#im actually quite proud of this

[plutos134340]

Setting ablaze an extravagant scene

Progress below cut:

[love-archive]

shoutout to all my listerine lovers

some mouthwashing trad doodles :3

the GRIP this game has on me atm is insane… i cannot stop thinking about it 😭🙏

go play mouthwashing it’ll change your life !!

[yanderespamton78]

Drew the trans cousins :3 (napstablook not included because their design is LAME!!!!!! IE I wanted more colours than white and black)

[clawfootcoffin]

Panopticon

im insane about the lighthouse (2019) and the magnus archives so i drew elias bouchard (she/he) and peter lukas (she/they) in a setting veeery inspired by the lighthouse! ♥

lightless version under break if you want to see the cloud details

tysm for getting this far ;3

[moooo0]

yo ney, sunny innit?

[lifenconcepts]

I maaaay have made myself but in gacha like.. yeah. Yeah that’s pretty much me. Hopefully ya get the idea.

[sheepucore]

i used an outrageous figure of invincible woman from the fantastic four as a reference for this pose, so if it looks familiar that's why.

[shotshoutshoot]

It hadn’t taken much for Penelope to realise that the child she now took care of was not the one she had given birth to. She had pointed ears, though as she got older she tried to cover them, and far sharper teeth than Penelope or her late husband had. There were other symptoms, that other people in town often pointed out, but Penelope frankly did not care enough to do any more than simply accept them. Her intelligence made her more pleasant to talk to, and Penelope found her secret fascination with the flute one of the cutest things she had ever seen.

So yes, Penelope knew full well her dear Helena was most likely a changeling. But she also knew that no matter what, she was still her dear Helena, and would continue to be her dear Helena until the day Penelope died. That was what she had signed up for when she became a parent and Penelope was never one to leave a task unfinished. And what she was not going to do was put her dear Helena through unjustified suffering, or give her up to anyone else, simply because she may be a changeling. Helena was a delightful girl, and was rapidly growing into a delightful woman before Penelope’s eyes. There was nothing anyone could do to separate her from her daughter.

Now, if only Helena’s other family understood that.

“Excuse me, but Miss…” the fairy said. He was tall, and dressed in grey with sharp green eyes that now bore a look of surprise. She supposed he had never had someone refuse to give back a changeling. The most she heard was people begging for their original child. Penelope knew that Helena was as good as her child, now. It had been over a decade. As far as she was concerned, that was where the warranty for the child you traded for a human one expired.

“Mrs!” she corrected indignantly, crossing her arms as she stood in the doorway. “Mrs Penelope Burnham! And there’s no way you’retaking my daughter from me!” she tapped her foot impatiently. These fairies were complete and utter fools if they thought she would just let them take her daughter from her. They were the ones that left her in the first place, and in Penelope’s opinion you did not get to abandon your child for over a decade without contacting her and then just turn up and expect to take her.

“but Mrs Burnham,” the other fairy said. She had the same sharp green eyes as the other fairy, and auburn hair that sat around her shoulders. She held her hands up in front of her in a placating gesture. “that’s not your daughter–”

“–bullshit!”

“–and it’s well past time she return to Elfhame…” the other fairy said calmly. Penelope was seconds from cursing at them on her doorstep, and quite possibly getting violent towards the two fairies. If she didn’t do either of those, she would tell these fairies exactly where they could shove their Elfhame.

“Let me get this straight,” Penelope said, glowering at the two of them. “Youtwo have the sheer audacity to think that you can just waltz up to my home, knock on my door, and take my daughter from me?” she raised her eyebrows, moving her hand to the edge of her front door. The two exchanged nervous glances. “you can’t just abandon a child for over a decade, make no attempts to find or contact her, and then just turn up at her front door expecting her to skip away into the sunset with you! If you want to control where your child lives then raise her yourselves!”

“Mrs Burnham,” the male fairy stuttered. “this situation isn’t exactly as you portray it–”

“Isn’t it?” she replied indignantly. “You traded Helena in place of the child I gave birth to, without even asking me! She’s my daughter now! You do not get to dictate what happens to her now! And this obviously isn’t a monetary issue, because you’re both wearing some of the most lavish clothes I have ever seen, otherwise I would be more sympathetic!” she yelled.

