#curse tf

[piggytfs]

(inspired by the one & only @fattystoriez, this is a prequel to Preston's 18th Birthday)

Travis had always prided himself on his ambition.

At eighteen, he already had a promising future ahead of him — a scholarship to a top university, a beautiful fiancée named Megan, and a baby boy only months away from being born. He planned to be the kind of father he never had growing up. His own father, Carl, had walked out on the family when Travis was still in diapers.

The night of his eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a celebration. Megan had planned a homecooked dinner and game night with Travis's mom and a few of their close friends. But everything changed when Carl showed up unannounced. A heavy fist thudded against the front door, and Travis was the first to answer.

It had been years since Travis had even heard his father’s name spoken, yet there Carl was, standing on the porch — he was a bald with a thick, dark beard. His huge, beachball sized gut had burst through the buttons on what must have once been a nice dress shirt, and the sour stink of beer and gas clung to him like a second skin. Travis focused on the sheer girth of the man, the way his massive belly jiggled as he drew in a ragged breath. Even his huge, hairy tits couldn't be contained by his XXL shirt.

“Travis,” Carl greeted with a gruff voice and a wide grin, exposing his yellowed teeth and exhaling the scent of cigarette smoke and fried food. “Figured I oughta be here for my boy’s big day.”

Travis barely managed to keep his disgust hidden as he frowned at the obese, raunchy man. Even after being told about his father’s betrayal, Travis liked to fantasize about who Carl actually was. As a kid, he imagined his dad was a police officer, or an astronaut. He liked to pretend Carl's job had been why he couldn't stick around, but the man standing in front of him looked more like a stereotype of a dirty plumber than anything else.

The truth was hard to come to terms with. Travis stared at the bloated man as his huge gut bounced and sloshed with lard, unable to be contained by his useless shirt. His father was nothing like the man Travis planned to become. This man was an obese, bald loser with hygiene issues and an a smoking addiction.

Still, something in Carl’s intense gaze made Travis's stomach twist. He could hear it gurgling.

Travis needed to hear Carl's side of the story, so he quickly stepped onto the porch and closed the front door behind him with a quiet thud. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and the meaty stench of a fart seemed to orbit around the massive man he struggled to view as his father. "Mom isn't going to allow you inside, but you drove here, right? We can go to the diner together. I'll at least hear you out."

The pickup truck the two squeezed into seemed to amplify all the smells, like belches and farts were embedded into the old leather cushions. The thick girth of Carl pressed against Travis, shoving the slender teen against the car door as he found himself literally stuck between a rock and a very fat place. Travis was able to notice that they had a similar eye color and the same dark, curly brown hair. Only, Travis still had it on his head, and Carl had it around his chubby, sagging face. The similarities ended there: an athletic jock and an obese slob driving in silence.

Once they arrived at the diner and received their orders, they passed the first few minutes with awkward small talk. Carl barely touched his towering stack of maple drenched pancakes, watching Travis intently. Travis found himself eating eagerly, as if he hasn’t already eaten the breakfast his mother had cooked only a half hour ago. Finally, as the meal wound down, Carl leaned in, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers up Travis’s spine. The musk of his father rolled over him in a thick wave. “You ever wonder why I left, boy?”

Travis swallowed hard. He was so close to finally having an answer, but opening up about his feelings was a daunting task. He had always longed for a father, but was it worth it to stoop this low? “I figured you just didn’t care enough to stay.”

Carl chuckled, his fat gut pressed against the table and making it shake, but there was no humor in the sound. “Not exactly. You see, men in our family… we got a curse. A blessing, really. But it don’t matter how hard you fight it, how much you wanna be different. It’s in your blood.”

Travis frowned, having to clear his throat as his voice began to take on the same hoarse quality as his father's. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Carl pulled something from his pocket—a grease stained, crumpled old photograph. Travis hesitated before taking it. The man in the image was almost unrecognizable, but the longer he stared, the more it all started to make sense. It was Carl in the photo, younger, leaner, and with a striking resemblance to Travis himself. It was shocking to see how much a human's body could change over the years.

“That was me at eighteen,” Carl said, his hand rubbing circles on his engorged, hairy belly. It was jutting out from his dress shirt like a hairy beachball, begging to be worshipped. “Before it happened.”

Travis scoffed, about to throw the photo the ground when a sharp pain twisted in his gut. He doubled over, a cold sweat breaking out across his body as he started to tremble. The gurgling was back again, a tightness in his stomach that made him feel like he needed to pass gas.

“What the—?” The words died in his throat as heat surged through his limbs. His fingers were shaking, his vision blurred. And his muscles, once lean and toned, tingled—then they began to soften. Like someone was pumping him full of dough. His chest felt itchy before the firm definition of his pecs sank into soft, pliant flesh. Dark curls of hair started to poke through his skin. It didn’t take long before the front of his shirt was stretched by a pair of saggy man boobs. Travis’s arms thickened, his lean biceps swallowed by layers of fat.

And that was only the beginning.

He gasped as his stomach pushed outward, stretching his shirt until the fabric groaned and began to tear at the seams. Rolls upon rolls of flesh surged forth, his abs dissolving beneath an avalanche of lard. Every trace of his old physique was being swallowed by a body that began to look increasingly like Carl's. His thighs ballooned, pressing against each other. His once-taut ass was spread out and sagging against the chair beneath him. Travis felt his asshole twitching between his swampy crack. His fat ass cheeks jiggled as he squeezed out a hot, sputtering fart against his will.

PRFFFFFFFFFFFFT!

The smell came next, and it was noxious. A deep, pungent musk seemed to ooze from his pores—thick, sour, inescapable. He reeked of body odor, stale sweat, and something heavier, something rotten.

