#posterior design

[simder-talia-blog]

AHS Roanoke has an ass window

[t00thpasteface]

This is a reference guide to establish a clear foundation for the anatomy of the catcatfish, with attention paid to where the sarcopterygian half and actinopterygian half may be in conflict. I'm famously averse to drawing stuff on-model, and my own designs are no exception... I'll tweak a catcatfish's proportions as the piece demands it, and I like trying out different ways to stylize stuff. I made this to counterbalance/compensate for that, and reveal the baseline I've personally been working off of.

MUSCULOSKELETAL

Catcatfish have short, stocky limbs and a significant amount of body fat, giving them a hydrodynamic silhouette. The limbs are also widely spaced so that the catcatfish may undulate its trunk along with its tail during aerobic swimming. The body fat helps maintain buoyancy, as does the air that is held in the lungs while swimming. Nearly all of the catcatfish's body is covered in a short, dense, oily fur, with the exception of the fins, barbels, and toe pads; this fur traps body heat underwater and dries quickly on land.

The catcatfish's dorsal fin has one hard spine on the anterior edge, followed by several soft rays consistent with the number seen in the corresponding catfish species. These join to pterygiophores that interlock with the vertebrae to anchor the fin above the spinal column. The spine and rays of the fin are capable of a lever-like movement, allowing the fin to be raised and lowered for locomotion, communication, and thermoregulation. The adipose fin on the tail is composed of a thin, hairless skin without any spines or rays.

The tail vertebrae have pronounced neural and haemal spines to anchor the swimming muscles. Most of the muscles in the tail are white (glycolytic) muscle, which is used for short bursts of extremely rapid movement. Narrow bands of red (oxidative) muscle run down the length of the tail along the horizontal septum for slow, aerobic swimming. The limbs are used in a paddling motion during slow swimming and tucked in close to the body during fast swimming.

SKULL AND HEAD

Catcatfish have a feline skull, but its shape is more depressed than those of housecats.

The eyes and eyesockets are greatly reduced and widely spaced in most species, with more of the skull space devoted to the enlarged oral and nasal cavities, as they do most of their hunting by smell and hearing and are not very discerning about prey type.

Barbels are present in all life stages. The barbels are hairless and highly enervated so that they may function as smell/taste organs. Catcatfish will flex and wiggle their barbels to pinpoint food, navigate a low-visibility environment, and communicate with other members of their species.

Catcatfish have prominent canine teeth, but their molars and premolars are absent. They eat by swallowing prey whole, and prefer to hunt underwater by catching prey with their forelimbs and gulping it with powerful suction. If hunting on land, they may dunk their prey in a nearby body of water to make it easier to swallow. They are capable of pulling their lips relatively far back on their face and will do this as a threat display. They use their raspy tongues to groom themselves like other felids, distributing oils throughout their fur.

RESPIRATION

The gills of the catcatfish are located in the neck, just anterior to the clavicles. The throat is very wide to accommodate both the gill arches and whole swallowed prey. The esophagus and windpipe separate posterior to the gill arches so that the gill rakers can catch additional food as water is sifted through. Due to both the size and structure of the throat, the catcatfish's "meow" is very low and hoarse, and it will also vocalize with growling and grunting. Most communication between catcatfish is through body language, and vocalization is not possible underwater.

Air is inhaled through a negative pressure system, i.e. through the manipulation of a diaphragm below the lungs. Water intake uses a positive pressure system in which water is gulped into the mouth and "swallowed" via pressure from the tongue and hyomandibular complex to force it outward through the gill openings. While swimming at high speeds, the catcatfish will hold its mouth open to allow a continuous oxygenation without the additional energy expenditure of the gulping motion.

The lungs are comprised of seven separate lobes, nearly identical to those of a domestic cat. To prevent aspiration of water into the lungs, the windpipe has a fleshy valve that reflexively seals off the lungs as the animal goes underwater. Air held in the lungs maintains the catcatfish's buoyancy, and the catcatfish will periodically breach to exhale and inhale at the water's surface to supplement its oxygen intake while swimming.

Breaching occurs more frequently in waters with higher temperatures and/or salinities due to decreased oxygen saturation in the water. Catcatfish have a lower body temperature and slower metabolism than mammals, and during the winter, when temperatures are low and prey is scarce, they may periodically enter a state of torpor where they will exhale the air from their lungs and lie still on the bottom of a body of water without breaching to conserve energy for prolonged periods of time. Catcatfish prefer to sleep on land, but may sleep underwater in short thirty-minute naps if the water's oxygen saturation is high and the currents are relatively calm.

While on land, the operculum is pressed flat against the gills as a protective mucus is secreted over the sensitive filaments to prevent the gills from being damaged or drying out; this mucus sheds quickly when the catcatfish returns to the water.

REPRODUCTION

Catcatfish have one mating season annually, beginning in early spring shortly after the last major cold snap in the area (typically late March or early April) and lasting until autumn begins about six or seven months later. Within this window, a catcatfish may raise up to two litters, one immediately after the other, but may only raise one if conditions are not ideal.

The courtship process of the catcatfish involves the male building a nest on land very close to shore by digging a shallow pit into the earth, then padding and fencing it with soft plant matter gathered from the nearby area; catcatfish have also been observed collecting scrap fabric and discarded apparel for nest construction. The male will wait near the nest for a female to approach and the pair will engage in an elaborate courtship dance. They will remain in the immediate area for the next three months as the young gestate, nurse, and wean. Catcatfish are monogamous in a given mating season.

Catcatfish are oviparous; they lay eggs that hatch outside of the mother. The gestation time is about two months, but for the first half of the gestation, the eggs are retained inside the mother as they each develop a large yolk sac. Unlike egg-laying mammals, which lay waterproof leathery eggs, catcatfish eggs resemble those of bony fish; they are translucent, with the embryo visible inside, and they must be submerged in water for the embryo to receive oxygen.

Like many species of catfish, catcatfish are mouthbrooders. During the first half of gestation, and often even well before courtship, the male catcatfish will gorge himself to gain massive stores of body fat. After the eggs have gestated for a little over a month, the female will lay the full litter of eggs (typically 3 to 5 total) within the mouth of the male. Over the course of the next few weeks, the male will subsist on his fat stores, as well any small food items collected by his gill rakers, as he continuously carries the eggs in his mouth until they hatch. This protects the eggs from predators and ensures constant oxygenation via the water constantly being pumped into the mouth and out through the gills. The male is fairly inactive during this time and remains mostly underwater, with periodic breaches to gulp air; cooler water temperatures are preferred for the higher dissolved oxygen content. The female will remain close by to offer further protection, and she maintains their nest on land.

Mouthbrooding ceases once the eggs hatch. The larvae, called "kitterlings", hatch with a yolk sac still attached, which depletes over the next 24-48 hours, as well as with open eyes and all four limbs visibly developed, though they are virtually immobile while on land. They are also toothless and have no venemous barbs yet. As they hatch, the male will bring them onto land and deposit them from his mouth onto the soft bed of the nest. They will spend much of their time sleeping and nursing during the first two weeks after hatching, and the female will nurse them in the nest instead of underwater. The male will guard the kitterlings as the female occasionally hunts for her own food, but he may also carry prey to her while she nurses or rests. The rest of the time, the male will be eating frequently to replenish his greatly expended fat stores. The kitterlings grow and develop quickly and will be weaned after four to six weeks.

Hope you got a kick out of this! In the future, I'd like to explore a few of the many, many wonderful species of catcatfish in similar detail, as the one pictured in this post, the blue catcatfish, is only one of several known (and unknown) varieties.

I wrote about the "why" of their design on this post, and I recommend checking that out if you enjoyed learning about the "how". All the fun stuff I've posted about catcatfish is in my catcatfish tag.

Thanks for all the love so far, everyone! The catcatfish project is very near and dear to my heart, as you can tell... so your enthusiasm means more to me than I could possibly express. 🐈🐈🐟

[erisenyo]

"could you please come and get me?" I'm BEGGING🙏🙏🙏

For this prompt game! (And also this one!) (Andthis one too lol)

(Can be read as a follow-up to this)

“…and, like, everyone goes through phases!”

Hakoda hastily unfolds from his very undignified stretch at the muffled sound of Sokka’s voice, wincing at the protest of his sore back. Bato keeps saying he’s eventually going to value his posterior chain enough to stop taking red eyes no matter how cheap they are, and one day Hakoda is actually going to listen instead of making jokes about posteriors.

“—and sisters, you know? They never let go of anything no matter how old you all get, and they always take things too far—”

Hakoda glances again around the dim lit, tidy shop as if maybe the angle of the sunlight will have changed, vaguely pleased and surprised that Sokka is here so early as the faint jangle of the admittedly-huge keyring filters through the door.

It’s hours past when they usually open, of course, but judging by the timing of Sokka’s late-night-scarfing-down-dinner phone calls, he’s been working plenty past when they usually close.

“—not in a creepy way or anything, obviously. Just a joke. A bad one!”

Not that Hakoda was really worried. And he was right to now really worry! There’s nothing blown up, no scorch marks or tools missing because Sokka really needed a good shearing weapon for his robot-killing robot, no half-deconstructed engines and piling-up repairs because Sokka is sure he’s figured out a way to get more efficiency out of the whole system.

“—and that one is totally new, anyway. I had no idea it was even there! And so, um. High definition.”

Those this Audi sitting in the middle out of the shop, which is very out of place for Wolf Cove to begin with, let alone in Hakoda’s shop…

“And I mean, you know how sisters are!”