The fairies were both sheet white – one looked seconds from being sick – but frankly, Penelope didn’t care. They weren’t just going to take her Helena. Her Helena, who knew every poem by Thomas Taylor off by heart. Her Helena, who specifically learned to play Penelope’s favourite songs on the flute to make her smile. Her Helena, who couldn’t wear shirts with collars too high and who’s favourite food was the family Bolognese recipe. Even if she was a changeling, hell, even if she turned out to be a fire-breathing dragon or a man-eating fish monster, she was Penelope’s Helena and she wouldn’t trade her for the world.

Penelope gave the fairies some final words, ones so shocking even her neighbour’s cat and her deceased husband started listening, far too shocking to be repeated, and promptly slammed the door in their face.

“Honestly, the pure audacity of those–” Penelope muttered, turning around. Helena stood by the kitchen door, wide-eyed. Penelope didn’t know how much she’d heard, but she’d suspected it was enough.

“you know?” Helena asked. Her green eyes, they had always been unnaturally green – ever since she was tiny, glistened with tears about to fall. Distantly, Penelope wondered how long she’d been fretting over this for.

“I know,” she confirmed. She wrapped Helena in a hug. “You’re still my daughter. Even if you’re not biologically mine, you’re the only daughter I’ve raised.”

“But what if you can get your biological child back?” Helena said, voice wavering. “what if the real Helena wants to come home?” Penelope gently ran a hand through her hair. In truth, she’d thought about that many times. But, each time she always came to the exact same conclusion.

“Then I have two daughters.”

You raised the changeling infant as your own. After years of loving this child, the fae have made it clear that they’re there, that they want their child back. But you won’t let them take them without a fight.

[letthehatersbark]

Wordle 1,227 4/6

🟨⬜⬜⬜🟨 ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜🟨⬜ 🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

[sai-bun]

So I drew my oc in femtanyl's art style,,, or at least I tried to TwT

[the-raindeer-king]

The 141 and having kids with them :) This was fueled by a random thought I had at work, and it was written at like 3am. Pls be kind.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Due to his personal experiences, I think he probably would be against having kids in the beginning. Like he's seen and been through so much, and I think his main fear would be ending up like his dad. So he always just wrote it off as something he never wanted to experience

UNTIL YOU COME IN 

And at some point, maybe after Johnny starts having kids, Simon sees you interacting with one of the babies. And something about seeing you with a baby on your hip flips a switch in his brain. 

He wants a kid and he wants one now.

Anyway y'all definitely don't stop at just one kid. I like the idea of Simon with 3 kids, all girls of course. He just exudes girl dad energy. 

He's a great dad too btw. Retires from field work after the second girl is born, and absolutely adores them. Encourages them to engage in extracurricular activities. Would coach their sports team if any of them join. Never misses a recital (totally doesn't try to get the other task force members to show up. 🙄 They just happened to be free lmao)

If any of the girls enlisted, he'd probably try to talk them out of it at first. War is brutal, and the idea of any of them going through what he did makes him sick with worry. But he comes around to the idea, and in the end, is so proud of them. 

He's proud of them regardless. All three are firecrackers with big personalities, and he loves them so much. 

John Price

I think, when he was younger, Price wanted kids. Liked the idea of a wife/husband, a house with a yard, and a couple kids. And it just… never happened. Life got in the way, and how could he bring a child into this world, with all the things he's seen? He made his peace with it, and moved on. 

And then he meets YOU. And suddenly he finds himself hoping for these things again. Especially kids. 