“No—No, this isn’t—” His voice was deeper now, rougher, his breath coming in ragged, phlegmy wheezes. His vision cleared just enough to catch his reflection in the diner window—a bloated, thirty plus slob stared back at Travis. His sharp jaw had disappeared beneath jowls, his youthful face buried beneath a double chin and stubble. Sweat had soaked through his now ruined dress shirt. The flimsy fabric clung to his hairy gut for dear life. His belly looked even larger than Carl’s.

The buttons didn't take long to start flying off.

Travis stank. And worse—he was getting used to it. He breathed in deep, his shrinking cock twitching as it rubbed against his soft, fat body.

Carl laughed, clapping Travis on the shoulder. “Ain’t no fightin’ it, son. We were meant for this life. Me, my daddy before me, and now you.”

Travis wanted to scream, to fight, but his body was betraying him. A deep rumble built in his gut before he let out a thick, meaty belch. The sheer release sent shudders of disgusting pleasure through him. His cock—once proud and athletic—twitched beneath his huge gut, crushed under his fat pad. He tried to cling to his identity, but his memories of the old Travis were fading fast. He wasn't strong enough to stop himself from burping and farting them all out,

PRFFFFFFFFFT! BELCH.

Megan. His unborn son. His future.

All of it—

Gone.

A new hunger replaced the old ambitions. The thought of responsibility, of fatherhood, of discipline, felt foreign to the hog now. A greasy, gluttonous craving overtook everything else. His stomach gurgled loudly, demanding more. Without thinking, he reached for the pancakes Carl was ignoring, shoveling sugary bites into his mouth, moaning at the taste. His nub of a cock leaked pre down his fat leg. He was so happy he couldn't help but jiggle for his Daddy.

Carl leaned back, grinning as he squeezed and played with his own gut. “That’s my boy.”

As Travis sat there, gorging himself and flaunting his size, his past life faded into a distant haze. He wasn’t meant to be a father. He wasn’t meant to amount to anything of note. "Oh, Daddy. Thank you." He was only meant for this—to be a lazy, filthy slob with no worries beyond when his Daddy would provide his next meal. The two of them were now bonded for life, and the old Travis disappeared without a trace.

And the best part?

He was absolutely in love.

"This was the best birthday yet, Daddy. Yer gonna have to let me repay ya." Maybe the other diner guests should have been shocked to see the obese, filthy father and son began to fondle and play with one another in public. Their huge bellies met across the table and rubbed together as they moaned. It seemed that Travis had some latent magic of his own, the same blood curse his father warned him about. The hornier Travis got, the more the diner begun to heat up. And the more the guests became hotter and hornier and hungrier, too.

Travis heard the clothes ripping as men swelled to epic proportions.

And he heard the grunting sound of pig-like men shoveling food down their throats.

From a visiting businessman to the diner's very own chef, no man was safe from the magic that Carl and Travis unleashed.

And Travis was too busy sucking on his Daddy's fat tits to notice.

[somerandomcockroach]

MY BRAIN IS FREE AND SURVIVED ON ADRENALINE AHHDASHGDAS 1) Rough animation with idw designs is fun. Blurr turned out to be easier than I thought (imagine animating Deadlock *shivers*) 2) Clean up and coloring is NOT.

[vanillayoteart]

Coyote HRT: Month 5.5

Coyote HRT: Week 23 I knew going into this that dogs could hear more.  I knew going into this that things would hurt.  I did not foresee myself dealing with muzzle pain and misophonia at the SAME TIME. Major thanks to AyvieArt and Lakehounds for the inspiration Start - Prev - Next

[bloominglegumes]

im so.so normal about them.very normal

[piggycyberwarrior]

Summary: After Task Force 141 got a hint that you gave important information to their enemy- the boys do not hesitate to chain you up and give you a taste of hell. You on the other hand are innocent but they do not believe you

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Platonic Task Force 141! x Fem!Reader (Simon Ghost Riley x Reader) a/n: pretty proud of that ngl.. enjoy guys love you!

Warnings: uhm this whole fic is basically a warning. Torture; Blood; Mental Health; Angst angst angst not proof read

genre: ANGST

+ 1,6k words

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

You thought you were going insane.

Maybe you already were, but it was no suprise- seeing the circumstances you were in. Arms stretched uncomfortably backwards and up- chains rubbing your wrists painfully raw. The stress position Soap put you in wasn't easy peasy lemonsqueezy.

Tears brimming in your eyes at the thought. You felt fucking betrayed. You were fucking betrayed, for gods sake! by your own team- the people you cried with- the people that you loved more than yourself- the people you called your family. That one man you took a bullet for.

Fuck all that bullshit.

Those were the same people that didn't believe you when things got rocky. When some pricks pointed their fingers at you- they immediately treated you as an enemy. The same people that chained you up. The same man that made you fucking blind on one eye

Everything was a lie, apparently.

The cell you were in was shady- you didn't expect something different- i mean you just served the military for many years and did everything for your country- of course you didn't deserve something more decent.

In the end you didn't care. Just waited.

When Gaz interrogated you- you kept your mouth shut. What should you do? Lie? Fuck no, you had so much self respect left, even in this dehumanizing situation.

of course your facade broke often times- you were only human after all. And it hurt- you were in this situation before- tortured by your enemies knowing that you would probably outlive them anyway as your team would rip them apart in a few days.

But now- being here- seeing how your 'friends'- your family- spat at you with nothing more than hate made you feel even more miserable- knowing, that no one will safe you this time.

You cried- having panick attacks deep into countless nights-being triggered by any small sound that wasn't coming from you or that rat in the corner of the room. Yelling at them- telling them that you didn't do shit. They didn't believe you.