Hakoda does have some questions about that.

That Jesk kid better not be involved, or whatever his name was...

“Or—right?” Sokka’s voice is suddenly clear as he finally finds the right key to unlock the office door. “You—maybe? I mean—you—or—”

“Yeah,” a husky, raspy voice cuts in, faintly amused, and Hakoda pauses in surprise as he realizes Sokka isn’t on the phone. “I have a sister.”

Hakoda glances curiously through the office window as Sokka flicks the lights on, bright light illuminating the office and the break room and the car bays one by one, revealing his son—dressed for work, not starving, not injured, good—and the lean, black-on-black clad boy behind him, and Hakoda feels his eyebrow jump up in surprise.

Ah. He recognizes a pretentiously pre-worn designer leather jacket when he sees one. That would be where the car came from, then.

“And,” Sokka hurries on, darting nervously around the office as he wakes up the computer and sets down his coffee and Hakoda’s other eyebrow slides up to join the first. He can recognize Sokka’s cover-his-ass voice anywhere. “It’s not like I would recognize you out of context anyway without, you know. Or with, or—and so, like, it's not like I was being weird or anything, or like, trying to lock you in the basement or something, or—fuck.” Sokka scrubs his hands over his face before pasting on a bright, game smile and marching toward the car bays. “Yeah, I’m just going to stop talki—Dad!”  

“Sokka,” Hakoda greets him, giving the other boy—not a boy, Sokka hates being called a boy, he reminds himself—a curious look. “And…?”

“Oh,” the boy blinks, freezing a little. “Uh—”

“I didn’t realize you were coming back,” Sokka hops in, hurrying over. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to grab a few things from the house, see you and Katara a bit,” Hakoda assures him, reaching out to give Sokka’s shoulder a squeeze and offering a smile to the other boy as he trails Sokka after a moment across the shop floor. “Who’s this?”

“How’s Gran Gran?” Sokka asks as the boy hesitates, mouth half-open.

“She’s doing well, things are coming along,” Hakoda says, cocking his head to get a better look at the boy. He’s definitely familiar—not surprising, with those nearly-gold eyes and scar and the kind of cheekbones that Sokka loves to trip over—but Hakoda can’t quite place… “Are you one of Sokka’s college friends?” Shit, Hakoda should know those. He at least knows it isn’t…what was his name, Tamu? It’s definitely not him…

“Ah, no,” the boy says, shifting on his feet and flicking a quick look to Sokka. “Wh—"

“How long are you back for!” Sokka says over top of him, eyes wide with interest and that’s definitely his cover-his-ass voice again…

“Just a few days,” Hakoda says absently. Is it one of Sokka’s high school band buddies? They used to always be hanging around the basement and crowding into the kitchen. “I haven’t seen around town,” he says slowly, the sense that he knows this kid niggling at the edge of his thoughts.

“…No,” the kid agrees after a beat, equally slow.

“Yeah,” Sokka says quickly, voice coming out high. “He’s not from around here!”  

“This is your car?” Hakoda asks, because the kid might not look much like a trombone players but he does look like a speed demon.

“Uh, yeah,” the kid says, glancing at the sleek red lines where Sokka’s set the Audi out with pride of place dead center in the middle of the shop. “Sorry?”

“Sorry?” Hakoda blinks, momentarily distracted from the nagging familiarity of the kid.

“I broke down,” the kid shrugs, apologetic, and Hakoda can only give him a bemused look.

“It’s what we’re here for,” he says. And they’re certainly going to charge him for it, with a car like that—and Hakoda will be making sure he’s charged. He recognizes that look on Sokka’s face…

“Right!” Sokka says, overly bright. “Car repair!”

“A full-service operation,” the kid murmurs, cutting Sokka a sideways look.

“We strive to be,” Hakoda says proudly, giving Sokka his own curious look as his son chokes a little, blushing. Oh yeah. Hakoda is definitely making sure this kid gets charged.

“Car repairs!” Sokka says loudly, clearly powering through…whatever is going on. “We’ve had a lot of those! Want to—” he glances quickly around. “—the books! Want to see them? Or the—I can get you up to speed?” he suggests half-desperately. “On everything?”

Hakoda makes a vaguely affirming noise, listening with half an ear and mostly watching the kid who is in turn watching Sokka, looking faintly bemused by and more than a little curious about Sokka’s immediate, exhaustive, relieved, highly detailed account of the past month.

Maybe he’s a new teacher in one of Sokka’s art classes? He thought they were all old men by Sokka’s description, but this one seems like an artsy type. Though why he’d be here and not back in Republic City…

The kid gives Sokka another sidelong look through his lashes that really isn’t all that subtle to anyone other than Sokka, and ah, that could be a reason.

And he can tell Sokka likes his friend back from the fidgety, half-nervous, half-hyper way he’s shifting his weight and playing with his bracelets and rings and he better be fucking taking those off before work, Hakoda’s not trying to have anyone lose a damn body part inside an engine. At least the earrings are out…

Hakoda thinks, though, that he really would have heard of the kid if he’s following Sokka cross-country to keep him company. But then, maybe that’s why he has the persistent, nagging sense that he’s met or at least seen this kid befo—

“Oh!” Hakoda suddenly exclaims, snapping his fingers as realization hits. “I know you!”

“You—!” Sokka trips a little as the kid startles, giving Hakoda a half-surprised, half-cagey look. “You should really hear about theorderthatPakkutriedto—”

“You’re the boy from the poster over Sokka’s bed!” Hakoda says, triumphant and Sokka cuts off with a high, strangled noise, the kid opening his mouth and nothing coming out.

“The one where’s he’s all shirtless and oiled up?” Hakoda prompts when Sokka doesn’t say anything, pleased to have placed it. “Remember, you got that fancy photo editing program for it? So you could cut him out of the full shot and enlarge the size? And Bato took you to that special print shop in Whale Harbor to get it done out on the special poster paper?”

The kid slowly transfers his stare from Hakoda to Sokka, who is looking more and more like a deer trying to freeze to avoid the notice of an oncoming car.

“You know, for your eighteenth birthday?” Hakoda reminds him, concern fluttering in his chest when Sokka doesn’t immediately latch onto the topic like he always does. “Because you couldn’t find any magazines big enough to see from that far away?” He definitely isn't misremembering, he knows he isn't...right?

The kid slowly closes his mouth, eyebrow inching up higher and higher.

“And you’d filled up all your wall space, so you needed to move to other surfaces? And Katara said you weren’t allowed to put anything up in the shower?” No, he's definitely right. Hakoda had been quietly and intensely relieved by the shower edict enough to be sure.

“I,” Sokka finally says, mouth working, “I, uh.”

“Didn’t you recognize him?” Hakoda frowns, reaching out to feel Sokka’s forehead.

“Yeah, Sokka,” the kid—shit, Hakoda still doesn’t know his name though—says, pointed, “Didn’t you recognize me?”

“I…need to go now,” Sokka announces, suddenly fumbling in his pockets.

“What?” Hakoda blinks, confusion threading alongside his pleasure at finally placing the face.

“What?” the kid half-laughs, startled.

But Sokka just whips out his phone, already marching away, his face crimson and voice echoing off the high ceilings, “Katara? Yeah, I’m—yeah, I’m still in town. Yes, I know that you're on nights, I—yes, I—look, could you please come and get me?” A pause. “No, I—actually, yes. I need to go die now, please. Not here.”

Hakoda stares after Sokka as he finally shuts the office door behind him, bemused, scratching the back of his head and shifting his attention to the kid who looks like he doesn’t know whether to worry or laugh again.

“Well, I’m Hakoda,” he eventually offers, extending his hand and biting the bullet that it’s okay to not know this one’s name, they probably haven't actually met before, “I’m his father.”

“Zuko,” the kid says after a beat, accepting his handshake—strong grip, callouses, no eye contact but that’s okay considering he’s looking after Sokka. “I’m, uh. The guy from the ceiling?”

Hakoda huffs, half-amused and giving him another quick look—and then his hand a slightly harder squeeze. “Grown up a bit, have you?” A lot less oil, too. And a lot more clothes.

Same cheekbones, though.

“Uh—so has he? Since then?” Zuko hazards, glancing toward the office where Sokka is…screaming into a pillow, by the looks of it.

“One could say that," Hakoda says after a beat, thinking of Sokka’s last trip to Whale Harbor and the poster tube he’d come back with happily cradled in his arms. “But maybe not as much as you’d think.”

[bouncingbluebeast]

So like, the X-Men have had a Best Butt Competition at some point, right?

((You put a bunch of superhuman hot people in a single mansion and have them living together for years - DECADES even - and surely someone like Gambit or Wolverine is getting ideas...

Scott's too much of a boyscout to admit any answers and calls it "immature". Mostly he's just insecure that he doesn't have that much for buns in the bakery. It's okay, Scottie, you have wonderful eyes...

Xavier wouldn't stand for it while he's still alive, having to empath around a bunch of hormonal gifted youngsters already.

Logan's a shortstack with a surprising amount of backbacon, though his leering and grumpy stoicism makes him pretty hot-and-cold as a judge.

Hank was an absolute hound-dog growing up, though I think he'd be far too concerned about disrespecting the ladies of the X-Mansion to participate. He did play football growing up, though. It builds the glutes very nicely.

Jean's pretty bashful about viewing her teammates in such a manner, though I think her ogling of Scott and Logan implies other priorities. I imagine she's a bit more willowy, but having a baby certainly changes the body and she's just as beautiful after. I think Jean Grey with freckles would be absolutely lovely. Give the Phoenix some stardust on her skin.

