shook his head. "I might keep hold of it," he said. "A reminder of the good times." He looked into his wardrobe, most of which, he admitted to himself, was no longer fit for purpose. "I'll go through all of this tomorrow though, donate a load to a charity shop." He pulled out a shirt that once fit perfectly, and winked at Josh. "I'm not sure I'll be fitting back into them anytime soon."

The room once again collapsed, and Josh's bulky body dissipated into the ether. Zach felt gravity twist and pull and warp in unfamiliar ways, tossing his body like a rag doll. Just as quickly as it had started, an unfamiliar room coalesced around him.

He found himself lying on his back, Josh straddling his waist above him, holding a box of donuts. Zach could feel Josh's hard cock press into his own, and was surprised to see how close their respective bellies were to touching.

"This is so hot," Josh said, pushing a donut into Zach's mouth. "I can't believe you're finally the same size as me, it's insane." Zach tried to chew, taken by surprise by how forcefully Josh had pushed the pastry in.

He looked down at himself. While he was shocked by Josh's statement - Josh was just so big, they couldn't really be the same size, could he? - he couldn't deny that it was believable. While Josh looked roughly the same size as he remembered him, maybe a little bigger, Zach's own body had swelled in size, his once small paunch now filling his middle and spilling up and out, covering up both his and Josh's cocks from his point of view. Josh's thighs were spread wide to accommodate Zach's fresh girth. Zach knew that Josh still probably weighed a fair bit more, due to having a taller and broader frame, but their guts were very much matched.

Zach swallowed the donut that Josh had fed him, but immediately another one was pushed into his mouth. He tried to speak around it, but only muffled sounds came out. Josh grinned. "Shh, shh, don't worry about a thing, you just concentrate on eating and growing for me." He tossed the now empty donut box to the side. Zach swallowed the barely chewed fried treat, suddenly aware of how tight his stomach felt.

Josh leant over to something on the bedside table, his own gut drooping down as he did so. When he straightened up, he was holding a large jug of some thick, brown liquid. "I blended some Ben and Jerry's into it this time, I think the chunks should have broken up enough."

Zach opened his mouth to respond, but the only thing that came out was a low, rattling burp. "I'm so fat," he said simply, once he'd finished.

Josh grinned and brought the jug closer to Zach's face. "You're so fucking fat," he said. "And this is just the beginning, just you wait and see." He began to pour the shake slowly into Zach's mouth. At first Zach choked a little against the cold, but quickly found his rhythm, muscle memory kicking in. The taste was sweet, and oily, and rich, a mad deluge of flavour and calories. The texture was thick and gritty, so that he had to concentrate on swallowing.

With Josh's free hand he reached down. Zach could feel him searching between the two soft pillows of fat that swaddled their torsos, until he found Zach's hard, leaking cock. He began to pump his hand at the same pace as he rocked his hips, the friction of the two motions working together to make Zach's eyes roll back into his head. He heard Josh moan above him. "You were so skinny," Josh sighed, his voice strained and barely audible. "Now look at you. I thought that I'd just put a bit of a gut on you, get you a few stone heavier, but you wanted it so so much, you just couldn't stop yourse - oh, oh, ohhhhh." The pace of his rocking became erratic as Zach felt a warm wetness spread across his belly. Without stopping his swallowing, he reached up with one hand and rubbed Josh's gut, now comparable to his own. Thankfully, Josh continued his attentions to Zach, and Zach wriggled beneath him until the large jug was completely empty. Josh tipped it up to drain the last few drops, and Zach gasped as he too reached his climax.

Josh rolled off of Zach and lay down next to him, both panting. Zach tangled his fingers through the hair on Josh's belly. "Did you not want to get fatter too?"

Josh laughed. "Would you like that?" he asked, a smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, yeah, I could see myself putting on a bit more. Can't be looking too skinny next to my big man, can I?"

Zach smiled and sat up, surprised and aroused at how much effort it took. "Right then, I'll go get some more ice cream." He turned back to Josh. "It's your turn."

As he reached the door, the room span and fell apart. Clothes formed around his body from the fog around him, and shafts of sunlight came down from below as shadows rose above him, growing higher and higher until-

"Say cheese!" an elderly woman told him, before a bright flash dazed him. The woman shooed him away, before grabbing a small, timid looking woman in the same graduation cap and gown that Zach was wearing and hurriedly taking her picture too.

"Here you go," a man with a receding hairline said to Zach, holding up a tablet to show him a picture of himself against a plain blue backdrop, holding his diploma. "That alright?"

Zach studied the face in the picture. He had to be over 300 pounds, he thought. His cheeks were heavy and round, and while he'd attempted to grow a beard in a clear attempt to hide his double chin, it was far too sparse to do anything to disguise just how plump his face was now.

Josh walked up and kissed his cheek, grinning proudly. "Well done! I was sat with your parents for the ceremony." He gestured over at his parents, both looking a little dismayed at the size of their son.

Zach looked Josh and himself up and down, and realised his parents might have good reason for their dismay. Zach had ballooned, his graduation gown covering him like Homer Simpson in a muumuu. Even Josh, as heavy as his frame naturally made him, probably weighed less than Zach now. Even so, Zach noticed how Josh's suit stretched to accommodate him, and it was clear that Zach's growth was contagious.

"Hullo son," Zach's dad said, walking over with a thin smile and shaking his hand firmly. "We're so proud of you, of course." Zach's mother hung back a little, the slight woman staring silently agog at the size of her son. "We thought we'd take you for some cocktails," his father continued, "to celebrate before we head back home. There's a bar down the road that looks quite nice."