Give this man a baby, please! He exudes fatherly energy (in more ways than one ;p) 

After y'all have the first kid, he retires from the military all together. He's paid his dues, and he's got something far more important now: you, and your sweet baby boy :)

I could see Price either only having one, or having a handful of kids. Probably no more than 3 (two boys and a girl) 

A good dad. Maybe gets a little too invested in their sports games, probably ends up as a coach after correcting the old one too many times lmao 

Would be so proud if any of your kids followed in his footsteps. If none of them do, I think he'd be quietly disappointed but proud of them nonetheless. The two of you raised some wonderful kids. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably never really gave it much thought. Like having kids would be cool. Not having them is fine too. Kyle definitely wasn't stressing it, he's got bigger things to worry about.

I mean that is until YOU come along. And now he's thinking about getting married and having babies. 

Definitely talks with you about it in detail. He wants your opinion on it, what method to go about it, if you think you're ready for that. A very lengthy conversation that ends in a mutual agreement. 

I think Kyle wouldn't want more than 2. Like you could convince him, if you want more. But he's fine with a small family. 

2 boys. Twins. Absolutely a handful, and Kyle's there to help when he can. I don't think he'd leave the military until the boys are older, maybe 10/11. But he steps up when he is home, giving you a well deserved break from parenting. 

Loves your boys. Play wrestles with them when they're little, brings them trinkets back from his deployments, takes note of their interests and different personalities. 

Wouldn't mind either way if they enlisted or not. Kyle would be proud of them regardless. You've raised two fine boys, what's not to be proud of?

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish 

Oh, Johnny boy here wants a big family. He's dead set on having kids. It absolutely is a deal breaker for him. His partner has to want kids too.

So when he meets you. And you want kids too, he's over the moon. 

If you've got a uterus, the first kid definitely happens unintentionally. Y'all weren't actively trying, Johnny just can't keep it in his pants lmao. 

If not, then it's all planned out and everything goes smoothly, whether that's surrogate or adoption. 

Like I said, BIG family. I'm talking like 5 kids at the least. You cannot talk him out of it.

Also gives big girl dad energy. Probably ends up with 4 girls and 1 boy. And he's fine with it! Loves getting his nails painted and throwing tea parties, just as much as he loves playing soccer and wrestling 

Like Kyle, Johnny doesn't immediately retire. Sometime after the girl 4 and the baby boy, he'd retire from field work. But he's always facetiming with the kids and bringing them stuff back. Being dad doesn't stop just because he's halfway across the world. 

Would be so proud if any of them enlisted. Would probably cry unashamed. But he's equally as proud of them if they don't. 

[doodoodinklefart]

it's late but!!!! happy birthday suguru!!!!! you deserve the world 🥺🥺🥺🥺i could have gotten it on time but im rlly bad at planning LOOL but i hope you enjoy it anyway!! it's based on my own personal hc that suguru consumed his first curse on his birthday as a child and has associated his birthday with curses ever since (but satoru brings new meaning to it! i hate them very much)

also gonna add alt text soon! i just wanted to get it posted before the 5th LOL

edit: alt text added!

[rapidhighway]

behold, sonic and knuckle climbing a cliff. what will they do

[justarandombrit]

This took seven hours I'm not okay (as always click for quality)

[serizawasgamecube]

mom said its my turn to fix serizawas waistline

[thegainingdesk]

Borrowed

“Fuck!” I barked as hot coffee spilled down my front. This always seemed to happen when I wore a nice shirt, always when I had to meet clients, always on a fucking Tuesday. God I hated Tuesdays.

Fifteen minutes of frantic dabbing with wet paper towels later I sat slumped in my chair. Not only had I not managed to shift the coffee stain, but now I'd also made my shirt wet enough that my thick body hair was plainly visible through it.

“Maybe someone has a jumper?” Owen asked.

Sandra shook her head sadly. “We asked around,” she said. “The weather's been so lovely, not sure the last time anyone brought a jumper in. There's a couple in lost and found but…” She trailed off and lifted up two jumpers - one lurid pink with three kittens covered in glitter, the other a red Christmas jumper implying Santa was about to do unspeakable things to a reindeer.

“Not really the thing for a client meeting,” Owen said, making a small sucking noise through his teeth.

“Someone else is going to have to do it,” I said. “It's in ten minutes, there's no way my shirt will be dry in time.”