(It's difficult to guess a lot of the Marvel women's body types beyond "generically hourglass supermodel" because that's mostly what is viewed as 'ideal' or 'the pinnacle' of aesthetics. These superheroes are viewed more as concepts than people for designing their forms, especially in Marvel when it's a lot of Humans-Among-Gods)

Ororo. The Kenyan princess, Queen of Storms? Omega-Class Mutant, Alpha-Class Ass. The woman practically invented thunder thighs, and she is all the more powerful. I don't think anyone would dare disrespect someone who can smite you with a glance, but why even would you when she's so striking?

Colossus. Literal buns of steel. Points given for puns, taken for practicality. Only the bravest soldiers can claim those Russian peaks and I salute them.

Remy is a statistical wonder of Cajun cuisine while staying lean as a telephone pole. Not a single crumb of cornbread on this man's plate and it is the deepest tragedy. Secretly, I think this is the part Rogue was disappointed she couldn't feel-oop...

Anna-Marie the southern bell with hips to tell. With her hair and smile, you would be remiss to look lower and find less than if you stay in her eyes. I think a pear-shape makes sense for her, with a little pocket around her abs and very cute calves for when she wears a sundress.

Nightcrawler is a flirt and a charmer, but he is also a consummate and pious gentleman who is always seeing the good and beautiful in his companions. He'd never reduce his comrades - his found family - to something so base as the quality of their posterior. He knows that each and every one of them carries the beauty and the image of God, and he knows they are all winners in His sight.

((As he turns to leave, everyone agrees it's Nightcrawler.))

[irradiatedsnakes]

ok list of things we know about the physical makeup of object heads. for my own reference but you can have it too 👍lmk if i missed anything especially any ingame lines or discord-only stuff.

babies are born with heads with an "adapter", which are much thinner than that of a normal baby's head. (x) (x)

human heads are designed to be modular and switch-outable in a way animal heads are not. (x)

in phone heads, at least, there is a bell mechanism placed posterior to the "vestigial-cord-adaptor" (oliver dialogue: "I dunno if you built it yourself, per se, but how far back was the bell mechanism placed relative to the vestigial-cord-adaptor?")

for phone heads, speech comes out of the receiver (oliver and roger dialogue: "…okay, not sure why that came out of my receiver, I've NEVER said that before in my life." "…I don't really care for the hogwash that leaves his receiver, but when you can't pay anyone who works here, beggars can't be choosers, I guess…")

receivers also have hearing functionality, and may have wax like ears. (oliver and randy dialogue: "Groovy! I knew my receiver wasn't deceiving me!" "It's so good to see you, o-oh Phone-God, I haven't even scrubbed the wax out of my receiver pores, I-")

object heads "cut down on the organic complexity of the human body" (x)

the feeling of having one's object head touched is similar to that of lightly tapping your fingernail (x)

people can have different avenues for consuming food and drink, and this is mentioned a couple times to differ between head designs. models based on crown's original cannot choke to death: "some people have hatches, other holes for liquidated stuff." "Off topic, but Crown's phone heads having a separate hole/eating slot for food also means that many designs of phone heads (namely, his own and all that copied his designs) are designed so people cannot choke to death on food, like we can" (x) (x)

tear ducts are organic, can but may not always be actually homologous to our tear ducts, instead can be modified patches of skin. (x)

they have "stuff underneath [the outer shell of the object head] where the skin would be" (x)

the brain is still protected by the skull. (randy dialogue: "Mentioned in passing that due to the… difficulty of getting all of the bits of brain, skull, broken glass and phone pieces back into my head…")

[theaestheticsromance]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞

Minors do NOT interact Words: 2,637

So I request there be more Alastor x Male readers and my wish came true thanks to the lovely @home-for-wayward-fawns who did an amazing job at capturing my character so go and give them lots of love and check out there story called A Mothers Devotion.

The problem with Alastor was that he was beautiful and he knew it; Alastor did not need to ask, nor beg, because he knew, deep down, that he would achieve what he desired eventually. If he waited you out, if he arched his body in the right way and made the right noises, he would attain those desires.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥.

You could always tell when he was having one of those days. Alastor had always made it a point to rise from the world of slumber before you; usually up and dressed before you had even recognised that a new day had begun— but not on days like today. On days like today, he’d remain asleep in your embrace, allowing you to awaken to the feeling of him squirming in your arms. He’d allow you to kiss down his back while he pressed his posterior flush against your hardening cock, all before announcing it was really time to be up!

𝘐𝘵 𝘸��𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘺.

You’d known then, he was playing that little game of his, expecting that you play along lest he have a tantrum. He’d dress himself slowly, never giving you the satisfaction of looking at you, but you’d know he was expecting you to watch him appreciatively, and you would. Not necessarily because it was what he wanted— despite you always giving him what he desired— but rather because it was impossible to look away. He was just divinely beautiful, and he knew it.

Breakfast would be an entire ordeal because no matter what you did, you obviously were not paying enough attention to him. You were not to talk to others at breakfast; you were not to touch others at breakfast, because all of your attention was to be on him and him alone. Somedays you’d deny him his insane demands, because they were simply that: insane. But not today; today you kept your eyes trained on him, trained on his sharp teeth as he tore through his breakfast. He’d tilt his neck in that way; the way that said that tonight he wanted you to break him, but not yet.

𝙃𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩.

He wasn’t beautiful in the way some of your previous lovers were; pretty little things that crawled on the floor for your attention. Small things, cute things, creatures that were designed to be on their knees; no, Alastor was beautiful in a completely different way. He was beautiful in that he was raw; he was a wild animal that couldn’t be caged, should never be caged, but when he chose to sit on his knees for you because he wanted to, nothing could ever compare.

You attempted to get work done in the office you shared with Charlie. She had wonderful ideas— lovely ideas, really— but none of them were particularly financially conscious. She was so used to Daddy’s support that she didn’t always think to remember that when running a business, there were limitations. You were trying to help her sort these finances out, but Alastor craved attention. He’d come to stand behind you to peer down at what you were reading.

“This looks terribly dull, dear.” He’d informed you, and he wasn’t wrong. It was incredibly dull, but sometimes dull was necessary. You wouldn’t try to convince him of that though, not only because it simply wouldn’t work, but because his hands had found their way up to your shoulders. Squeezing at the tense muscles, pulling at it to loosen his canvas. He liked to hear your little moans and groans, and so you let him, if only he’d continue. “I’d hate to take you away from your work. I know how important it is to keep to one’s responsibilities,” He’d purr in your ear, and just like that, he was gone with a wisp of shadows again.

Perhaps the worst torment of all was his bloody shadow. The thing followed you throughout the day; just because he wanted to pretend this wasn’t about him wanting attention, didn't mean his shadow was playing along. The creature would follow you wherever you went, and as soon as you found a place to relax it would situate itself on its knees, almost mocking you. Some days you wondered if Alastor did it on purpose, enticing the shadow to show what Alastor wanted but refused to act upon.

Somehow you made it through the day, made it through the entire day without choking him whilst he danced around you, quite happy with his little game.

As soon as night fell, you escorted him back to the entry of the room you shared, pinning him against it without a second thought. He was laughing— giggling almost— with glee, joy and mischief. He had won, and you lost, and that was exactly how he liked his games to go.

You had let him win every time though, you’d let him win for an eternity if he kept laughing just like that. It was a beautiful sound, a sound so few had the pleasure of hearing, and you would play his games for the rest of your existence if he continued to give it to you. Pushing him into the room, you pulled at his clothes, the clothes he always wore that were far too many layers for your liking. You kissed every uncovered scar that was revealed, old and new, all while he reached up to run his hands through your hair, tugging tightly.

𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘭, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

“So impatient.” He purred underneath you as you manhandled him onto the bed.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖����𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨.

You stripped quickly, eager to have your hands back on his beautiful, scarred body as he watched you hungrily whilst you undressed. It never took you half as long to get rid of your own clothes as it did to get rid of his; the man, again, was always wearing far too many layers.

Kneeling on the bed beside him, you pressed kisses down his neck and his chest, forcing him to evoke soft little bleating sounds while he pressed his ears against the base of his skull. He, personally, hated the sounds that echoed through his larynx as you tickled his skin, but you were obsessed with those sounds, and sometimes, on a good day, he’d let you hear them without hesitation. Kissing down his happy trail, you enjoyed his trembling body that laid beneath yours.

𝘉𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭.

Taking his cock into your mouth slowly, he let out a deep groan as he called out your name, the pretty tone of his voice escaping the muscle of his tongue. Slowly, you began to take him deeper into the depths of your mouth, holding down his hips with such force he couldn’t thrust himself into the wetness of your cavern forcing him to groan in frustration.

This was your favourite part of the game. He'd had his fun, so now it was your turn. Echoing a whine, Alastor attempted to fight you weakly, allowing you to swirl your tongue around his cock while he rumbled out the most beautiful of sounds. You continued to play with him, to enjoy his writhing form beneath you, until he’d finally beg. “Please.” He’d beg so prettily, prettier than one would think, could even believe was possible to come out of a creature such as he.

You’d allow him the pleasure of releasing his hips, permitting him to grab onto your hair to force his cock down your throat. He thrust into you like a wild animal, chasing for that high he sought out oh so desperately and you let him. He made the most beautiful noises, using your throat for his pleasure as his body shook in the most delicious of ways when you looked up at him with your eyes full of unushered tears, fighting to breathe through your nose.