Josh cleared his throat. "Oh, we booked a table at a restaurant, actually Fred. You're more than welcome to join us, of course, we booked it for four."

Zach's dad's face twitched. "A restaurant, of course. Got to eat sometime I suppose." He looked at his wife, who shrugged nervously. "Uhh, yes, we can come along and maybe have something light, can't we Mary? Bit of a funny time to eat isn't, not quite lunch, not quite dinner." He made a show of looking at his watch.

Josh laughed and patted Zach on the shoulder. "Oh, we're not too bothered about mealtimes are we Zach, we just sort of eat when we feel like it."

Zach's mum made a sound like a squeak. "Yes, well, umm, maybe that's something to think about a bit, eh?" his dad said. "Well, we got you something, to say congratulations, anyway, on graduating, and the job." Zach's mum took her cue and pulled a small box out of her handbag.

"Job?" Zach asked, looking confused.

"Merton and Wainwright," his mother said in her small voice, speaking for the first time and handing over the box. "Very prestigious, we really are very proud." She gave a small thin smile and leant up to kiss his cheek, but when she realised she couldn't reach over the swell of his body, settled on patting his arm a few times.

Zach opened the box and looked at the expensive looking watch inside. Merton and Wainwright - not a name he'd thought about in a longtime. He'd interviewed with the law firm shortly before graduating, but their feedback had been that he was bright but lacked a lot of confidence. He'd gone on to get a series of perfectly fine jobs at a number of other firms, never quite settling, until Ellis had kicked up a fuss about not having bought a house yet, so Zach had settled down for a bit of stability, and they'd bought their perfectly nice modern-build in the suburbs.

"Right, yes, of course, Merton and Wainwright," he said. "Thanks so much, the watch is lovely."

"On second thought, maybe best we leave you to it, eh?" Zach's dad said. "I'm sure you've got plenty of friends to see." Zach hugged them both, eclipsing both of their bodies with his, before they awkwardly shuffled off.

"They're not big fans of your new and improved look then?" Josh asked Zach.

Zach shook his head. "You know, that actually might have been the least awkward conversation I've had with them in years."

Josh laughed. "Come on, let's return your cap and gown. I'm hungry, so you must be starving."

Zach reached for Josh's hand, but his fingers passed through, the world once again spinning into a blur. He knew what to expect by now, so just closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the rushing sensation he felt.

He opened his eyes to the bright glare of fluorescent lighting, and the sterile floors of a supermarket. The bottom of his gut was cold, where it hung out of his t-shirt and sat directly on the handle of his trolley. He attempted to lift it off but it was large enough that if his hands could reach the handle, so could his gut, and he had to choose between his gut bumping into it continuously, or laying on top. He elected for the latter.

He walked forward slowly, having to focus on moving each thigh out and forwards, rolling each around the other in a slow, methodical waddle. He could feel his love-handles, each uncovered by his t-shirt no matter how he pulled it down, bounce up and down with each step. He felt something collide with his side, pressing into the wall of flesh like playdough before bouncing away.

He turned to see a man his age apologising. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking at where I was going and I sort of-"

"Ellis?" Zach interrupted.

Ellis looked confused. "Sorry, have we met, I'm not sure that I remember…"

Zach realised his mistake and quickly made up a lie. "No, no, well, yes, but ages ago, some uni party. You went to Newcastle, right?"

Ellis smiled slightly. "Uhh, yeah, that's right. Sorry, I really don't remember your name, you must think I'm so rude."

Zach waved his hand. "It's Zach. Don't worry, we only met briefly, I've just got a good head for names. And anyway," he gestured down at himself. "I look pretty different now."

Ellis gave an unsure chuckle. "Tell me about it," he said, patting his own gut.

Zach looked Ellis up and down, surprised that he wasn't the skeletal gym-bunny he remembered. Ellis was actually fat. Nothing like him or Josh of course, but far fatter than he'd ever expected to see him. Ellis' t-shirt clung to doughy moobs and love-handles, and his arse looked positively gelatinous. The faintest hint of chubby cheeks and a double chin warped the face that was oh-so familiar to Zach.

"Babes, there you are!" Zach looked up to see a god walking towards them, pushing a trolley and smiling at Ellis. The man must have been well over six and a half feet tall, with the muscles of a bodybuilder and a waist smaller than any part of Zach's body. The man's complexion was flawless, his eyes were a dazzling blue, his jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. As he reached Ellis, he reached down and unsubtly squeezed his large, soft arse. "I thought I'd find you in the ice cream aisle." He turned to look at Zach, eyes taking in his body appraisingly. "I see you've met a friend!"

"This is Zach," Ellis said. "We were at uni together."

The marble statue of a man grinned wider. "Well well well, we'll have to invite you round sometime Zach. I'm Dylan. It looks like Ellis could learn a thing or two from you." He peered into Zach's trolley. "And look Ellis! He's got all your favourite types of ice cream as well." He leant down to whisper in Ellis' ear, loud enough for Zach still to hear. "Why don't you go and grab every single thing that your friend has in his trolley for yourself, hey? Would you like that?" Despite speaking to Ellis, he didn't break eye-contact with Zach.

Ellis nodded, and Zach could see him reach down to adjust his crotch, before dutifully obeying, checking Zach's trolley diligently to make sure he didn't miss anything. "Thank you," he said quietly to Dylan.