Spiraling deep in your thoughts- shoulders sore and numb hands from the stress position- still tasting a faint trace of your own blood-

the sensory of the dried up blood on your cheek was uncomfortable at the beginning- cracking everytime you opened your mouth- but it quickly got kicked to the bottom of your worries as Price's wodden bat flew into your face yesterday- tooth flying onto the ground as you spat the crimson liquid at his feet- earning another strike from your Captain.

Your Saliva turning pink with the blood, sticking to your chin- slowly dripping down- having no free hand to wipe it off.

.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

.

You were here for about 1 and a half weeks now- how'd you know that? because you could hear the guards mutter something behind that steal door.

You shivered, suffering from hypothermia, a consequence of being almost naked in this shithole. Simon himself stripped you down- ignoring your pleas and protests.

Simon.

The man you did everything for, took a bullet for, cared for and slept with. He was the love of your life- or so you thought.

You were never scared of Simon. Since the first day you met him- you were kinda drawn to that giant of a man. Always spawning in his near with hearts in your eyes- Soap always made fun of you- but he found it cute neverthless, he could see that Simon didn't hate you.

You stitched him up- knew his fears (being a therapists daughter was quite a help for having deep convos), you knew of his past- even if it took you years to finally break his many iron walls down

You saw his face- kissed his scars and showered him with your time and love- giving him your all- even your body.

You weren't in a relationship- but everybody knew that Simon 'Ghost' Riley liked you. Even if you didn't tell anybody from the Force.

In the end it seemed not be enough, as the same man nearly strangled you to death down here. At first you were desperate, scared- but you stopped pleading a long time ago.

.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

.

heavy footsteps shook you out of your trance- spiraling thoughts stopping for a mere second as you looked into his stone cold eyes.

Balaklava on his scarred face- making you inhale sharply- heart throbbing at his sight. The black paint around his eyes made them pierce through the dark even more.

The same paint you applied more than once onto his unique face. he looked beautiful in your eyes. Even after everything that happened.

You're in here since a few nights.- Clothes starting to hang loosely around your body- having not eaten in days.

"Simon-" you croaked out- voice not cooperating as it should- making you tear up. When did everything turned out to be like that? This nightmare? You flinched a bit- chains clinking softly at your slight movement when he came towards you- still not speaking.

He stared. Stared at your weak frame. The dark hole you were chained into- being in a constant state of fear- Anxiety pulling and clawing at your nerves.

You gritted your teeth- looking to the side with a defeated huff. Tears prickling in your eyes once more- threatening to fall as he watched you like you were a kicked stray dog. Maybe you were in their eyes.

"I-" you croaked out once more "I didn't do it, Simon, i swear" you whispered into the dimmly lit room- Still not looking at him. "I swear to god Simon, I didn't.." you weeped in silence as he just looked "Fuck why should I betray you!!" you screamed in frustration at his figure- tears falling as he only left- leaving you in complete darkness- letting you cry to yourself till you eventually passed out.

.

Not even two day passed before he bursted through the iron door again- the loud sound ripping you out of your unconsciousness before he angrily grabbed you by your collar- hate flickering in those eyes that once held nothing but adoration for you.

"You fuckin' liar" he seethed through gritted teeth- behind that mask. Pushing you into the wall behind you- your head knocking against the brick wall with such a force that made you wince.

You could feel his anger. And you felt the danger that radiated from the man you gave your heart to.

His hands coming up to press against your jugular with a firm grip- picking you up a few inches into the air- chains clinking again. "Y'think you hav' it in you to lie into my fuckin' face" he growled while pressing down harder- you could feel yourself getting more lightheaded- gasping for air- choking for oxygen.

"Plea' Simon" you begged inbetween small gasps- scared what he will do to you. Hands tied together, wiggling in his painful hold like a suffocating fish- legs kicking to get him away from you- it worked- you gasped, trying to get in as much air as you could while your built up saliva ran down your chin-

he let you go for a second before his fist collided with your face. Hard- knocking the air out of your lungs once more "Jus' tell us the truth" he huffed, before hitting again- at first it hurt and then it burned. Your nose cracked under his fists-

Making you see stars and breath heavily before he took the knife out you gifted him for his birthday. Both your names engraved in it-

"'t will be easier for you" he said before popping the knife out of its sheath. "No, Simon" you cried out- whilst seeing the blade. "You don't have to do this" you gasped as he came dangerously close.

"No,no,no!!" you protested as he teared down your clothing, leaving you in a bra and your underwear. Feeling helpless as he teared down your clothes- ignoring your protest. The coldness of the room let goosebumps arise on your skin almost immediately.

He was quiet. That wasn't a good sign. You waited- staring at him, pulling at your chains as he looked at the blade. Fist tightening as he saw the little heart that was engraved into the hilt. Betrayal flushed his senses as he pushed the knife into your upper leg- making you scream in return.

Twisting the knife- hearing your agony but not stopping- he quickly hit you into your left eye socket with the hilt of the knife to shut you up. he didn't want to hear your screams.

Even if he didn't wanted to admit it- he was also teared apart- but his need to let his anger out was stronger - all the time he spent with a fucking liar- gave you his fucked up heart. All for you to be a fucking snake- a traitor.

He had to do his job- protect his family.

Another jab to the eye- hearing your muffled cries echo across the room- making you see red- the burning sensation was an ugly one. You couldn't see on that eye anymore.

"I fuckin' wish I could just kill you" he seethed before leaving you there in the dark- all beat up and bloody- head throbbing and surely a broken nose- making it hard to breath.

.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

.