That was what did him in, what always did him in; you choking on his thickened cock. “Mine,” He growled as you gently ran your palm up and down his wounded thighs, reminding him you were here for him. He pushed the top of your head down, forcing your nose to tickle the base of his pelvis bone before thrusting up, letting out a guttural groan as he released his peak down the innards of your oesophagus. Drinking it all up— just as you always did— you were eager to consume all of him before his clawed talons would release you; allowing you to look up at him, the most beautiful creature in the world. He covered his pretty face with his hands, hiding from you, and you would allow him to, for now; only because you weren’t done with him yet. You pushed the bottom of his thighs up before placing your lips against them repeatedly. “No more.” He’d whine on deaf ears as you ignored him.

Whispering sweet praises into his skin, because he needed to hear them, because he was more insecure than he’d ever let people know; you licked against his hole, forcing a gasp to escape his pretty lips as he reached up to pull at his own hair; you couldn’t help but chuckle.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

You told him to beg for you, to never stop begging for you, and he made good on his promise. “Don’t stop; never stop; touch me.” It was a compliment from the Radio Demon, to be begged to touch him, to invade his personal barriers when so few could, and you would never let him down. Pushing your tongue inside him, you wiggled the muscle deep inside him as his hips naturally gyrated down onto your face. He was beautiful, perfect, and smelled intoxicating.

Prying his ass cheeks further apart, eager to explore him deeper while he moaned. You pulled away, looking up to see his flushed face and blown-out eyes. Giving him a knowing look, you told him, relayed to him that he was beautiful, a specimen like no other, but you knew deep down that he didn’t believe a word that left your lips— not truly.

Climbing on top of him, you pressed a singular finger against his now-wet hole before placing your lips against his own. His sharp teeth scraping against the kiss as his overwhelmed innards forced him to crave to hurt you; and you permitted him to do as such, because of his undoubtful beauty. Groaning as his sharpened teeth bit down onto your bottom lip, he drew blood from your pierced skin, moaning so pretty at the taste of your natural essence.

Rocking his hips into your finger, his claws scratched with depth down your back, forcing you to hiss in pain. “I’m not some delicate damsel; give me more.” He demanded, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥; 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

Adding another finger, you stretched him slowly before adding a third, forcing him to scream out in pain, throwing his head back in the process before moaning out in pleasure. You knew he wanted you to hurt him more, but he wouldn’t be happy if he lost the ability to walk tomorrow. “You’re a whore.” He spat, but you know he didn’t mean such a sentence.

“𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶,” 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘓𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭; 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙩.

“I hate you.” He spat, and you tried not to laugh.

Pulling your fingers out, he uttered a breaking and displeased moan, almost in a whimper. “I still love you.” You told him.

Gripping your cock, you pressed the head of your length against his entrance before pushing forward, forcing him to let out a mixture of pleasure and pain in a scream whilst his legs wrapped around your waist. “You love me?” He asked, his claws raking down your back before you nodded your head, struggling to concentrate on his words as you continued to push yourself into him inch by inch. Sitting up, he reached for you with desperate hands, digging his claws into your back so he could breathe into your ear. “Then fuck me.” He snarled.

It was as if he had released the beast out of the cage. Pinning his arms to the bed, you began to thrust wildly, forcing him to shout, to scream in that wonderful tone of his. Keeping his legs wrapped around your waist, meeting your thrusts with an angry passion; you finally found it; that perfect spot deep inside him that turned him into a mess. His entire body shook in routine as you hit it over and over again, his legs becoming shaky as he begged for more incoherently.

Releasing his arms, you grabbed the sharp features of his face before pressing a harsh kiss against his lips. Groaning into your mouth, he reached up to wrap his fingers around the back of your head, pulling you in closer. “I’m in love with you,” You whisper against his lips, breaking him in the process.

“Please,” he begged, so prettily, “I need more.” You reached down to grip his heavy cock; the phallic organ pulsing in your hand as you began to slowly stroke him softly, echoing beautiful whimpers and whines out of him, his posterior clenching down on your own thick cock.

“Cum for me, love.” You commanded, evoking a groan from him as he thrust up into your grip; his cum spurting all over your hand.

Rolling his eyes back, he collapsed into the bed. His body bounced off the mattress as his claws retracted so his arms can fall along with him; a sight that was so fucking beautiful; it sent you over the edge.

Grabbing his hips, you harshly thrust forward to cum as far and as deep as you can, forcing every part of his innards to be painted white with your heavy load.

“Maybe I love you a little bit.” He whispered into your chest as you collapsed on top of him, only for you to grunt in response. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll fucking gut you.” You chuckled before rolling off of him, pulling him on top of you, forcing him to sit still on your cock.

“I don’t care if you love me or if you don’t; I love you.” You spoke honestly with him, evoking a sigh to splutter through his throat before rolling his hips back onto your cock gently, a much softer ride as he lulled through post-orgasm bliss.

After he was done with you, you’d give him a bath; before you laid in the comfort of your bed together, but for now, you’d let him have this. The threat looms high over your heads, the angels are coming and there’s not a lot you can do to protect him. You wonder how far you’d go to keep him like this, your beautiful buck with his cruel words and haughty expression.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨; 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴.

Again go check out their stuff they are absolutely AMAZING

[arc-misadventures]

The Unexpected One

Ironwood: So… How did this one happen? I thought you were having difficulty making a new Hunter Drones? You were having problems getting them to fit into their Housing Matrix.

Jaune: Shear dumb luck, Sir. I was running another test like usual, and this one somehow managed worked. With a, 98% match to OAI’s Matrix I must add.

Ironwood: 98%? That’s impressive.

Jaune: I know! Yang’s about 89% match to OAI’s Matrix. But, this one gave me a near perfect replication of OAI’s Matrix!

Ironwood: Wonderful! Can you make more?

Jaune: Uhh, no… No I can’t.

Ironwood: Did the matrix’s degenerate as soon as you put them into the, Housing Units?

Jaune: Five housing units. Five separate housing units! All of the failed; I need to start redesigning the housing units. There has to be something in there that’s causing this instability. I need to fix it!

Ironwood: Well, at least you’ve added another, Hunter Drone to the their ranks.

Jaune: Yep! Five Hunter Drones at your service sir! I hope she’ll get along with the rest of her sisters when they come back.

Winter: Jau…?! Professor Arc, mind if I ask you a question?

Jaune: Of course, Win…?! Specialist Schnee! W-What is your question?

Winter: Why does she… Why does she look the way she look?

Jaune: In what context; Contexts?

Winter: Is this unit blind?

Jaune: Nope, her eyesight is among the best, Blake barely surpasses her in terms of vision efficiency rates, mostly due to the fact she has better night vision specs.

Winter: Then why the blindfold?

Jaune: I asked her myself, she says it is to protect her eyes whenever she slashes through something with her swords. Trying to keep any mental fragments, dust, or general viscera out of her face.

Ironwood: But, with a simple cloth of fabric?

Jaune: Hey! All the materials used in, and by my HD’s are top of the line Hunter Grade materials! I will accept only the best for my creations!

Ironwood: My apologies, it’s just her choice in weaponry. And, the destruction they wrought, I doubt a small piece of fabric could protect her from all tha shrapnel.

Jaune: You’re just upset she wrecked all of your precious little, Paladins with a simple pair of ōdachi’s?

Ironwood: L-Little?!

Winter: I think he’s concerned because of how quickly she dealt with those, Paladins. And, to be fair, one of those ōdachi’s is exceptionally large; She has a drone carrying it around for her.

Ironwood: When did you build that drone?

Jaune: Wait, when did she retrofit that drone?!

Winter: Haa… Another question if you will: Why is her skirt like… like that?

Jaune: What do you mean?

Winter: Why is their such a large slit in the design?

Jaune: Ease of movement?

Winter: I can see that, but why did you design her skirt to be so revealing? When she moves you can see her…?! Ahem! You can see a lot.

Jaune: Wait, you thought I did that?

Winter: Didn’t you make her outfit?

Jaune: Specialist Schnee, look at me? Do I look like I have a sense of fashion?

Winter: N-No…?

Jaune: Exactly! I build, and maintain the drones. Anything cosmetic related is entirely on their part.

Ironwood: It is?

Jaune: Yeah, the schematicts to how their limbs are designed, how the eye sockets, and lenses work, how the Nano-Fiber Skin reacts to touch, how the internal casing works. Even how they’ll upload their minds into new housing units. They’re the ones who redesign these to fit their preferred specifications. Do you think I deliberately designed two of them to be loli’s, that’s not my type. What do you think I am, some perverted lolicon?!

Winter: That’s because I’m your type~!

Ironwood: No I do not insinuate you are… whatever that is.

Jaune: Damn right you better!

Winter: But, why is her posterior so… big?

Jaune: Why does she have a big butt? Is that the whole reason for these questions?

Winter: Well…

Jaune: …?

Ironwood: Don’t look at me. I’m more concerned about her combat prowess, not her appearance.

Jaune: Winter…?

Winter: …

Winter: Jaune… Jaune do you… Do you perhaps…

Winter: Like girls with a big ass…?

Jaune: …

Jaune: She has a nice butt. End of discussion.

Winter: Very well then~!

Ironwood: So, this android; What is her name?

Jaune: She calls herself…

Jaune: 2B.

Winter: …

Ironwood: …

Winter: Do you think she could pass as my older sister?

Ironwood: She’d definitely could take after your mother then. That woman sure has nice curves…

Jaune: What?!

Winter: What?!

///

Will this go along with the rest of the Hunter Drone story. Possible.

I just like the idea that, 2B was one of them.