“I always keep a spare shirt or two in the stationery cupboard,” Graham said, appearing round the corner eating a donut. “It'll be a bit big for you though!” he added, slapping the firm ball gut that took up his torso.

I bit my lip. On one hand, I'd look absolutely ridiculous, my lanky frame swallowed up by a shirt intended for a man surely a hundred pounds or more heavier than me. On the other hand, I'd look more presentable than I currently did. And besides, it would be kind of hot to have real, tangible evidence of just how much bigger Graham was than me - okay, so forty-five year old obese dads aren't exactly everyone's fantasies, I can admit that, but for me, Graham was my dream man.

“Thanks Graham,” I said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

A minute later I was stood in our stationery cupboard holding up a piece of fabric I could use as a light blanket. The tag said 2XL and I thought about how Graham filled his shirts - gut straining gently at the seams, the hem riding up by the end of most days to reveal a wedge of hairy fat. There were some trousers as well, neatly folded beneath the shirt. I held the pair up to my waist and boggled at how much wider they were. I imagined filling up clothes so big and felt myself grow hard.

I peeled off my own wet, stained, size small shirt and hung it on the door handle to dry a little. I slipped my arms in Graham's shirt and buttoned up the front. The shirt swallowed me. The hem hung down below my crotch, the shoulder seam lined up somewhere along my upper arm, so that the cuff hung down past my thumb, the whole thing billowed around me. I pinched the fabric and held it out in front of me - it seemed like there was a foot of space left in every direction.

My cock throbbed. I checked the door was locked, then checked the time. I had a few minutes, and Sandra was already on delaying duty. I bunched the shirt up, unbuttoned my fly and pulled my aching cock out. I stroked rapidly, keen to finish in a timely fashion. I tried to imagine myself filling the shirt. How much bigger would I be? Would I be shaped like Graham, with a firm gut, or would I be softer, flabbier, wider? My left hand raked over my trim stomach and my breath hitched as I moved it away, out to where I'd held the shirt just a moment ago. I bit my lip to stop myself yelling out as I shot cum across the floor of the cupboard, and as it dribbled over my fist.

Hit by post-wank clarity, I immediately felt like an idiot. How did I think I was going to clean this up? I frantically grabbed my wet shirt and did my best to wipe up the thick cum on my right hand and cock, struggling a bit to get it out of my pubes and stopping it getting on my trousers or Graham’s shirt. Then I knelt down and wiped up the mess on the floor.

A knock on the door. “Just coming now!” I choked.

“The clients are here,” came Graham's voice through the door. “That shirt alright?”

I looked down at myself. I looked fucking ridiculous, like a child wearing his dad's suit for a play. “Yeah Graham, cheers. It's perfect.”

I wadded up my coffee and cum covered shirt and threw it into a corner that I hoped no-one would look in over the day. I tucked the excess fabric into the waistband and rolled up the sleeves, hoping the overall effect was “loose and casual” rather than “four sizes too big”.

-

I panted softly as I squelched my way into the office. When I woke up, the weather was blissful - bright sunshine, a little warm maybe, but with a light breeze to make it bearable, the sky clear apart from a couple of distant picturesque fluffy clouds completing the picture. Of course, once I was halfway to work, the heavens abruptly opened, necessitating me to run from my tube stop through torrential rain to my office.

My body wasn't exactly built for running these days. That day with Graham's shirt had flicked a switch somewhere deep in my brain, and since then my appetite and waistline had expanded in rapid conjunction. Now my soaking shirt clung to a round, soft gut, plump tits and wide love handles, and my damp trousers made my wide, plush thighs and fat pad uncomfortable.

I was met with noises of sympathy from my much more weather-prepared co-workers as I dripped across the floor, but couldn't fail to notice the whispers and pointing as soon as I passed. My weight gain wasn't exactly fresh office gossip at this point, but I'm sure it being highlighted by clinging wet clothes didn't exactly help matters. I sighed as I sat at my desk, the cold clothes against my skin making me shiver.