"What was that Ellis? I couldn't hear you," Dylan said loudly, smiling down at the shorter man.

"I said thank you sir," Ellis said, flushing bright red.

"What manners! Well Zach, lovely to meet you," he reached out and shook his hand. "Hopefully you'll be seeing a lot more of Ellis in the near future." He reached down and stroked one of Ellis' love handles, causing his t-shirt to ride up and expose soft, pale lard.

"Christ," Zach heard Josh say behind him. "Who was the giant?" He turned to see Josh with an armful of biscuits, which he tipped into the trolley.

"New boyfriend of someone I met at uni," Zach said, watching the two of them walk away. "And I don't think he was that big, was he?"

"Well no, I reckon weight-wise we probably both had him beat." Josh shook his own gut, mammoth by most standards, but dwarfed by Zach's. "Tall though. And hot. Will we see them again do you reckon?"

Zach shrugged. "Maybe. Hopefuly. He seems a lot happier now. He was always a bit miserable when I knew him."

"That's good then," Josh said.

"Yeah, yeah it really is," Zach replied. He picked out a couple more tubs of ice cream and added them to the trolley as the harsh lights of the aisle were shrouded in shadow. The world revolved around him and he fell once more.

A bed formed underneath Zach, in an unfamiliar room. Zach sank into the mattress, deeper and deeper, the bedsheets curving above him in a large dome. He struggled to sit up, using both arms and legs to push himself into a sitting position. His gut pushed his thighs apart until they were almost at right angles, with his gut sagging onto the mattress, the duvet slipping down its wide slope to reveal its full glory. He was surprised that even this simple action left him slightly out of breath.

Josh's gut entered the room, followed by the rest of him. With both hands he supported a tray on top of his belly. "Happy one year anniversary babes!" he said, a smile beaming on his face.

Zach looked down at his hand, where a simple wedding band cut slightly into his ring finger. He looked up. "Happy anniversary," he replied.

"I thought I'd bring you breakfast in bed, but don't worry, there's more downstairs, it's just what would fit on the tray," Josh said, placing the heaping tray down on the bed next to Zach and moving around the bed to kiss him on the cheek.

Zach picked up a slice of French toast and took a bite. "This is a lot of food," he said, eyeing up what must have been several pounds of food.

Josh laughed. "You've finally realised you eat quite a lot, have you?" He rubbed Zach's soft gut. "Shall I take some away then?"

Zach's stomach rumbled. "No, no. I was just saying." He took the top off a boiled egg, and dipped a slice of bread in the yolk. "Are you not eating anything?" he asked.

"Don't worry, this is all yours, you won't starve to death. I had something downstairs." He reached his fingers down Zach's gut, towards his crotch. "I can't believe your appetite sometimes, but then, look how big you've gotten after all these years." He squeezed his hand under Zach's gut, and Zach could feel him rummaging around, until he grasped Zach's cock and started to work it. Zach picked up several rashers of bacon and put them in his mouth, whole. "Is this big enough, do you think?" Josh asked as he stroked, his flabby arm jiggling with the motion. "Or will you keep going?"

Zach's eyes rolled back in his head. "More," was all he could say around the bacon. On instinct, he brought one hand up to play with his stretched nipples, the other grabbing more food, even as he tried to swallow his current mouthful.

"I could tell that first night, you know," Josh said. "Have I ever told you that? The way you stared at me, all those comments about how 'big' and 'strong' I was, how you couldn't keep your hands off that cute little gut I had." Zach moaned and did his best to thrust into Josh's hand, but his weight hindered him. "Do you remember how big you thought that gut was? How fat you thought I was? Could you imagine being so skinny ever again? I knew then that you'd want to get big as well, but I never imagined how far you'd take it. How small you'd make me seem, even as I gained right alongside you." Zach's moans reached a fever pitch, toast crumbs falling out of his mouth and onto his chest, as he came with a mighty shudder. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply between mouthfuls as he recovered.

Zach felt the weight of the bed shift around him, and opened his eyes to see Josh removing his sweatpants and lifting up his gut to reveal his once mighty cock, now more than half submerged by his fat pad. "Turn around," he grunted.

Zach struggled around, twisting and grunting and having to physically heft his gut to move it. The tray got pushed onto the floor with a clatter as his gut brushed past it. Finally, Zach was on all fours, his gut pressing against the mattress. He felt the mattress sink further as Josh knelt behind him, and felt the weight of Josh's gut on his back.

Zach could tell that Josh's cock wouldn't be able to overcome the twin obstacles of Josh's crotch fat and Zach's arse cheeks to reach his hole, but it seemed like he was building up enough friction to enjoy himself anyway, from the way that he groaned and animalistically gripped huge wedges of Zach's fat on his back and sides as he thrusted. The bed must have been specially made, Zach thought, because although it groaned and creaked under their combined weight, it was holding up valiantly.

After some time, Josh gave one final grunt and rolled to the side. Zach collapsed, relieved that his shaking arms no longer had to support his weight. Slowly, he rotated himself once more onto his back. Both lay panting for some time before Josh cleared his throat.

"I know we said we wouldn't do presents, but I found the fabric and remembered how much you used to love that shirt," he rolled off the bed and walked slowly over to the wardrobe, standing on tiptoes to take something from the top. He looked back at Zach and winked. "Figured you probably can't reach up here anymore." He turned back holding a wrapped gift, holding it out.