Do enjoy~!

[bodybeyondstories]

dicks keep growing around me - 8 (Miguel)

After Myron's growth spurt, Miguel takes him to his tailor for a wardrobe update. Late for work, and still pent up from their recent activities, Miguel finds a surprise piece of Myron's clothing in his bag, and just like Ty, he faces explosive consequences.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 (Previous)

male TF // growth // dick growth // pec growth // bubble butt // nsfw

4908 words

(I was inspired to play around with some pec growth by this ask a little while back. It was fun!)

---

“Do these make my butt look big?”

I struggled for words. “I think we left ‘big’ behind a long time ago,” I said, watching Myron check himself out in the dressing room stall, clad in a pair of chinos with a cartoonishly oversized waist that still managed to strain against his cartoonishly oversized butt cheeks. His curvy form being reproduced three times in the tri-fold mirror lent itself to a funhouse effect, as if he could step out and instantly return to the sensible, pert bubble he once had. Not that I would ever want that to happen. Having his already ridiculous monster booty inflate in real time while I was inside him was one of the greatest things that’s ever happened to me personally. It took everything in my power to extricate myself from between those cheeks this morning and my dick jumped against its triple security confines at the thought of once again getting to bury my face in that posterior. I knew I was an ass man but even this was beyond my wildest dreams. I was addicted.

Myron wore his stretchiest–and really only–option out of the house, a pair of plaid leggings that didn’t so much hug his curves as fight for dear life against the beach ball buns spilling out of the waistband more and more with each step. He tied a light hoodie around his waist to at least hide the top of his pink bikini briefs, though it didn’t do much to mitigate his ass from being on display. He even had a minor struggle fitting into my car, adjusting and readjusting the passenger seat to accommodate his long legs, tree trunk thighs, and voluptuous bottom. Another potential problem to solve.

“I’m seeing a lot of elastic waistbands in your future,” said Val, studying Myron’s physique with a scientific eye. Val had been my go to tailor for years, long before these changes had made it nigh impossible to shop for pants at a normal department store. She ran what she called a ‘gender expansive menswear experience,’ always looked the definition of dapper, and specialized in catering to a plethora of unique body types. She was also very down to give us some special attention on this slow morning after I explained Myron’s situation. “Oh I love a challenge!” she had exclaimed over the phone.

And Myron was a challenge she jumped to as soon as we walked in. As he suffered through a stack of ill-fitting slacks, jeans, trunks, and at least one asymmetrical short skirt that worked surprisingly well, she vocalized an ongoing calculus of fabric amounts, hip to waist ratios, and design patterns that might emphasize or de-emphasize his wild proportions. She was in the zone, whipping around her tape measure with a professional flair and handling Myron’s body with a gentle, open intimacy that he seemed like he grew to appreciate.

As we left the store, with not exactly success, but at least some options–and a set of new tailoring projects for Val to dig into–I noticed more confidence in his walk. I couldn’t tell if it was the awkwardness of his sudden growth spurt or the weight of open stares from onlookers, but he had seemed deeply self conscious on our way in that was thankfully fading on our way out. Between his wildly upsized lower body and my freakish bulge, we were both letting go of the luxury of blending in. We held hands and rolled with it. 

We got back to his place with just enough time to make some coffee and get me into some professional clothes before running off to the office. I had barely shut the door before Myron spun around and planted his hands on the wall on either side of my head, looking hungrily down at me. It was weird seeing him from this new angle, his gentle, inquisitive gaze falling over me like a protective cloak. I was already liking this new dynamic. “Thanks again,” he said, and leaned down for an indulgent kiss. 

“It’s the least I could do with all the trouble I’ve caused,” I said, then returned the favor and pressed my lips against his. My hands rested on his hips like they were always meant to be there. I caressed the expanse of one ass cheek, still marveling at its sheer size, while he cupped one of my pecs and gave it a hearty squeeze. I moaned, louder than I meant to. They were so sensitive lately, and felt uncomfortable in my shirt. “But,” reluctantly breaking the kiss, “We’re both late for work. You want coffee?”

He waddled off in mock dejection as I slipped into his room to get dressed. I had a few versatile options stashed away in his wardrobe. Did my clothes really occupy an entire drawer? When did that happen? I was already running late, so I arranged something basic and reasonably business casual, though all my shirts felt a little tighter than I usually liked. I guess I wasn’t the only one making some gains in the gym.

By the time I returned to the kitchen to get beans grinding and the kettle on, Myron had whipped off everything except for his bikini briefs and proceeded to station himself at his standing desk and boot up his laptop. I envied whatever work from home contract gig he had most recently stumbled into and his resultant freedom from spending the rest of the day with multiple layers of constrictive fabric. But really my eyes rested longingly on the briefs stretched tight against his prodigious ass, my dick jumping in my sweats as he hinged his hips back and rested on his elbows.

“Just coffee?” he asked. “You’re not hungry?” We locked eyes and he gave his ass just enough of a shake to set off a tremor of jiggling cheek.

“...Well I’m already late.”

—

I moseyed into my office already dreaming of the next time I would have the privilege of eating the juiciest peach on the planet. I settled onto my exercise ball and opened my email, seeing if anything was on fire in my absence. 

A lazy knock on the door was followed by the shaggy auburn mane of Wes peeking in.

“Missed you earlier,” he said, with that easy smile. 

“Right, you were washing today! Yeah, I had kind of an emergency with my…” What were Myron and I? I don't think we'd had a chance to discuss it yet. “... with my, um–”

“Oh dude, don't worry about that,” he laughed. “That's not why I'm here. I actually just need your old key to the maintenance rooms in the basement. I'm updating the locks. I don't know if you saw my email.”

There it was on my screen, fourth from the top. I was one of the lucky few to be trusted with maintenance access, a responsibility I held sacred and never actually used.

“Of course, yeah yeah yeah,” I said, digging through my bag and pulling out not a key but a pair of very familiar crumpled underwear. I shoved them into a drawer before Wes could notice. How did those get in there? I continued digging until I finally produced the item in question.

“Thanks man.” He grabbed the key and gave me a fist bump. His knuckle tatts spelled out R-E-A-L. I wondered what the other hand said. “I'll, uh, see you out there,” he said, glancing towards the windows, then winked and slipped out the door.

These days, my dick turns into a faucet at the slightest hint of arousal, which truth be told is effectively all the time, so I usually pack a backup or two of my specially-fitted underwear to slip into so I don’t end up awkwardly cleaning precum off my desk chair. But I guess with all the weirdness that morning, I had accidentally grabbed Myron’s used briefs from yesterday’s incident at the gym. Which was weird because I didn’t remember rooting around in his hamper for this specific piece of clothing.

Just like I didn’t remember pulling them back out of my desk drawer and holding them just close enough to my face to catch a whiff of Myron’s compelling musk. Ty really did have a point, I couldn’t help but admit. My face had just been buried in Myron’s ass, but there was something magnetic about these residual pheromones. My dick jumped in anticipation.

Too early for this, I thought. I dropped his drawls in the bottom drawer, the one full of miscellaneous files with the janky handle, and closed it with finality, resolving to get through the rest of the day without distraction. I only had my one outfit to last me through the rest of the workday, and I wasn’t in the mood to sneak out with my pants soaked in my homemade lube (again). The realization that I missed my usual ‘appointment’ with Wes came with the realization that after all the festivities last night and this morning, I still hadn't cum. As much as I enjoyed servicing Myron and the Giant Peach, I was pent up, and so used to my exhibitionist dynamic with Wes that I felt I couldn't clear the pipes unless he was out there washing the windows. I had missed that opportunity. My balls began to churn with overproduction, frustrated at being teased multiple times in the past twelve hours with no relief. My dick felt heavy. Heavier than usual.

My whole body felt pressurized. My crotch had grown hot and constricted, but my shirt had followed suit. It felt so tight across my chest, my extra sensitive nipples delighting in the increased friction. I got up to stretch and clear my hand, pacing around my office and taking in the view of the surrounding high rises reflecting a clear sky belied by herds of thunderclouds rolling across the landscape miles away. I looked down to check my phone and instead saw that I had Myron’s underwear twirling between my fingers, just inches from my nose. When had I pulled these out of the drawer? But I turned around to see it apparently untouched. I unconsciously brought them closer to my face. They had a scent that was magnetic and threatened to occupy all my sensory attention. I breathed deep, indulging in the smell of him, warmth resonating across my body as I fantasized about the next time I could bury my face between those cheeks.

I know. I should've seen this coming.

I was jolted back to reality by a short, staccato knock on the door. Not fully closed by my last visitor, it drifted open to allow Josh, our comms specialist, to lean in with one quick motion into a scene, not of me working at my desk, but meandering around my office with my nose in his former co-worker’s panties. In the half second I had available, I snatched them from my face, and, with no other immediate options, shoved them into my pants.

“The intern workshop is starting now, almost out of donuts,” he said with a wink. Intern workshop was an out of date misnomer from when Josh first started with us and was mistakenly referred to as the intern far too often. Largely because of a youthful, eager demeanor and the crime of being chronically online. Occasionally, we start our all-team meetings early with a social media, marketing, and PR update from him. He tells us what's trending that month and I bring my basket full memes that I need explained. I had forgotten that this was one of those days and relented at his insistence that I tag along with him to the conference room, following him into the hall with Myron’s briefs hidden in my pants, a light tingle beginning to spread across my groin.

Hindsight. 20/20.

“Dude,” he continued in the hallway. “You've got to tell me your routine, your chest is looking great. Wish I could fit a workout in before work.”