A shadow fell over me and I saw Graham stood meekly above me. “I've got some spare clothes,” he said quietly, looking around to see if anyone was listening. “I'm not sure if you, you know, if they'll fit or anything, but you're welcome to them if you like.”

I saw his eyes flick to my swollen gut and my heart jumped as I realised that Graham - Graham! The office fat guy! - wasn't sure who was bigger out of the two of us. I shuffled my legs slightly to adjust my hardening cock, but knew that my overhang would largely keep my arousal hidden.

“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks Graham, that would be great,” I thanked him. “I've actually borrowed your shirt before, you know,” I told him. “You wanting to keep it a secret all of a sudden?”

Graham grew more flustered. “It's not that,” he said. “I'm happy for people to borrow it whenever, you know. I figure it's best if there's a spare shirt around and at least if it fits the fattest- I mean, that is, if it fits me it… well.” He cleared his throat and looked around again. He lowered his voice further “I wasn't sure if you'd be happy to, you know, have people know you were borrowing my clothes. You know since…” He gestured feebly towards me and I felt my heart pump harder.

“That's fine Graham,” I said. “Thank you again.”

“If you ever want to talk to someone,” he said, not moving yet. “I get it, you know, the uh,” he shifted his feet nervously, “weight thing. I was probably about your age when I started to put on a bit, back when Vanessa had the twins and well… anyway. I just wanted to say that I know how it feels, and if you ever wanted to talk to someone who understands…”

“Thanks Graham,” I said. “For the shirt and the offer.” I stood up so that we were almost belly to belly. “I best go get changed.” Graham grinned and gave a small wave as he walked away.

I looked at the shirt on the hanger in front of me. Was I really the same size as Graham now? I'd certainly fantasized about the idea often enough, and the shirt in front of me looked… well, it looked normal. I thought back to that day a couple of years before when I was shocked at the size of Graham's clothes; now they looked the exact same as all the others I had hanging in my wardrobe at home.

I pulled off my damp clothes and put on the shirt. It fit perfectly - the collar wasn't too tight, the shoulder seams hit the right place, it tucked perfectly into my waistline. A little snug, perhaps, around my gut, but then most clothes did these days. The buttons were definitely straining more than they did around Graham's belly, weren't they? He'd have surely bought the next size up by now if this was how his shirts fit everyday.

I sucked in as I bent down to pick up the trousers, keen not to stress the buttons anymore and stood back up with a loud grunt. Advanced acrobatics like “bending over” and “standing back up” were getting a little strenuous these days. I looked in the waistband and froze. It was a 42 inch waist. I'd gotten rid of my last pair of 42s months ago, and in the meantime my 44s were starting to pinch painfully when I was particularly bloated. I looked back at my soaked trousers and imagined drying in them. These would have to do - maybe just for the morning until my clothes dried.

I had to suck in as I struggled to button the trousers, and immediately felt the familiar vice grip of too small clothes as I let my gut hang out fully. The fabric confined my legs and hips, making my torso explode out of the top like bread dough, and I could imagine the angry red marks I'd see once I took them off. The legs felt like skinny-fit jeans, all the way down to my calves. Surely Graham couldn't wear these? I didn't think I'd be able to sit down all day.

“Those forty-twos aren't too big, are they?” Graham asked when I gingerly came out the stationery cupboard, feeling like an overstuffed sausage casing come to life. “I only really use them if I'm feeling a bit bloated,” he explained.

I shook my head and gave a strained smile. “They'll stay up with a belt,” I said. I saw Graham's eyes flick down to the full-to-bursting fabric with no belt in sight.

He gave a thin smile. “Well then,” he said. “Glad I could help. You know where they are if you ever need them again.”

I was back in my own trousers by lunch, after promising Graham to buy him a new pair since I'd ripped the seat on his.

-

I licked the sugar and jam off my fingers as I walked up to Graham.

“Hey man,” I said, before stifling a belch. “I don't suppose I could borrow that spare shirt you keep?” I gestured down at my shirt, where jam from my donuts sat next to grease from that morning's sausage roll on the shelf of my gut. “Breakfast got a bit messy this morning.”