Zach tensed his body, and threw his weight to one side, rolling onto his side. Josh placed a hand on either shoulder and leant his strength to help Zach sit up on the side of the bed. Zach shooed him away, before haltingly standing. He took the present Josh was holding out, and began to unwrap it.

Inside was his old date shirt, with the same pattern of little swimming otters, but huge. There seemed to be entire yards of it. "I love it Josh, thank you," Zach said, leaning over to kiss his husband.

"Try it on then," Josh said, smiling. "I hope it's not too small." Zach laughed, imagining the circus tent he was holding being too small for anyone.

As he laughed, the room spiraled into colour and light and shadow once more. This time though, he felt himself rise through the maelstrom, up and up and up. He realised, as he did so, that the fat enveloping his body shrank and dissolved. His soft, sagging flesh rose and firmed, withdrew into a pert belly and tits, which further shrank and shrank and shrank, until he once more had the taut abs and toned muscles Ellis had cultivated on him over the years. As Zach's feet touched solid ground, he mournfully stroked his now thin body.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

He looked up to see Morgana, now dressed in an oversized Phoebe Bridger's t-shirt, her legs and feet bare. She tapped her foot impatiently.

"Date with Aubrey Plaz-a-like go well?" Zach asked.

"Absolutely bloody incredible," Morgana said. "But I didn't expect to come back here to find out I'm the patron saint of chubby chasers all of a sudden." She motioned with her arm behind Zach.

"What? I-" Zach turned to see what Morgana was gesturing at. Two Zachs stood before him, both dressed in the same light blue otter shirt, but while one was the same weight as he was now, the other was the same mammoth proportions of the vision he'd just experienced. Both were perfectly still. Neither had eyes.

"So not only am I apparently at the Goddess' beck and fucking call now," Morgana grumbled behind him. "But now apparently my speciality is fulfilling the deepest, darkest, heaviest wishes of the fat fetish community."

"This has happened before then?" Zach asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

Morgana sighed and walked towards the two eyeless Zachs. "Not this exactly, but when I-" She looked over at Zach and seemed to consider something for a moment. "Anyway, the Goddess made one of my friends monstrously fucking fat as well, and now it seems like, through me, you get the same thrilling opportunity." She rolled her eyes and looked the larger Zach up and down. "Not to yuck your yum or whatever, but I don't get it."

Zach turned back to the two stationary figures. Behind them, the sky was beginning to brighten, the first sign of dawn. "So what do I do now?"

Morgana peered into the smaller Zach's eye sockets curiously. "Choose," she said simply.

"Choose what?" Zach asked.

"Which one," she gestured at the two Zachs. "You made a choice once." She played with the hem of the larger Zach's shirt. "You've seen the consequences. Two lives. One you. Choose."

Zach looked at the two of them, avoiding their faces and their blank, hollow stares. He looked at the toned muscles of the smaller Zach. Remembered how out of breath even the smallest action took the larger Zach. He remembered how people would look at his sexy body in the gym. He imagined the disgusted stares his body would attract. He thought about Ellis. He thought about Josh.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped towards his choice. He felt himself sink into the body, losing form and shape and features, becoming one with the unmoving statue. He opened his eyes to see an achingly thin version of himself without eyes. It stood for a moment, before a strong gust of wind seemed to shake it for a moment, and the fine dust that made it up dispersed and swirled around, carried away on the breeze.

He turned to look at Morgana. "Sun's almost up," she said with a small smile. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get eaten out by a hot bitch again."

A bright glow filled the horizon, filling the landscape with light. Zach threw up one hand to shield his eyes, but struggled against the duvet covering it.

He looked around at the dark room he was in. He lay, enormous and quivering, in an empty bed.

"Josh?" he called out. "Josh?"

He clambered out of bed as quickly as he could, shaking the furniture around the room. He left the room, not bothering to put any clothes on. "Josh?" What had he just done? Had he just given up his life, everything he'd known, for a fantasy that didn't even exist? Was this his fate now? Fat and alone?

He thundered down the stairs, the house creaking with each step. Somewhere in the house, he heard the sound of glasses and crockery rattling against each other.

"Babes?" he heard through an open door. Josh appeared in it, wearing a huge dressing gown which barely reached his knees. "What's going on?"

Zach stood on the bottom step. "I uh…" He tried his best to catch his breath. "You weren't in bed."

Josh sighed softly. "It's this cold, I couldn't get to sleep and you were like a bloody radiator," he said, his voice bunged up and hoarse. "Come in here, I'm watching some old Doctor Who."

Zach followed him through to a living room, where he crashed down into a crater in the sofa that he assumed had been formed by himself over time. Josh draped a blanket over his naked body, and grabbed one for himself.

"Didn't bother putting on any clothes?" Josh asked.

"I was worried," Zach replied.

Josh smiled and rubbed Zach's thigh. Zach returned the smile and turned to the TV to see Tom Baker hiding from an oversized mummy.

"Hungry?" Josh asked.

"You'll miss the episode," Zach protested.

"Ah, I've seen it loads, it's a classic. Besides, I can hardly expect you to get up and fetch it, now that you're sat down, can I?" He groaned and strained as he stood up. "I tell you what, I think soon we'll reach a limit on how big we can get purely based on the amount of calories we'll burn just getting up to get food."

"Not for a while yet though," Zach said.

"No, not for a while," Josh agreed, rubbing a hand through Zach's hair as he passed, his love handle brushing against Zach's arm.