“Oh, I didn't make it to–” I self-consciously grabbed my right pec, “--the gym this morning…” It felt noticeably juicier. Like I had a good pump. A great pump.

I dutifully followed Josh's perky bottom to the conference room, eyes fixed on the swish of his hips in his fitted pants. Everyone in the office had an oddly nice ass, for reasons unknown to anyone but obvious for me, but Josh's tight, perfectly round posterior was always a sight to behold, and always showcased in expertly tailored pants that fit like a glove on his short, svelte frame. I've always wondered if he also frequented Val's doorstep.

Everyone was already settled in the conference room (they were out of donuts), and I grabbed the last seat around the table, toward the back, right near the door. Josh did his thing about the latest social media strategy and I tried to maintain some semblance of professional decorum, keeping my gaze on the slides on screen and not just the bubble butt flitting back and forth at the front of the room. But I was still pent up, my balls churning with stronger intensity and my dick feeling heavier and heavier in my pants, not like it was getting hard but just gaining a deeper, stronger presence. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, leaning forward and hinging my hips back to provide more space along my leg. My midsection began to cramp as the tingle in my crotch turned into a generalized heat. My chest felt packed against my shirt, my nipples sending little shocks of pleasure with the slightest movements against the fabric. I felt overstimulated, hit by a full body malaise with an undercurrent of sticky sweet pleasure.

Then it clicked. I had seen the clip of Ty's latest growth spurt and got to witness Myron’s incident up close and personal. My heart pounded with the realization that Myron’s powerful pheromones were likely incubating in the warmth between my thighs. I began to have anxious visions of what that meant, of what could happen in the chaos of having an episode in the middle of the office. I imagined myself bursting out of my clothes, my chair collapsing under me, the table being flipped by the force of a superhuman monster cock. 

The cramps got stronger as I became increasingly hot and uncomfortable in my own skin, fighting against every item of clothing constricting my body. I tried to wait it out, think peaceful thoughts, hold myself energetically together. I thought I could psychically wrestle my dick into stasis until the meeting ended and I could triage the situation. But what is Bruce Banner to the Hulk?

My dick lurched. Didn't get harder, just took up a bit more space. I bit down angrily on my pen to keep from letting out a moan as I felt, vividly, the head sliding against the fabric of the pouch. My pants felt like they were shrinking around my crotch. My body was so uncomfortably hot, eliciting shivers down my spine and along my limbs. And why was my shirt so tight? 

But Josh was rolling with his presentation (and that ass was keeping me enthralled). I reasoned that I could at least relieve some pressure for the time being. I reached up and undid the first button at my collar as casually as possible, only to find the second locked in place by the pull of the fabric. When did this shirt become so small?? I awkwardly finagled it while trying to put on my best active listener face, but right when I was finally about to succeed, it was simply gone. The relief from a slight decrease in pressure along my chest mixed with terror as I saw the button sail across the room and land in someone's coffee. 

I froze. Josh froze. Miraculously, no one else noticed. He continued with his presentation and I resolved to form an escape as quickly as possible. My mind was filled with visions of what had happened to Ty and Myron, and as hot as it is to see someone grow in real time, this situation truly was not safe for work. Something serious was brewing, and by the pressure building in my balls, it was going to be messy. I had to find a bathroom or risk a scandal.

I carefully closed my laptop, mentally rehearsing my graceful exit in which I stand up, surreptitiously cover my bulge with my computer, and moonwalk out of there to take care of business. As I rose to my feet, I came to the chilling realization that I had underestimated the sheer size of the appendage distending my pants, hurrying to cover as much as possible with my modestly sized laptop, but not before Josh’s eyes locked on.

“So I really think this target audience could make for a good pipeline to…um…a pipeline…a pipe…” he stammered, on the verge of speaking in tongues as his eyes widened in disbelief, coming dangerously close to bringing the attention of the rest of the conference room to my predicament.

“You’re doing great!” I exclaimed, cutting him off and turning smoothly toward the exit. “Can’t wait to discuss implementing all of this, soon as I get back.”

I sped through the door and down the hallway, stopping abruptly at the makeshift signs printed and taped to the bathroom doors. “Out of order,” I whispered, anxiety spiking as the crotch of my pants bulged outward a little more. 

Downstairs! I thought. The single stalls on the ground floor materialized in my mind. I whipped around to find the elevators and slipped through the doors with my laptop still awkwardly situated in front of my overpacked crotch. To my dismay, a gaggle of interns scrambled on one floor below. I squeezed as far as I could into the back corner, and pressed my laptop against the furious bulge that was steadily becoming impossible to hide. It had to be at least five degrees warmer in there from the heat radiating off my overexcited dick. It lurched again. My hair stood on edge, pecs strained against my shirt as I fought back a moan of arousal and dismay.

By the time they got off on the ground floor, I was too terrified to move, convinced that the slightest increase in friction could send me over the edge.

“You heading back up?” asked Larry, the bright eyed receptionist who appeared from around the doorframe.

“No, I, uh, need to go check something downstairs,” I lied. “We’ve been having some electrical hiccups in the office.”

“Oh that’s the worst,” he said, holding his hand against the elevator door frame as he continued to recount the building’s litany of outages and anomalies. He was effectively holding me hostage.

“Oooof,” I whispered as my dick surged forward yet again. I was heading towards a nuclear meltdown.

“Right, right, duty calls,” he said, finally relinquishing his hold and letting the doors close in front of him.

I nearly collapsed out of blessed solitude. I let one hand drift down to investigate the area, eliciting a groan of shock and pleasure. My dick felt big. I mean yes, it’s painfully obvious to myself and the general public that I’m packing something serious down there. But it felt bigger than it should. Bigger than it felt less than an hour ago. Like it was echoing the essence of bigness on some metaphysical plane, gathering energy around it across multiple dimensions to emerge like Godzilla from the ocean and lay waste to the–

What the fuck am I talking about? My blood circulation must be cut off. I needed to get out of those pants. The slow drop of the elevator seemed to go on and on, what felt like far beyond the actual height of the building. The walls were closing in, the metal box shrinking around me as it fell through space, the seams of my shirt straining against my chest as what felt like every bit of fabric shrunk with it.

The elevator doors opened on the brutalist liminal space of the basement. I was pretty sure there was a bathroom down here, likely one significantly, dearly private. The only person I knew of who had any reason to be down here was–

“Wes!” I exclaimed at the cloud of auburn hair that popped up seemingly out of nowhere, toolbox in hand.

“Funny running into you here,” he beamed, giving the scruff on his chin a scratch. “Welcome to my office!” He splayed his arms wide, gesturing warmly to the concrete and fluorescent lights.

“Happy to be here,” I managed, attempting a gracious smile as the beads of sweat on my forehead hinted at the crisis at hand.

“Where you headed?” He asked, sidling next to me and hovering one finger over the number pad.

“Look, Wes, I actually need to run to the bathroom, the ones upstairs were all–”

“Out of order, yeah. Whole building is. It’s the issue with the plumbing, did you read the rest of my email? Folks have been heading to the coffee shop next door, I think.”

“Aughh,” I whispered, bracing a hand against the wall. My dick lurched again. Angry and boiling hot, it was all I could think about. That and the feeling of my shirt having somehow shrunk several sizes too small. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t breathe. I barely string words together. My nipples perked up in response to a cool sensation. I looked down to see two wet spots spreading slowly. Fuck, my chest was swollen, what was going on? I looked like I had the greatest pump of my life. What usually could pass for decently toned pecs were starting to resemble disproportionately juicy slabs of muscle. I could’ve sworn they were inflating slightly with each breath, each involuntarily twitch of muscle. But I didn’t have time to speculate further as my abs contracted hard and I doubled over in pain.

I wasn’t going to make it to the coffee shop. I wasn’t going to make it to the useless basement bathroom. I wasn’t going to make it off this elevator.

“Yeah, sorry dude. If it’s an emergency, maybe I can–oh…”

“It’s…it’s too late,” I eked out as my dick lurched even farther down my leg, the sound of stitches popping filling the space of Wes’s stunned silence and my heavy breathing. My shirt grew tighter and tighter with every heartbeat. I felt air against my midsection as it slowly revealed my treasure trail, heard the slow tearing of seams along my shoulders, the periodic ping of buttons flying off and hitting the metal walls. I gripped the door frame with inhuman force. “It’s happening.”

“Wh-what’s happening?” Wes had grown visibly concerned. “What can I do?”

“I can’t…hold it…” my face a contortion of pleasure and pain.

“Can’t hold what?? Should I call someone, or do something, or…” He stepped closer, his eyes entranced by the dark circles against my shirt. My pecs had swollen so large they were blocking the view of the baseball bat tearing apart the stitches of my pants. He held out his hands in support. “Maybe if I just–”

“Wait, don’t–” My head lolled back as the pressure along my leg finally became too much to bear and was suddenly replaced with lovely, catastrophic release. The seams gave way and my ungodly beast was freed from its cage, swinging up in a diagonal and catching Wes’s cheek with a mean left hook. He spun around like a ragdoll, landing unceremoniously against the wall.

My prodigious cock, furious and rock hard, bobbed in front of me at a distance that was hard to make sense of. I stared down in terror at a pipe that extended at least a few feet into the air, still managing a slight upward tilt despite its weight. It was too girthy to wrap both hands around. I felt my heart pounding through the massive vein that ran along the shaft. I briefly forgot about Wes lying unconscious on the floor as I gazed in shock at the tree trunk growing from my groin. With one final, monumental shudder, with the last dregs of my mental capacity, I wondered, Did I beat Ty? And came like a firehose.

