It took a long time for Blake to regain consciousness. Wetness dripped off every part of him. He felt as if he were swimming in endless seas of orange, occasionally prodded by rounded barriers with an uncomfortably visceral and malleable texture. Sometimes, a horrific noise like the reverberating echo of a yawn or mumble threatened to wake him, before the slow, sloshing movements around put him back into slumber...

Before eventually regaining consciousness. Of some kind.

He tried reaching in front of him, grabbing some of the jiggling mass that surrounded his very form - but unfamiliar sensations trickled down where his arms should be. All he could see was a mess of orangish-pink, with heavy breaths and motion making them pulse in and out.

Blake took a moment to look left and right; finding himself unable to turn his neck. In panic, he mentally casted a spell for increasing visibility.

The reason for his pain soon came into view as the spell showed him his location. And it made his gut sink. Citrine's chubby belly, beneath her tank top. That was his location.

His very essence, every part of him... Absorbed into that heavy gut. Which now lay still, a tome of the most recent D&D DM guide hovering slightly above it. She seemed to have made it home in the time it took for him to... digest.

The idea made him hyperventilate - but his breaths were no longer his. Only Citrine's lungs filled him, near his tight position tucked away into the endless expanse of abdominal tissue.

Blake did his best to scream, pound, and wiggle - and all he got in response was the darkness of her pudgy hand slapping him in place. It rubbed, swirling him in dizzying circles. The feminine voice musing around him did nothing to appease his concerns:

"Guh, not agreeing with me... Maybe I should do something to get that soda down."