As Zach relaxed, the dream that woke him up left his head. A witch was there maybe? And he was so thin! At one point, he remembered, he'd freaked out when he'd outgrown a favourite shirt, eventually leaving Josh for their friend Ellis, but he'd turned into some fatphobic twink rather than the soft sub Zach knew. He laughed to himself - outgrowing clothes was now a regular, and greatly looked forward to, occurrence.

Josh came back in and handed Zach a thick sandwich, piled high with fillings, an entire sharing bag of crisps to the side . "Anything good happen while I was out?" he asked.

Zach nodded. "Oh, yeah. The daleks and the cybermen have gone to war with those" he gestured at the screen, "mummy things."

Josh fell down on the sofa with a soft "oof!" "You're not even paying attention! You can make your own sandwich next time." He took a bite out of his own giant portion of food.

Zach looked down at his body. "Do you ever regret it?" he asked. "Getting so fat with me?"

"Well first off," Josh replied. "No. Secondly, I don't think you're in any position to call anyone fat. And thirdly, what's all this about? You going to start P90X and live off celery?"

Zach shook his head. "Just a dream I had."

"Do you?" Josh asked, peering closely at Zach. "Regret it? You've taken it a lot further than me, it's okay if you want to scale it back a bit."

Zach smiled. "No regrets," he said.

Josh returned his smile, reassured, and turned back to the TV. "Good, because I don't think you're capable of dieting."

Zach leaned over and grabbed a handful of Josh's gut. "You're one to talk. We'll see how good at dieting you are when you're my size." The two kissed.

Zach smiled as he forgot his dream entirely. No regrets.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

My Dear Friend

Hello! For projection purposes, I was wondering if you could write something about a character from either merlin or sanders sides dealing with period cramps. Please ignore this ask if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable, though. – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: period pain

Pairings: morgwen, can be platonic or romantic i guess

Word Count: 3568

    When Gwen stirs to wakefulness and a pain asserts itself in her lower abdomen, she instinctively closes her eyes again and groans.

Not today, she thinks, a hand absentmindedly going to prod at the soreness, why did it have to be today?

After all, today was market day with Morgana. They'd spent all of yesterday planning out their precise routes through all of the stalls, the coin allotted to spend at each one so that they would be fair to each other, the vendors would make a tidy profit, and no one could accuse them of favoritism—except perhaps with each other, but no one would dare say that where Morgana might hear it.

"Come on," Gwen grunts, reasoning with herself as her body tried to insist that no, moving was not a great idea, "we can't miss market day, not when Morgana is so excited about it."

She'd caught it early enough, hadn't she? It was just a matter of getting up now, cleaning up after herself, switching her cloths out, and hurrying up to the castle and they would be just on time. Their first stops, they'd planned, were to be the baker's stalls, so she could have breakfast there. That was a perfectly reasonable suggestion, so she just needed to get up now.

Now, please.

But as soon as she starts to move, the pain intensifies so much so that tears spring reflexively to the corners of her eyes and she's forced to still. She bites her lip, cry trapped in her throat, and tries to roll onto her back. Her back decides that it does not like this distribution of weight either. Perhaps her front—no, no, that was perhaps her worst idea yet.

"Come on," she whines, sounding much more like a petulant child than the trusted confidant and hand to Morgana Pendragon, "we have to go."

But the pain doesn't abate, not even when she tries the massages her mother had taught her when her monthly bleeds had just begun and she was but a crying child, worried about the blood slicking her thighs and the pain coursing through her veins. Her mother, with her callused hands and warm smile, had shown her how to carefully stretch out so the pain would not worsen, and soothe the muscles to guide it elsewhere.

Pain is how your body tells you that something is wrong, she had said to a teary Gwen, and it is our job to reassure our bodies that we're listening.

But as always happens when her monthly bleeds start, the handle on her emotions that she has so cultivated snaps in her hands; the mere memory of her mother's voice is enough to jolt the half-formed sob from her throat as she lies on her bed, curled up under the quilt that they had made together in the cold winters.

A knock on the door.

"Gwen? Gwen, are you there?"

No, no! Gwen tries once again to rise but the pain holds her still. No, I thought—is it late enough already?

"It is market day, my dear Gwen, and we have plans," Morgana's voice says again, "come on, let's go!"

"M-My Lady?"

Gwen winces at her half-choked voice and at the action that is soon to follow. Which it does; the door flies open to reveal the Lady Morgana, in all her splendor, looking as ready for market day as anyone could be. She strides across the room in an instant, standing over Gwen and frowning.

"Are you alright?" She crouches next to her bedside. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm sorry, My Lady, I—"

"None of this 'My Lady' nonsense, Gwen, we're not in court."

"Morgana," she says instead, biting back a wince as she turns to face her proper, "I'm sorry I'm so late, if you'll give me a moment, I can—"

"You're bleeding!" Morgana gasps at the sight of her blood-soaked fingers emerging from the edge of the quilt. In an instant, she's back on her feet and ready to rush back to the castle. "I'll get Gaius, it'll be okay—"

"No!"

"'No?' What in God's name do you mean, 'no?'"

"It's just my monthly bleed," Gwen confesses, shame warring with the lightness that came the moment Morgana cried out in dismay, "it's…you don't need to trouble Gaius."

"He exists to be troubled by people who are unwell," Morgana argues, but she returns nonetheless, "oh, I'm sorry, Gwen, we could've pushed market day off if you were—"

"No, no, it's quite alright, just let me—"

"Gwen!" Morgana catches her by the shoulder as she goes to push herself up, wincing all the while in pain. "You're hurting, I'm not about to make you walk around the entire market while you're like this."