The force of the first two blasts were enough to knock me off balance, my knees buckling as I fell on my ass. My hands gripped either side of my shaft as if I had any ability to mitigate the cum cannon bucking wildly from my crotch. I painted the ceiling as every muscle fiber of my body worked in unison to fire off each volley of jizz. I was dimly aware that my muscle tits jiggled with more and more heft as my body shook with every shot. I could feel the mass of them expanding across my torso, my sensitive nipples rubbing against what was left of my shirt before that too fell to tatters against my growing muscle tits. But I was gone in a deluge of orgasmic bliss, my brain burned hollow as some untapped reservoir of sexual energy sprung forth. As I lost any sort of mental coherence, I felt like my corporeal form might simply disintegrate into the pool of cum forming around me. I was moaning in sweet release and unrelenting ejaculation.

Countless ropes of cum painted the walls until my never ending orgasm finally let me go, and I collapsed next to Wes. After a minute, he came to, and turned to me with a dreamy smile on his face.

“Can we do that again?” He asked.

The elevator doors opened. And there was Josh.

—

“Hey Miguel, I was looking for…you…” he drifted off, taking in the scene. Me, sweaty and kneeling in my tattered pants, holding Wes’s shoulders to prop him up against the wall with what looked like a black eye on the way. I mused internally about how I should’ve reviewed the office first aid training materials for the exact protocol for a penis exploding so suddenly in size that it accidentally causes a potential concussion. I made a mental note to schedule a training for the entire office soon.

“Shit, uh, just wait outside for a sec?” I asked, putting on my best everything-is-totally-fine smile. It didn’t work.

“Woah, what happened?” asked Josh incredulously. “Were you attacked? What is this on the floor? What is…that…” He seemed to be mentally connecting the dots as he gazed horror struck at the semi-hard, adrenaline fueled dick resting on the floor between my legs.

I could hear footsteps and voices approaching. We’re back on the ground floor! Without any other recourse, I pulled him into the elevator and started smashing the button for the basement. The doors closed just in time.

“I'm so fired, I'm so unbelievably fired, no one has ever been more fired,” I said, my fingertips pressing into my temples as if I could telepathically will all of this away as a weird, horny dream. I began to rock back and forth until I was halted by a firm clasp against my bicep. I looked up to see Wes's meaty forearm, his sparkling green and gold eyes. 

“Deep breath,” he said firmly. “In…” His eyes fluttered closed then looked into mine, imploring me to follow. I took a tentative breath in through my nose. “And hold.” He held. “And out.” I sighed through my mouth until my lungs felt deflated. “OK, again, you too,” he glances at Josh, who looked less terrified and more uncomfortable about the faux pas of stumbling into this intimate moment. “In.” Josh took large gulps through his mouth, chest heaving up. “And hold…and out. We'll work on your technique.”

He turned back to me. “I’ve seen weirder things, man. We'll get it sorted. And you,” looking pointedly at Josh, “can't tell anyone about this. Scout's honor.”

“H-hell yeah,” he said, flourishing an awkward salute. “Anything for the Window Wanker.”

“Did you just come up with that?” Wes chuckled. “That’s good.” Josh looked on in mild confusion. 

“The last thing I need right now is a nickname, but we can workshop it,” I offered, trying to make light of the situation.

“No, it's just that…” his brows furrowed. “That's you, right? Window Wanker. Online.”

My spidey senses tingled. My hair stood on edge.

“What do you mean ‘online?'” Wes inquired, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Like, it's one of my favorite accounts,” said Josh. “I usually don't go for fake hidden camera scenario type stuff, but I've been hooked.” He perked up in enthusiasm. “The fact that from across the street, you can see how huge that monster is…” His utterance of monster was barely a whisper as his eyes turned to the up close monster laying between my legs. “Respectfully,” he added with a shy smile.

“Across the street…” I repeated, just as Wes said “...fake hidden camera…”

“I mean,” Josh continued, “I could tell you were packing for a while, I have no idea how no one else is talking about it. But I didn't know you were Double W.”

“Okay,” I blurted, wincing at the hitch in my voice and letting the elevator settle into a heavy silence, interrupted by the steady smack of globs of cum falling from the ceiling. “Okay. I need to know all about this now.”

Window Wanker. Ty's gonna love this.

[home-for-wayward-fawns]

𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓎 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑀𝑒

This is a writing gift for a friend of mine. This is a male!reader/Alastor smut one shot :)

‎‎‧₊˚✧[Thank you to my wonderful editor @safety-pin-angel-wings, @the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]✧˚₊‧

The problem with Alastor was that he was beautiful and he knew it; Alastor did not need to ask, nor beg, because he knew, deep down , that he would achieve what he desired eventually. If he waited you out, if he arched his body in the right way and made the right noises, he would attain those desires.

It was a long con that he’d play, one that would start from the second he woke up and wouldn’t let up until he got what he wanted.  

You could always tell when he was having one of those days. Alastor had always made it a point to rise from the world of slumber before you; usually up and dressed before you had even recognised that a new day had begun— but not on days like today . On days like today, he’d remain asleep in your embrace, allowing you to awaken to the feeling of him squirming in your arms. He’d allow you to kiss down his back while he pressed his posterior flush against your hardening cock, all before announcing it was really time to be up! 

It would do no good for both of you to get a reputation for being lazy . 

You’d known then, he was playing that little game of his, expecting that you play along lest he have a tantrum. He’d dress himself slowly, never giving you the satisfaction of looking at you , but you’d know he was expecting you to watch him appreciatively, and you would . Not necessarily because it was what he wanted — despite you always giving him what he desired — but rather because it was impossible to look away. He was just divinely beautiful, and he knew it.  

Breakfast would be an entire ordeal because no matter what you did , you obviously were not paying enough attention to him. You were not to talk to others at breakfast; you were not to touch others at breakfast, because all of your attention was to be on him and him alone. Some days you’d deny him his insane demands, because they were simply that: insane . But not today; today you kept your eyes trained on him, trained on his sharp teeth as he tore through his breakfast. He’d tilt his neck in that way; the way that said that tonight he wanted you to break him, but not yet . 

He wanted to play first.  

He wasn’t beautiful in the way some of your previous lovers were; pretty little things that crawled on the floor for your attention. Small things, cute things , creatures that were designed to be on their knees; no , Alastor was beautiful in a completely different way. He was beautiful in that he was raw ; he was a wild animal that couldn’t be caged, should never be caged , but when he chose to sit on his knees for you because he wanted to, nothing could ever compare. 

You attempted to get work done in the office you shared with Charlie. She had wonderful ideas— lovely ideas, really— but none of them were particularly financially conscious. She was so used to Daddy’s support that she didn’t always think to remember that when running a business, there were limitations . You were trying to help her sort these finances out, but Alastor craved attention. He’d come to stand behind you to peer down at what you were reading. 

“This looks terribly dull, dear.” He’d informed you, and he wasn’t wrong. It was incredibly dull, but sometimes dull was necessary . You wouldn’t try to convince him of that though, not only because it simply wouldn’t work, but because his hands had found their way up to your shoulders. Squeezing at the tense muscles, pulling at it to loosen his canvas. He liked to hear your little moans and groans, and so you let him , if only so he’d continue. “I’d hate to take you away from your work . I know how important it is to keep to one’s responsibilities,” He’d purr in your ear, and just like that, he was gone with a wisp of shadows again.

Perhaps the worst torment of all was his bloody shadow . The thing followed you throughout the day; just because he wanted to pretend this wasn’t about him wanting attention, didn't mean his shadow was playing along . The creature would follow you wherever you went, and as soon as you found a place to relax it would situate itself on its knees, almost mocking you. Some days you wondered if Alastor did it on purpose, enticing the shadow to show what Alastor wanted but refused to act upon . 

Somehow you made it through the day, made it through the entire day without choking him whilst he danced around you, quite happy with his little game . 

As soon as night fell, you escorted him back to the entry of the room you shared, pinning him against it without a second thought. He was laughing— giggling almost— with glee, joy and mischief. He had won, and you lost , and that was exactly how he liked his games to go.

You had let him win every time though, you’d let him win for an eternity if he kept laughing just like that . It was a beautiful sound, a sound so few had the pleasure of hearing, and you would play his games for the rest of your existence if he continued to give it to you. Pushing him into the room, you pulled at his clothes, the clothes he always wore that were far too many layers for your liking . You kissed every uncovered scar that was revealed, old and new , all while he reached up to run his hands through your hair, tugging tightly.

.

Alastor wanted to kneel, but he’d make you force him first. 

“So impatient.” He purred underneath you as you manhandled him onto the bed. 

He was a little shit, and he knew he as such, but that little fact was irrelevant, because he was all yours . 

You stripped quickly, eager to have your hands back on his beautiful, scarred body as he watched you hungrily whilst you undressed. It never took you half as long to get rid of your own clothes as it did to get rid of his; the man, again , was always wearing far too many layers. 

Kneeling on the bed beside him, you pressed kisses down his neck and his chest, forcing him to evoke soft little bleating sounds while he pressed his ears against the base of his skull. He, personally , hated the sounds that echoed through his larynx as you tickled his skin, but you were obsessed with those sounds , and sometimes, on a good day , he’d let you hear them without hesitation. Kissing down his happy trail, you enjoyed his trembling body that laid beneath yours. 

Beautiful. He was simply, yet uniquely beautiful. 