You waited since then. Waiting for death to come. Waiting for Ghost to end it- but of course he never came back since then. Your wounds were starting to inflame- everything hurt and burned. Your eye swelling almost shut.

They all tortured you. Johnny, Kyle, John and Simon.

But they forgot something important. You were known for being patient. A fucking patient and stubborn woman. You waited. Yes you sometimes protested, and kicked and screamed and insulted them- but you neverthless waited for the day.

The day they finally see that they wronged an innocent. The day you would hurt them. Seek revenge.

Fucking. Revenge.

-

!please do reblog! :)

join the Taglist here (Taglist post)

[mauvearts]

Fëanáro

[glitchgh0sty]

More Cursed Knights AU concept art! In the form of hyper focused animation practice ✨<33

What might have happened in this fateful scene?? *stares at shoddy workshop* … I’ll let y’all know when I find out,, 😂🫶

[hemlock-dreams]

Fun fact when Peter was yeeted into this new world, he had to deal with some odd changes: like green money, different slang and the home button on the bottom for the Starkphones.

In fact Wade would catch him with the phone upside down a few times, which made him wonder...

[keferon]

So I had ideas for Mecha Pilot AU while reading some of the things that other people have sent and those ideas turned into this!

Enjoy some Hot Rod shenanigans!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It starts when Hot Rod catches First Aid trying to smuggle a metal sheet out of the base. 

Well, no, it really started when the higher ups said that Jazz, allegedly, stole a half put together experimental mech unit. Which, Hot Rod would like to point out, makes absolutely no sense. Jazz is smart. If he was going to steal a mech, he’d wait until it was completely built and fully functional. No, there was something else going on and it had something to do with those strange upgrades that a few of the mechs got. Jazz had taken one look at them and booked it. 

Then immediately stole a half made mech that was completely covered in the stuff. 

All of this happening after he had been gone for months before mysteriously returning. 

Point is there’s something going on and it started with Jazz.

Presently, it has something to do with First Aid and the hunk of metal he’s carting around. 

The hunk of metal that looks like that strange upgraded plating. 

“Sooo…” Hot Rod says as he looks the other pilot over, “We stealing now?”

“No, I- this is- Vortex is up next for the-.”

“Nah man, you’re fine.” Hot Rod walks over to the back of the cart and places a hand on the metal. “I’m game for whatever we’re doing, I just want to know if we need to be sneaky.”

“It- what? We?”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod smiles and tilts his head to the side, like this was a given. “So, we stealing?”

First Aid gives him a look that’s a cross between befuddlement and scrutiny. It’s one he gets often, but the newer pilot seems well practiced with it. A solid eight out of ten honestly.

“This isn’t for profit.” First Aid says slowly. “And this isn’t for me.”

Hot Rod’s smile takes a slightly more feral edge. “Even better.”

_._._

Apparently Jazz has an alien robot boyfriend and the higher ups were using parts of his body for upgrades. 

Very morbid, but sadly not surprising.

They need to get as much of the original frame as possible back to Ratchet as that would make repairs easier. 

They’ve apparently been getting a lot of the pieces that had already been on other mechs through “collateral damage”.

First Aid had shrugged, “It’s not my fault if an upgraded mech gets between Vortex and a monster.”

The real tricky bits to get were the ones still on base and being tested. Which, for some reason, included an entire oversized thumb.

An oversized thumb he and First Aid are trying to sneak out from under Shockwave’s nose. 

“The rest of the hand was in random parts of the base.” Hot Rod mutters. “Why did the thumb need to be in such a secure area?”

“Complain louder. I don’t think the bugs heard you.” First Aid sasses in a hissed whisper. 

Hot Rod shivers at the reminder of Shockwave’s “helpers”. Knee high robots with four legs and a hexagonal face. They would’ve been cute had their singular yellow eye not reminded him of the eerie visage that is now the scientist's face. Shockwave used them to help in his work but to also keep an eye on his lab and the surrounding hallways. 

“Don’t even go there, Aid. You’ll end up jinxing-.”

His warning is interrupted by a faint skittering from around the next corner. 

“Crap crap crap crap crap crap crap.” Hot Rod looks around frantically before shoving himself, First Aid, and the thumb into the nearest door.

It turns out to be a closet. What kind of closet? Hot Rod doesn’t know and he refuses to find out. While it could be a normal supply closet, he’s not taking the chance that it could also be storage for strange and dubiously ethical experiments. 

So Hot Rod crams himself into the small space while keeping his eyes entirely focused on the door as he closes it. He and First Aid hold their breaths as the skittering of the bug gets louder, comes right in front of their hiding spot, then continues on without pause. 

They both let out sighs of relief and Hot Rod sets his forehead on the door. 

First Aid makes an inquiring hum. “There’s a vent in here. Think the thumb would fit?”

“Oh no.” Hot Rod says, face still against the door. “Do you have any idea how loud that would be? We aren’t dragging a large metal thumb through the metal vents and destroying our hearing with the echoing screeches.”

“Well, what do you propose we do then? Take it out the front door?”

_._._

“That never should have worked.” 

“You should never underestimate the power of looking like you know what you’re doing while carrying a box.”

“That never should have worked.”

Said large and long box holding the alien robot thumb sat innocently in the back seat of Hot Rod’s truck. 

_._._

“We need a movie for Rachet and Drift.”

Ratchet, who is helping Jazz repair Prowl, gives Hot Rod that “befuddled and scrutinizing” look that everyone seems to give him (A definite ten out of ten for Ratchet; truly a professional in giving out looks to others). “What?”

“Well, yeah! We’ve got Ratatouille for Jazz and Prowl. Aid and Vortex got a reverse Ratatouille-.”

“How’d you hear about that?” First Aid demands.