"Exercise is good for the pain, it helps the body focus on something else."

"That may be so, but it can start when you're not gritting your teeth to draw breath."

Gwen has grown strong over the years of working in her father's forge and tending to her Lady's needs in the castle, but Morgana was trained by Camelot's finest sword masters and sparred regularly with Arthur Pendragon. So when a grip stronger than steel takes her by the shoulder and pushes her to lie back, Gwen sighs and lets her.

"There really is no need for all of this," she mumbles as Morgana starts to reach for the pitcher of water on her bedside table, "we can still go."

"Gwen, I have had the pleasure of knowing you for years, now, and I can count on one hand the number of times you have been too weak to move without pain." Morgana holds up a hand to stop her protests. "You are hurting, my dear friend is hurting, and I cannot abide it. Let me help you?"

"You're—" She catches a glimpse of Morgana's determination and concedes without another word. "In the cabinet over the stove, there's a small box. That has my willow bark."

Morgana stands in a swirl of fine fabrics and crosses, retrieving the small wooden box and setting it down for Gwen to reach for. As she takes a small amount to chew, Morgana props her hand on the edge of the bed.

"If I were just another friend," she says softly, "and not…and not me, what would I do to help you?"

Gwen now has the unenviable task of imagining Morgana Pendragon as a peasant, but she can't deny the return of the lightness in her chest at having her concern so singularly focused on her. "I…well, I imagine I would've called you—or had Elyan call you when I was in enough pain to prevent me from getting out of bed."

"And I would have come at once, for you are my dear friend and I could never leave you in pain."

Gwen smiles. "Then I would ask you to fetch my willow bark, which you've done, so thank you—"

"Of course."

"—and I would…I suppose I would ask if you'd put the kettle on so I could have a cup of tea."

"Of course, my dear friend," Morgana says, standing once more and taken the worn kettle from its place above the stove. Soon the fire roars merrily as the stove burns away under the kettle. "And would I fetch you something to eat, as well, so that you could fill your stomach?"

"I'm not sure I would be eating in bed."

"Nonsense, when you are unwell that is the best time to eat in bed."

"And get crumbs everywhere so that I must lie and turn onto them?"

Morgana rolls her eyes fondly but smiles all the same, returning to Gwen's side to carefully slip a hand under her head, the other around her shoulders. Gwen's breath catches in her throat at the scent of the flowery perfume that Morgana keeps on her vanity at all times, and the softness of her hands against her skin.

"Would I help you sit up," Morgana murmurs, "thusly?"

"Yes, I…I believe you would."

"Then come, dear friend, let's sit you up."

As if the pain could sense Morgana's presence and feared her wrath if it acted up again, sitting up proves to be much less of a strenuous affair than she anticipated. She takes a few breaths to steady herself as Morgana's hands hold her shoulders, but the brief flare passes and soon she can freely shift until she is comfortable.

"What would I do next," Morgana prompts when she senses Gwen is ready, "would I still fetch you something to eat?"

"W-well—"

In truth, no, that is not what would be done next. But despite the fantasy that they both indulge in, this is still the Lady Morgana, and she cannot just make requests of her, not when she is the one who is supposed to be served by Gwen.

Besides, what must be done next goes beyond the duties of dear friends and into the duties of…well…

"Gwen," Morgana says again, shaking her from her daze with a hand under her chin, "what comes next?"

"Food is fine," she mumbles back, readying herself to be helped to the table, "there should still be a fresh loaf of bread in the bread box, I think."

Morgana narrows her eyes, but helps her nonetheless, settling her carefully on a chair before going to find the bread. The kettle whistles merrily as she sets the plate on the table. "What blend of tea would I prepare for you?"

"Gaius gave me a tin, it should be—yes, right there."

It is a far cry from the platters and pitchers she brings to Morgana in the castle, and yet she cannot help the sudden headiness as Morgana prepares a modest cup of tea and a plate of breakfast for her. Judging by the barely-concealed grin on Morgana's face, she has had much the same feeling. She even remains standing after Gwen's meal has been arranged, as Gwen would.

"I imagine that I would ensure that you ate and drank everything," Morgana says, a gleam of mischief in her eyes, "as your dear friend, of course."

"Of course. But I don't…I don't believe you would watch over my shoulder like that."

"Oh?"

"It would—you would know that it would make me uncomfortable."

"Ah, of course, and I would never want to cause you discomfort, as your dear friend." Morgana looks about. "What, er, what would I do instead?"

Gwen thinks for a moment, before a slow smile spreads across her lips. "You might help me to clean up."

As Morgana's gaze turns back to hers, that might be the end of it. The charade might end there and Morgana will fling herself decorously into another one of the chairs, pestering her affectionately until she is well enough to move on her own, and they will proceed to market day, a little behind schedule. She might even scold Gwen, lightly, of course, that she would never do something like that.

But Morgana, in the way that only she could, raises her chin and nods sharply. "Alright, then I shall help you to clean."

And she strides over to the bed as though she could will it into cleaning itself. Gwen watches, wide-eyed, as the Lady Morgana sets about taking the quilt from her bed and looking it over to ensure it hasn't been stained. She folds it—a little haphazardly, but she folds it—and sets it over the headboard out of the way.

She pauses, then, and a bit of the confidence leaves her. She glances over her shoulder.