Graham’s eyes widened a touch and I could see him perform a series of mental calculations. “I've lost a little weight since the last time you borrowed a shirt,” he said after a moment. “I'm down to just plain old extra large these days.”

“It looked like the same shirt when I got some staples the other day,” I told him. “Maybe you just forgot to swap it out.”

He smiled weakly. “Ah, yeah, that's right,” he conceded. “Must not have brought in one of my new ones yet.” His eyes flicked down to the farthest extent of my gut, where its swell strained the buttons of my 4XL. “So you umm, I mean that is, if you think, but well.” He desperately reached for a polite way to tell me I was too fat for even the clothes that were too big for him. He lowered his voice. “Weren't you saying a while ago you shop at one of those plus-size shops these days? I never really went to those, even when I was, well, before I lost some weight.”

I grinned and shrugged. “Worth giving it a go, right buddy?” I slapped the top of my belly. “Us big guys are used to squeezing into places.”

He grimaced at the suggestion our sizes were comparable and gestured towards the cupboard where he kept his spare shirts. “Help yourself,” he mumbled.

I unbuttoned my own shirt and dropped it in a heap on the floor. I picked up Graham's from its hanger and held it out in front of me - did I really used to fit in clothes this small? I grunted as I bent down to pick up the trousers and held that out in front of my waist too - god they were narrow. My own hips were a good half foot wider, even while holding them like this. I'd have liked to have tried them on too, but they were a non-starter, I knew. A shame that I couldn't go all the way with my little game, but oh well.

I put the shirt on, even the shoulders a little too narrow to slip my arms into comfortably, and slowly started buttoning, my fat fingers slow and clumsy. The neck was a complete no go, fat oozing over the collar when I attempted. The buttons over my tits were snug, but broadly doable. The top of my gut - starting to become a real problem. At the very diameter of my soft ball gut the two sides were inches apart. Determined to make a show of myself in front of the office before I left in a few weeks, I sucked in as far as I could and tugged on the shirt hard. After a few moments of struggling, huffing and puffing all the buttons were precariously lodged into their respective holes.

I let my gut out slowly, so as not to tear any seams or send the buttons scattering. Even at the largest I dare let my gut hang out, I was still sucking in a little.

Every inch of fabric was filled with me, inflated to its limit. I could almost hear the cloth creaking. The buttons had huge ovals of hairy, dimpled skin showing between them. The bottom of the shirt hung around my heavy love handles like bread loaves and several inches of my gut hung clearly out the bottom. The waistband of my trousers were hidden beneath cascading fat, and my soft arse hung out at the top.

I grinned as I walked out the cupboard. “Cheers for the shirt Graham,” I called across the office. Disgusted and embarrassed faces turned towards me as they took in the sight of my morbidly obese body forced and squeezed into clothes meant for the merely clinically obese. I began walking towards Graham as I spoke, giving everyone a good view. “I don't think it's really going to work,” I said as I gestured towards my body. “I swear we used to be the same size?” I shrugged. “Ah well, I can cope with a couple of stains for today.”

Graham blushed bright red as I approached him, the only person forced to engage with the spectacle unfolding in front of everyone. “Oh well,” he said, staring resolutely at his computer screen.

A flash of a thought began to nucleate into an idea. Did I dare? I think I did. I made a show of wrinkling my nose a little and then- “ACHOO” - a not quite believable fake sneeze as I let my gut expand to its fullest extent. Two buttons pinged off the and I heard a small rip to my side.

“Oh god!” I feigned humiliation. “I'm so sorry Graham, your shirt! I'll buy you a new one!”

Graham paled. “That's fine,” he insisted. “Didn't fit anymore anyway, destined for the charity shop.”

“No, no,” I replied. I stroked my hand around my gut, feeling the contrast between strained fabric and exposed skin at the fresh tear in the shirt's side. “It's my fault and this spare shirt’s helped me out no end of times.” I pretended to ponder for a moment. “I swear it used to fit…”

My cock was rock hard beneath my gut as I returned to the stationery cupboard to put my own shirt on.