“Tailgate.” Hot Rod answers easily, then turns back to Ratchet to continue his previous thought. “So now we need to think of a movie for you and Drift!”

Ratchet’s eyes narrow in the unspoken promise of bad things to come. “No.”

Hot Rod, being the one who got a mech that catches on fire and made it work, takes Ratchet’s look as a challenge. He snaps his finger and points at the older man “I got it! ‘The Iron Giant’.”

Ratchet scoffs, rolls his eyes, and gets back to working in the alien robot’s arm. 

“What?” Jazz protests, while keeping his main focus on the internals of Prowl’s arm, “Iron Giant? Really? That’s a loose connection at best and you know it.”

“Oh? And do you have something better?” Hot Rod playfully challenges. 

“Dude, ‘Lilo and Stitch’ is right there.”

“How is that any better than mine?”

“Because War Crimes McGee here,” Jazz gestures to an amused looking Drift before getting back to his work, “is a better fit for Stitch than the Iron Giant any day of the week.”

Jazz may have a point, but while Hot Rod’s mom may have raised a fool, she definitely didn’t raise a quitter. 

“So Ratchet here tells Drift all about ohana and kicks off his character arc?”

“Not everything's one to one, Roddy. I’m not using Prowl to become the best chef is Paris. You just don’t want to admit I’m right.”

“I agree with Jazz.” First Aid cuts in. 

Hot Rod gives him a mock glare. “You’re just saying that so you won’t have to agree with me.”

First Aid shrugs. “True, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

“Children. The lot of you.” Ratchet grumbles. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

And yeah! Ideas was mostly ‘Hey, they could probably have Vortex get pieces of Prowl back since fights like that are bound to be very chaotic and Vortex would have no hang ups about attacking allies every now and then’

It went further as the idea of Hot Rod and First Aid trying to do spy things and be sneaky but somehow succeeding due to Shenanigans was too funny to pass up XD

Loving this AU so far and all the cool stuff people are making for it!

OMG THE CHILDREN ARE STEALING FROM THE BIG CORPORATION IM SO PROUD OF THEM~~

Also the way all these different plot lines are crossing each other and occasionally coming together is just so cool I love it

Like, yeah we have fucked up horror, we have space drama, we have Lilo and Stitch aaaaand we have option to combine them together. Also now there is Shockwave so all the guys have the "free angst" option I gues ahahah

[phukbang]

what actually happened

[cursedxwt]

If everybody replaces him, I know there's someone who would never leave him alone...

[wavewavethoughtsonly]

Doodle Dump

Soundwave in a dress - an old prompt I sort of finished for @mr-playlist and her good friend @sakit-hati.

Microwave (c) @chamm0y now with TFP version fanart!

Click here for Smiley Face Shockwave

[coyotes-rules-of-change]

Oops... sorry about this. I'm sure it's all rather shocking right now...

Your boyfriend here, he's an ex of mine. And I like to have some fun with my men by giving them some... triggers. So when you saw your geeky boyfriend put on the cap and jokingly said, "Now turn it around!"—well that activated one of those past prompts.

And this? This is what he looks like a little over halfway through the change. He's gonna be even dumber, bigger, and hornier than he is now—nothing like the the charming beanpole you're used to. The transformation is rather radical, but looking at your reaction I'm not sure you object.

Oh, and to answer your other question—yes, that bulge you can't stop staring at? That's still growing too.

[thatoneluckybee]

okay WHAT is it about longer Webtoons that inspires the character to infiltrate and overthrow the government or at least fundamentally change it

[axeeglitter]

One way trip to Caracas

The flight from Paris to Caracas was long, but every second felt like a victory for Julien. At 32 years old, this was his first solo trip abroad, the culmination of years of hard work and saving every spare euro. His coworkers had teased him, saying it was too dangerous to travel to Venezuela alone, but Julien had brushed off their concerns. For him, this was not just a holiday; it was a statement of independence. No more predictable vacations with his family. No more dreaming of adventure while flipping through travel magazines. This was his time.

The sweltering heat hit him the moment he stepped out of the airport. Caracas was unlike anything he had ever seen. The towering buildings cast long shadows over streets bustling with life. Food vendors called out to passersby, the scent of arepas and empanadas mingling with the tropical humidity. The colors overwhelmed him: bright murals on crumbling walls, vibrant clothing, and the endless blue sky above.

Julien, with his average build and confident demeanor, stood out among the locals. His fair skin and European features marked him as a tourist immediately, but he didn’t mind. He had always prided himself on being adaptable, confident, and able to handle himself in any situation. After all, he’d spent years in the gym maintaining a body he was proud of. He wasn’t particularly muscular, but he was fit, a point of pride for someone who considered himself just an ordinary guy.

He had planned his trip meticulously. Days of hiking in the Andes, visits to Angel Falls, and, today, exploring the city and getting lost in its streets and markets.

The marketplace was everything Julien had hoped for and more. It was a chaotic symphony of sights and sounds: merchants shouting over each other, music blaring from hidden speakers, the clinking of coins exchanged for fresh produce, handmade crafts, and colorful trinkets. Julien wandered through the labyrinth of stalls, enchanted by the vibrant fabrics, carved wooden figurines, and the aroma of spices he couldn’t quite identify.

He stopped at a table displaying intricate jewelry. Bracelets made of woven leather, necklaces adorned with tiny beads, and rings of all shapes and sizes were laid out like treasures waiting to be discovered. The seller, an older woman with silver-streaked hair, smiled at him and began explaining each piece in rapid Spanish. Julien’s knowledge of the language was limited, but her enthusiasm was infectious.