"Well, as my dear friend," Gwen says, not one to leave her, "you would know that I'm quite fussy when it comes to my bed and I would force you to listen to my instructions as you cleaned."

Morgana chuckles, the relief plain in her eyes. "Ah, yes, you, my dear friend, are as fussy as they come," she can't help but tease and Gwen bows her head slightly. "Still, I can't abide by a job not done right, so of course I would listen."

"You would know that first I would have you strip the bloodied sheets from the mattress and put them in the basket at the foot of the bed."

"Naturally."

"Then I would tell you to check how deeply stained the mattress itself is—is it very badly stained?"

Morgana's brow furrows in concentration. "No, not truly—only a spot here and there."

"Oh, that's a relief—then I would tell you to wet one of the cloths on the rack—yes, one of those, and dab at the spots."

It is surreal, she decides, nibbling her bread and sipping her tea and watching the Lady Morgana dab at her bloodied mattress as though she were stabbing a training dummy.

"And when the spots were gone?"

"You would add the cloth to the basket and leave the mattress to dry." Morgana tosses the cloth into the basket with a flourish and returns to her side, smiling at the empty plate and cup. "Thank you."

"Of course, my dear friend." Morgana's hand lifts for a moment, but then she must decide against whatever she was to do and lowers it again. "Would I take your dishes?"

"You could, if you—alright," Gwen mumbles as Morgana whisks them away and sets them in the sink. "Thank you."

"What would I do next?"

"This is more than enough, Morgana, if you'd like to wait outside for a moment, I can be ready to go—"

"Gwen," Morgana says softly, "what would I do next?"

Gwen sighs. "Really, all that's left for me to do is clean myself up and change, so—"

"What if I ran you a bath?"

Gwen blinks. "What?"

"Whenever I'm in pain," Morgana says, coming back to the table and taking one of her hands in hers, "or having a bad day, you always run me a bath. And it helps, it always helps. Let me help you? As your dear friend?"

Gwen challenges anyone to say no to Morgana when she asks them something like that.

"…alright."

"Splendid." Morgana claps her hands. "A bath! Er—"

Gwen giggles despite herself. "There's a tub in the corner and a bucket next to it."

In truth, it's quite a good thing that Morgana insisted on running the bath herself while they were here, and not in the castle; it was far easier to fill the bath with the pumps for the forge than to go down the long way to the well from the castle's bedrooms. She shakes her head, working up the strength to stand, and just manages to balance herself against the table as Morgana returns with the last bucket.

"Gwen!" She hears the clatter of footsteps before strong hands wrap themselves around her shoulders. "Don't be so quick—are you alright?"

"I really am fine, the worst of it's gone now, I promise."

Morgana still watches her worriedly as she tries to escort her over to the bath—

"As my dear friend, I would hope you know not to shove me in a cold bath!"

"It's not cold."

"You've not heated it, I haven't—"

"Gwen," Morgana interrupts softly, "I promise you, it's not cold."

When Gwen still narrows her eyes suspiciously, Morgana takes her hand and carefully lowers it to brush the water. Gwen gasps at the feeling of its warmth lapping against her hand, only to jerk her head up in horror.

"As your dear friend," she says in a strangled whisper, "I would ask you not to risk using your magic like that!"

"We're alone in your house, Gwen," Morgana murmurs, smiling and trailing their joined hands through the water, "no one could've seen it. Besides, for my dear friend, I would gladly use my magic."

"Morgana!"

"Into the bath now, dear friend, unless you'd like to wait for it to cool off again and I can—?"

"No," she barks, shoving lightly at Morgana's shoulder as she laughs, "just—will you help me with my nightclothes?"

"Of course, dear friend."

Gwen rolls her eyes but lets Morgana undo the fastening at the base of her neck. She sighs as her neckline grows looser, making for the changing screen in the corner as Morgana turns away. She winces a few times at the pressure in her abdomen as she works the bloodied thing over her head, fetching clean clothes and her cloths to dress in afterwards. Peeking out from behind the screen, she sees Morgana's back is still turned and hurries to climb into the tub.

A long, low sound leaves her as she sinks into the warm water, the heat a balm to her aching muscles and soothing away the lingering pains. Morgana turns at the sound, a soft smile on her face as she watches Gwen relax.

"Oh," she mumbles, luxuriating in the warm water, "thank you."

"Anything for my dear friend," Morgana replies, and only then does Gwen remember that she is now naked in front of the Lady Morgana and the water sloshes as she curls up. "What are you doing?"

"I'm—well—I—"

"You've seen me in the bath more times than I can count," Morgana says, "it's alright, Gwen, I do know what a woman's body looks like."

"S-still—"

"If it makes you truly uncomfortable, then I can keep my back turned, or just face your head."

Gwen shifts about. In truth, she had often thought about such a thing, in the depths of the night when she was too tired to assert her own common sense that it would never happen, or when she was cold in the winter and wanted someone else in the house. She would think about how nice it might feel to have someone tend to her, just to be there, to trust them with that level of care and know she would be safe…

"Oh, Gwen, it's alright, I didn't mean to make you upset," she hears and oh, she's crying again, "do—do you want me to go? Truly, I can—"

"No!"

Sparkling water droplets litter the floor as her wet hand grabs Morgana's wrist.

"No," she says again, sniffling in horror, "you—please, please, you can stay. I want you to stay."