As he examined a particularly striking silver bracelet, a group of teenagers loitered nearby, watching him. There were five of them, all around 18 to early 20s years old, dressed in a mix of modern streetwear and local flair. They whispered among themselves, smirking and occasionally glancing in his direction. Julien noticed them but didn’t think much of it. He assumed they were just curious about the foreigner in their midst.

“¿Cuánto cuesta?” Julien asked the vendor, pointing at the bracelet.

Before the woman could answer, one of the teenagers, probably the leader of the group,  stepped forward. He was tall and wiry, with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “Señor, let me help you,” the boy said in heavily accented English, grinning. “You don’t want that. It’s too expensive for you.”

Julien raised an eyebrow, more amused than annoyed. “Thanks, but I can handle myself.”

The boy’s grin widened. “Of course. Just saying. You should look around more. Better deals everywhere.” He gestured vaguely at the surrounding stalls.

The other teenagers laughed softly, their eyes gleaming with mischief. Julien turned back to the vendor, brushing off the interaction. He had no idea that, while he was distracted, another member of the group had slipped close behind him.

As Julien continued haggling over the bracelet, a smaller boy with a quick, practiced motion slid something into the pocket of Julien’s cargo shorts. The boy rejoined his friends, who stifled their laughter as they watched the oblivious tourist.

Julien eventually purchased the bracelet from the lady while small talking with her a bit and then moved on, unaware of the extra weight in his pocket. He spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the market, sampling local snacks and taking photos. The teenagers followed him at a distance, always staying just out of sight, their laughter echoing faintly as Julien admired a stand of colorful ceramic bowls.

By the time Julien returned to his modest hotel room that evening, the events of the day had left him exhilarated and exhausted. He dumped his shopping bag on the bed and emptied his pockets, pulling out his phone, wallet, and… a ring? Frowning, he examined it. The metal was cold and oddly heavy, the symbols on its surface almost seeming to shift under the dim light of the room.

“Weird,” he muttered, setting it aside. He assumed he must have accidentally picked it up at the market, maybe it had fallen into his bag or pocket while the young men were talking to him. Julien tried the ring on his finger and it fit perfectly, it was hugging his skin without compressing him and it was a perfect touch that he could keep as a memory of his travel. Being happy to find this ring by accident and seeing how well fitted it felt, Julien got ready to go to bed, forgetting completely to take the ring off as he fell asleep on his bed.

The morning sun streamed through the thin curtains of Julien’s hotel room, casting a golden glow on the sparse furnishings. He groaned softly, his body heavy with the lingering fatigue of the previous day. Stretching, he rubbed his face, only to pause when his hand brushed against his jawline. The stubble he had carefully groomed just yesterday felt... thinner. Softer, almost.

He sat up, dismissing the thought as morning grogginess, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. As he stood, he felt an odd looseness in his pajama shorts. They slid slightly down his hips, which felt narrower than usual. Julien tugged them back up, frowning but attributing it to weight loss from the heat and all the walking he’d done.

In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and glanced into the mirror. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at him. His skin, usually a pale European tone, had darkened slightly, as if the last days sun he took finally put a tan on his pale skin. His features looked subtly different, his nose a touch broader, his cheekbones sharper. It wasn’t drastic, but it was enough to make him pause and watch with attention how just a tan can make such a difference on his face and body.

“Must be the sun,” he muttered, running a hand through his short-cropped hair to style them after what he got himself ready for another hot day to explore Caracas and its streets.

But as the day wore on, Julien’s discomfort grew. Walking through the city streets, he noticed his stride felt different, as though his legs were subtly reshaping themselves. His calves felt leaner, his thighs slightly more muscular, but not in the way he was used to. There was a new tautness to his skin, a feeling he couldn’t quite place. His shirt clung awkwardly to his torso, which seemed slimmer than it had been in the morning.

By the afternoon, Julien’s reflection in shop windows was unmistakably altered. His once broad shoulders had softened slightly, tapering down to an athletic but less imposing frame. His arms, too, seemed leaner, the veins that usually stood out on his forearms now subdued beneath smoother, slightly darker skin.

The changes, at first painless, began to take on a strange intensity. As evening approached, Julien found himself stumbling as a sharp ache flared in his joints. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was persistent, like his body was being stretched and compressed at the same time. His face felt hot, as though feverish, and when he caught his reflection in a storefront window, he barely recognized himself. His jawline had softened, his lips fuller, and his eyes, a deep brown now instead of their usual golden hazel, stared back at him with an unfamiliar intensity.

Julien panicked seeing that he didn’t recognize himself anymore in his reflection. This was not the sun; this was something else. He needed help. Julien ran back at the hotel, paced the room, his heart pounding. He started to think and walk in his bed, trying to find an explication on the internet while looking for the emergency number; but now that he was alone with his thought and changing body, the feeling was growing stronger and stronger. Julien could feel his bones grinding each other as the transformation was not done yet. His skin tightening around his shrinking muscles, his vision blurring and coming back to normal, his body getting itchy. As he sat in the corner of the room, Julien felt a sharp painful sensation around his fingers, he tilted his head only to realize the ring he put on yesterday was still on, and worst, it was shining a faint golden hue. The ring. It had to be the ring. He grabbed it from his finger and tugged on it, trying to take it off. But it was not moving at all. Worst it felt like he was tearing off his own finger. It was stuck in place. As he was about to try once again going to the bathroom to put soap and water, he felt a jolt of energy course his body and coming from his finger. Julien screamed in pain as his voice felt rougher and higher at the same time. The wave of energy was running through his body and then it stopped and centralized around his feet. Julien turned his head and watched in horror as his feet started to compress and shrink right in front of his eyes. The symbols etched into the surface of the ring seemed to shimmer and shift, almost as if alive. Desperate, he tried to pull it off once again, only to find that it wouldn’t budge. The metal felt warm against his skin, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. Julien screamed in panic once again as he felt the ring starting to warm once again, like if it was ready to release a new wave. Julien was terrified and just like he thought, the sensation of invasion in his body came back once again, only this time it went in the direction of his head. The last thing Julien saw before his vision blurred and was taken by darkness was the night falling in his dark room as a golden light was emitted from his left hand.

As night fell and Julien was still fainted on his bed, the transformation accelerated. Julien’s once well-groomed chest and arms were now smooth, devoid of the hair he had always taken pride in. Yet, paradoxically, his armpits and thighs had grown thick with dark, curly hair, the contrast both alarming and surreal. His body continued to slim down, shedding years as it reshaped itself into that of a teenager. His abdomen, while still toned, looked less defined, the muscle structure softer and more natural.

The pain became unbearable by midnight. Julien curled up on the bed, clutching his stomach as spasms wracked his unconscious body. His bones felt like they were grinding against each other, his muscles tightening and releasing in unnatural patterns as tears streamed down his fainted face.

By dawn, the transformation was nearly complete. Julien’s once angular features were now softer, more youthful, with a golden-brown complexion that glowed in the bright morning light. Julien opened his eyes and turned his head around, taking the light in his warm brown eyes as his pupils contracted to accommodate to it. He turned his head to the left to look at the clock, forgetting what happened yesterday, but as he saw his tanned hand in front of him, everything came back to him. The ring, the changes, his body. Julien jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, his body, lean and athletic, moved with an ease and agility he hadn’t felt in years. There, in the mirror reflection, Julien saw his face and body. He looked like a local Venezuelan teenager, no older than 18. The realization hit him like a blow. Julien gasped in surprise and fear only to hear his deep voice being way higher and younger than what he was used to.

He couldn’t be stuck like this; he had a flight back in 2 days. How could he take the plane, his passport wasn’t even looking like himself anymore! As he kept on walking around the room, trying to find a solution, the light of the morning sun shine through his curtain and fell on his ringed finger, which illuminated his mirror reflection in golden hue. “The market!” he thought “I have to find the lady in the market, that’s her ring, I’m sure she’ll be able to help me out!” He grabbed a pair of flip flops, the only things that his feet were able to put on without loosing them, put on a pair of shorts and a shirt that was way too big for his body and then ran to the market with hope in his chocolate eyes. 

By the time Julien reached the bustling market, the sun was high in the sky, its heat beating down relentlessly and little to no sweat dripping down from his forehead. He maneuvered through the crowded streets, his heart thudding in his chest and the ring. Everything about the market felt more chaotic than it had the day before, the colors, the sounds, the voices speaking in rapid Spanish that he inexplicably understood with greater clarity now. He tugged at the sleeves of his loose shirt; his movements awkward as he tried to mask the unfamiliar changes in his body.

He reached the vendor’s stall from the day before and froze. The elderly woman wasn’t there. Her table was empty, the trinkets and jewelry nowhere in sight. His stomach churned as he turned in circles, scanning the crowd for her hunched figure. “She must be somewhere, she has to! I don’t know wha…”

“Señor turista!” interrupted a young men’s voice.

It made Julien’s blood run cold. He turned slowly, not knowing who to to expect or even if it was for him.

There, standing in front of him with a smirk on his face, a familiar young man with other ones stood a few meters away from him, their cocky smiles and sharp eyes fixed on him. The leader, a tall, wiry boy with dark, calculating eyes, stepped forward, his head tilting with mock curiosity.

“You look like you need help. You lost or something?” the leader asked kindly, switching easily between Spanish and English, his grin widening. “Come with me, we’ll help you find her. It’s not the first time this bruja does something like that.”

Julien’s breath quickened, but he forced himself to stand his ground. “Can you? That would be awesome. I’m terrified, I don’t even recognize myself, and everything feels so vivid and different.” he said, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound firm. “Do you know where she is? I have to turn back. I don’t want … this” he said pointing at his regressed body.

The leader’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “Sure, don’t worry. That’s why I tried to help you the other day when you bought this bracelet. But you didn’t listen. It’s ok, we can help you don’t worry. Just follow us, her shop is a few streets away.” Julien felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders and he laughed a bit out of anxiety. He’ll be able to go back home. As Julien followed the men and his group outside of the market, he didn’t realize the streets were getting less crowded. The houses getting closer from each other and the sun was having trouble piercing through the closed roofs surrounding them. “So, not to be uneducated or anything, but how long do you think we’ll have to walk? You said it was close and we’ve been walking for almost 25 minutes. I’m just wondering if… Hey! Stop that!” Julien was interrupted in his sentence. Two of the men he was following grabbed him by the arms. He tried to break free but they were way too strong for him to do anything in this twink body he was now inhabiting. In a quick move, Julien’s feet were not touching the ground anymore and as he kept on screaming for help, a door opened behind them, leading in a poorly decorated house with only a well-used black leather couch. They threw Julien on the couch and his head punched the wall behind him, making him dizzy for a minute. When his ideas were cleared, he jumped back on his feet only to realize the whole gang was surrounding him and he had nowhere to escape.

“Let me through,” he said, his voice louder now, his nerves beginning to fray.

“Why would we do that?” one of the boys sneered. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The leader stepped closer, his gaze locking on Julien’s terrified face. “You still don’t understand, don’t you? There is no escape for you, not anymore.”

Julien instinctively covered his hand, but the leader’s smirk deepened. “It’s too late to hide it now,” he said. “You’re already marked.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julien said, though his voice betrayed his growing panic. He tried to push past them, but hands grabbed his arms, his shoulders, his shirt, forcing him backward against the couch.