"Alright, I'll stay, I'm right here, you see?" Morgana reaches for the stool and sits upon it, taking Gwen's hand in hers again. "I'm right here, you have me, see?"

She sniffles again, running her fingers back and forth over Morgana's. "Sorry."

"What on earth for?"

"For being so needy."

"I'm the one who blustered in here and insisted you let me take care of you," Morgana scoffs, "you're not being needy, Gwen, letting someone take care of you isn't being needy."

"…alright."

They sit there like that for a few moments more, the water sapping the worst of the pain until it cools. Gwen shifts, readying herself to get out, but Morgana reaches out before she can.

"Do you want it warmed again?"

"My blood is everywhere, you don't have to—" Gwen's eyes widen as Morgana's fingers twitch and the water warms once more, the blood disappearing in the blink of an eye— "wow."

"If only we had some oils to add. As your dear friend, I will get some for you."

"You don't have to spend coin on me, Morgana—"

"Nonsense. That's the entire point of market day."

Gwen's quiet for a moment. "I am sorry about this, Morgana, I know how much you were looking forward to today."

Morgana looks at her, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Do you know why I love market day so much?"

"Because you get to directly support the people of Camelot?"

"Yes, what else?"

"Because you get to spend your coin without anyone telling you what to do?"

"Not that many would dare, but yes. What else?"

"Because…because…"

Morgana waits for her to trail into silence before smiling once more, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Because I get to spend it with you, Gwen, and no one can tell us not to."

Oh.

Oh.

"M-Morgana, I—"

"Shh," Morgana says, concern writing itself across her face as she brushes a tear from Gwen's cheek, "it's alright, just enjoy the bath for now. We can worry about everything else later."

"I love it too," Gwen bursts out, for she can't let Morgana go without knowing it, "I love spending the day with you too."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now hush, my dear Gwen, just relax. We have all day."

"But the market—"

"Will still be here tomorrow," she soothes, running her hand through her hair, "and will hold the best for us, as you know they will."

"You mean it?"

"As your dear friend, of course I do."

Gwen swallows, eyes darting back and forth across her face. "And…as Morgana?"

Morgana blinks, her dismissal of the charade a surprise, to be sure, but then the soft look returns and her gaze is filled with such affection that Gwen fears she might burst from it. She leans down and brushes her lips over Gwen's fingers.

"As Morgana," she murmurs, "I would bid them hold their best for next year if it meant I could see it with you."

[lumosatnight]

Day 1: The Chosen Microdick

Harry Potter has a tiny dick. And oh, how Draco loves it.

@kinktober2023 day 1: Micro/Macro

Draco/Harry, E, 500 words

Harry Potter Has a Small Cock, Multiple Orgasms, Blow Jobs

Inspired by Potter's Got a Tiny Dick (that I can't stop thinking about swallowing whole) by @vukovich

—

Harry Potter has a tiny dick. It’s just a fact of life. The Chosen Microdick, the Small Saviour, the Boy with an Itty Bitty Package. And oh, how Draco loves it.

A kiss for the appetizer, a mouthful for the meal, a lick for dessert. He always makes sure to get his fill.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind. Oh, he’ll wriggle, and he’ll squirm, but then he’ll start making these high-pitched whines, and he’ll start flailing his arms and yelling Draco’s name. And the next thing he knows, Harry’s coming all over the middle of his tongue (his dick doesn’t reach all the way to the back of Draco’s mouth), and he’s shaking like a leaf.

Draco doesn’t pull off until he’s had every last delicious drop of Harry’s seed. It’s salty and tangy with the right amount of sweetness — just like Harry. He adores it.

“Draco, Draco, stop. I can’t — I nnnhh —”

Draco takes a big long slurp, trying to suck Harry’s brain out through his dick or at least shut him up.

“Draco! Draco! Ahhh!”

“Just one more,” Draco pleads. “I know you can give me one more.” He fits the whole dick in his mouth and sucks. It settles easily on his tongue. Just a dainty little thing.

“Jesus, do you ever stop? I can’t. That was already four.”

Draco opens his mouth wider to say, “We’ve done more.”

“Yeah, and I passed out and slept all through the next day.”

“So let’s do it again. You don’t work tomorrow.”

Harry throws a hand over his eyes and groans. “Morgana’s tits, you’re going to kill me.”

“Hmm, that isn’t a no.”

Draco pulls off slightly, letting Harry’s dick breathe. He gently cups it in his hand. It fits so easily in his palm. The perfect length to stroke lazily with his pinky finger, which he does enthusiastically.

“What if I fuck you? Would you come again then?”

Harry's breath hitches. He peeks at Draco through the gaps between his fingers, his cheeks an endearing rosy red.

“Where should I do it, hmm? Up against the window for all the neighbours to see?” He gives Harry’s dick a light squeeze, making him squirm. “On the floor? I think the carpet still has stains from the last time. Or right here on the bed? Spread you out, take you in my mouth, wait until you’re begging.”

“Draco…” Harry moans lowly.

“Oh, I see. Do you want to fuck me? Is that it? You want to stick your tiny little cock in my arse? I can barely feel it, you know. It’s so small, so cute. You’d really have to ram it in there. You wouldn’t even have to finger me first. I could just take it dry, take it right now.”

“Fuck, can I? Right now?” Harry drops the hand covering his face to look up at Draco imploringly.

Draco smirks. “I thought you said you couldn’t come again.”

Harry scowls. “Fuck you,” he says, and then he does.

Also read it on AO3!

Masterlist | Day 2 →