“You don’t get it, do you?” the leader said, leaning in close. “The lady is not the problem. She was just someone selling her craft trying to get money. She won’t help you, or turn you back!” “But you said…” Julien answered with tears in his throat. “I say a lot of things Julien. Here, it’s either eat or be eaten. And I won’t get eaten by society, not today, not tomorrow. See we needed someone like you. And you are perfect I have to say, or rather were. Your innocent face, your pale skin, your basic body. Yea you really were perfect. And you were alone, Jackpot!” continued the men as al his friends were still blocking Julien from running away. “Now listen, from now on, you work for me. And if you try to say anything out of character, well, let’s say you won’t be saying anything else.” “I’m sorry. I have money, I can pay you. Just turn me back and I’ll give you whatever you want. Please.” Answered Julien with tears rolling down his tanned cheeks. “What did I just say? Nothing out of character. Looks like you broke the first rule, isn’t that right Mateo?” said the men with a cocky smile creeping on his lips.

Julien froze. “Mateo?” he echoed, confused.

The leader laughed darkly. “I told you, Mateo. I won’t accept any side steps from my men.”

“Please I’m sorry. I…,” Julien hissed, trying to wrench free, but the gang’s grabbed him back as he tried to get up from the couch only to be pushed back and forced to sit. Julien froze as he was forced there on the couch. The leader took a step in his direction and then looked at his friends next to him. He smiled and then Julien saw the two men laughing and smirking as they approached his paralyzed body. Soon, the men grabbed Julien’s clothes until he was star naked. His new athletic tanned and musky body sitting there for everybody to look at him. Julien felt humiliated and hated every second of it, but he couldn’t escape from their grip, he was trapped. “I’ll pay you, just let me go. I won’t talk to anyone. Please!” said one more time Julien, trying to argue with the leader standing in front of him.

The leader didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the ring and pulled. Julien gasped as a sharp, burning sensation shot through his finger, as though the ring had fused to his skin. For a moment, it resisted, but then it slipped free, leaving behind a faint red mark on his tanned finger. Julien screamed as felt a part of himself getting ripped with the ring. His head started to spin as everything was starting to merge together before being broken and reformed again. Sweat started to poor down from his skin, his armpits sweating abundantly. Tears of sweat were rolling down his forehead and blurred his vision as he felt like his head was about to explode. He then felt an alien sensation invading his cock. It was like it was burning and itching t the same time. Julien opened his brown eyes only to realize in his blurred vision that his cock was now changing to something totally different. It started to shrink and compress on itself. Veins popping on the lengths as sensitivity started to grow higher and higher. Then burning appeared at the base, Julien’s mouth opened, trying to ask for mercy, as he felt a new forest of curly dark pubes starting to grow. Then his new smaller but thicker dick started to beat with the rhythm of his younger heart, his body getting overdosed by hormones as he couldn’t control himself, his hips wanted to move, to thrust, but the men were still holding him down. Without being able to control himself, a thick pearl of precum was ejected from his new tanner cock head, the first of many. Then all of a sudden, everything stopped. Julien opened his eyes again and everything was calmed, the men still in front of him was smirking with the ring in his hand, shining in a heartbeat rhythm before shutting off in a faint glow that soon stopped too.

“¿Qué me están haciendo? ¿Qué está pasando?”

The gang burst into laughter, their mocking voices echoing off the alley walls. Julien’s panic spiked as he realized he couldn’t remember how to speak English. Worse, his own name felt foreign to him, slipping from his mind entirely.

“As I said, your name is Mateo now,” the leader said, his grin cruel. “And you’re mine.”

“No... no puede ser,” Julien, no, Mateo whispered, his younger voice trembling.

The leader crouched down in front of him, his expression softening into something almost sympathetic. “You going to bring me a lot of money” he said. “My clients will adore you, that’s for sure.”

Julien shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “Esto no está bien,” he murmured, but the conviction in his voice was fading, drowned out by the growing fog in his mind.

The gang’s laughter grew louder as they released their grips on him. Julien’s resistance ebbed, his will crumbling under the weight of the changes overtaking him. As he tried to get up begging one last time for help, the leader snapped his fingers. Julien’s head spanned and he started to blink in confusion, his erected dick starting to spasm and eject more and more precum. In front of him, the leader called one of his loyal friend and gave him the bronze ring. As Julien looked at him, his vision blurred by pleasure and confusion, he saw the young men putting the ring on and in a couple of second, he saw his old reflection standing naked in front of him. His old body standing there at attention and waiting for the leader’s orders. “Que …. No es…” Julien managed to say as his cock was spasming more and more, pleasure invading his young naked sweaty and musky body. The leader just turned his head and smirked. “Cum par mi, puta!” Julien felt the orgasm rising as he couldn’t control himself anymore and suddenly cum fired out of his cock. It felt like he finally could breath again. Julien closed his eyes and when he opened them again, a smirk appeared on his younger face. “Bienvenido, Mateo” said the leader with a smile on his face as he threw a grey used jockstrap to Mateo. “Hola Boss!” answered Mateo as Julien was gone for good, drying on the cement floor.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys!

Here is the story I wrote for @misctf. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

As always, my DMs are open, so feel free to send me a message if you have any ideas you'd like me to write about.

Also, we're getting close to 1,000, so be ready, I’m planning a special event for you once we reach that milestone!

Thank you so much, guys! See you soon!

[cheesecake-bich]

If Sam was in TFP would his caretaker still be Bee

Me personally I think it’d be hilarious if it was Ratchet

“Isn’t having three humans here enough?” (Forgot to count Sam)

Sam: *in the bg* “😧”