Taking his cock into your mouth slowly,  he let out a deep groan as he called out your name, the pretty tone of his voice escaping the muscle of his tongue. Slowly, you began to take him deeper into the depths of your mouth, holding down his hips with such force he couldn’t thrust himself into the wetness of your cavern forcing him to groan in frustration . 

This was your favourite part of the game. He'd had his fun, so now it was your turn. Echoing a whine, Alastor attempted to fight you weakly, allowing you to swirl your tongue around his cock while he rumbled out the most beautiful of sounds. You continued to play with him, to enjoy his writhing form beneath you , until he’d finally beg. “ Please .” He’d beg so prettily, prettier than one would think, could even believe was possible to come out of a creature such as he. 

You’d allow him the pleasure of releasing his hips, permitting him to grab onto your hair to force his cock down your throat. He thrust into you like a wild animal, chasing for that high he sought out oh so desperately and you let him. He made the most beautiful noises, using your throat for his pleasure as his body shook in the most delicious of ways when you looked up at him with your eyes full of unushered tears, fighting to breathe through your nose. 

That was what did him in, what always did him in; you choking on his thickened cock . “ Mine ,” He growled as you gently ran your palm up and down his wounded thighs, reminding him you were here for him . He pushed the top of your head down, forcing your nose to tickle the base of his pelvis bone before thrusting up, letting out a guttural groan as he released his peak down the innards of your oesophagus. Drinking it all up— just as you always did — you were eager to consume all of him before his clawed talons would release you; allowing you to look up at him, the most beautiful creature in the world. He covered his pretty face with his hands, hiding from you, and you would allow him to, for now ; only because you weren’t done with him yet . You pushed the bottom of his thighs up before placing your lips against them repeatedly. “No more. ” He’d whine on deaf ears as you ignored him.

Whispering sweet praises into his skin, because he needed to hear them , because he was more insecure than he’d ever let people know ; you licked against his hole, forcing a gasp to escape his pretty lips as he reached up to pull at his own hair; you couldn’t help but chuckle.

. 

He was precious. He was perfect, and you’d burn the world down for him. 

You told him to beg for you, to never stop begging for you, and he made good on his promise. “ Don’t stop; never stop; touch me .” It was a compliment from the Radio Demon, to be begged to touch him, to invade his personal barriers when so few could, and you would never let him down. Pushing your tongue inside him, you wiggled the muscle deep inside him as his hips naturally gyrated down onto your face. He was beautiful , perfect , and smelled intoxicating. 

Prying his ass cheeks further apart, eager to explore him deeper while he moaned. 

You pulled away, looking up to see his flushed face and blown-out eyes. Giving him a knowing look, you told him, relayed to him that he was beautiful , a specimen like no other, but you knew deep down that he didn’t believe a word that left your lips— not truly . 

Climbing on top of him, you pressed a singular finger against his now-wet hole before placing your lips against his own. His sharp teeth scraping against the kiss as his overwhelmed innards forced him to crave to hurt you; and you permitted him to do as such, because of his undoubtful beauty. Groaning as his sharpened teeth bit down onto your bottom lip, he drew blood from your pierced skin, moaning so pretty at the taste of your natural essence.

Rocking his hips into your finger, his claws scratched with depth down your back, forcing you to hiss in pain. “I’m not some delicate damsel; give me more .” He demanded, never letting you play the way you wished, slowly opening his body to you the way you desired; he wanted it hard and fast, and you’ve never been in the practice of denying him.

Adding another finger, you stretched him slowly before adding a third, forcing him to scream out in pain, throwing his head back in the process before moaning out in pleasure. You knew he wanted you to hurt him more , but he wouldn’t be happy if he lost the ability to walk tomorrow. “You’re a whore.” He spat, but you know he didn’t mean such a sentence. 

“I love you,” you said to him softly. Letting him know, understand that you forgave him, that you forgive him for the horrible things he says and does, and after it all; he’s still worthy of your love, whether he wants to believe it or not.  

“I hate you.” He spat, and you tried not to laugh. 

Pulling your fingers out, he uttered a breaking and displeased moan, almost in a whimper. “I still love you.” You told him. 

Gripping your cock, you pressed the head of your length against his entrance before pushing forward, forcing him to let out a mixture of pleasure and pain in a scream whilst his legs wrapped around your waist. “ You love me? ” He asked, his claws raking down your back before you nodded your head, struggling to concentrate on his words as you continued to push yourself into him inch by inch. Sitting up, he reached for you with desperate hands, digging his claws into your back so he could breathe into your ear. “Then fuck me .” He snarled.

It was as if he had released the beast out of the cage. Pinning his arms to the bed, you began to thrust wildly , forcing him to shout, to scream in that wonderful tone of his. Keeping his legs wrapped around your waist, meeting your thrusts with an angry passion; you finally found it; that perfect spot deep inside him that turned him into a mess. His entire body shook in routine as you hit it over and over again, his legs becoming shaky as he begged for more incoherently. 

Releasing his arms, you grabbed the sharp features of his face before pressing a harsh kiss against his lips. Groaning into your mouth, he reached up to wrap his fingers around the back of your head, pulling you in closer. “ I’m in love with you ,” You whisper against his lips, breaking him in the process.

. 

“ Please ,” he begged, so prettily, “ I need more. ” You reached down to grip his heavy cock; the phallic organ pulsing in your hand as you began to slowly stroke him softly, echoing beautiful whimpers and whines out of him, his posterior clenching down on your own thick cock. 

“ Cum for me, love . ” You commanded, evoking a groan from him as he thrust up into your grip; his cum spurting all over your hand.  

Rolling his eyes back, he collapsed into the bed. His body bounced off the mattress as his claws retracted so his arms can fall along with him; a sight that was so fucking beautiful; it sent you over the edge.  

Grabbing his hips, you harshly thrust forward to cum as far and as deep as you can, forcing every part of his innards to be painted white with your heavy load. 

“ Maybe I love you a little bit. ” He whispered into your chest as you collapsed on top of him, only for you to grunt in response. “ And if you tell anyone, I’ll fucking gut you. ” You chuckled before rolling off of him, pulling him on top of you, forcing him to sit still on your cock. 

“ I don’t care if you love me or if you don’t; I love you. ” You spoke honestly with him, evoking a sigh to splutter through his throat before rolling his hips back onto your cock gently, a much softer ride as he lulled through post-orgasm bliss. 

After he was done with you, you’d give him a bath; before you laid in the comfort of your bed together , but for now, you’d let him have this . 

The threat looms high over your heads, the angels are coming and there’s not a lot you can do to protect him. You wonder how far you’d go to keep him like this, your beautiful buck with his cruel words and haughty expression. 

You decide to the ends of the universe, the end of everything; you’d fight God himself to keep Alastor right here, making those pretty noises.

[clayteland]

[ WIP ]

| Character: Ticci Toby (old design (2013 era) |

Pixel art coming soon.

... the other ones will be posted later.

《DAILY NEWS》

First. Thanks for the big number of people who enjoyed my au and my art style, like, damn. Is a lot for me. ♥︎

Second. About the au, I'll change the fact that Masky and Hoodie are proxys, like literally they aren't even proxys, but I wanted to make them like some kind of... "Aliases" from the others proxys. The operator and Slenderman aren't the same, so it could be a possibility for them to stay with Toby, Kate, Rouge, or other proxys.

Third. Xvirus design will be changed for posterior fanarts. The creator made a fanart with him and decided to change his original design (and I really liked it) so I'll make it more accurate as Mamaporcupine wanted.

Fourth. Skully and maybe Alex Kralie will be in this au. Like Hoodie is in here (he is dead, but is like a ghost), they will be in this au if i want to lol.

[simder-talia-blog]

AHS Roanoke's ass window - a gif

[ranahan]

Middle-Mando’a creole hypothesis

Mando’a is said to be designed to have simple grammar so adults adopted into the culture can learn it easily. But natural languages aren’t designed—that can’t be the in-universe explanation (unless the Taung were doing something real funky). However, creole languages do exhibit simplified grammar (compared to the parent languages) and Mando’a grammar does in fact fit well with what we know about grammars of creole languages.

There is a ready-made in-universe historical reason for why this would have happened too: the Neo-Crusader movement. Within the space of few decades, the Mandalorians went from primarily Taung to the Taung going virtually extinct, clans becoming multi-species/human-dominated and accepting any worthy warriors. Following the Mandalorian wars was also some three centuries of disarray and diaspora. No wonder there was a break in the transmission of the language from the natively Mando’a speaking Taung to their new recruits. That’s the reason that would explain the creolisation. The lexicaliser/superstratum would be Classical Mando’a and the substrata would be the various languages of the peoples conquered/absorbed into the Neo-Crusaders (probably including but not limited to Early Modern Basic and Huttese).

Creolisation would neatly explain not just the “easy to learn” example, but also how Mando’a came to lose it’s verbal conjugation system and replace it with simple prefixes/preverbal auxiliaries.

So my new favourite headcanon is that Modern Mando’a started out as a creole (but has since had enough time to reacquire some features not encountered in recently creolised languages). I like this idea because it gives me lots of ideas for how to interpret and extend the existing language in ways that aren’t just “standard English word order because it’s easy to learn”, but SVO because that’s overwhelmingly the most common word order in creole and pidgin languages. And that tense system? They might actually be relative anterior tense/perfect aspect & relative posterior tense/prospective aspect, not absolute past/future (which would by the way probably be really common misunderstanding viz. Basic and L2 learners). Not that it makes that big a difference, but the exact nature of Mando’a tenses is something I’ve been thinking about and this fits the ideas I’ve had.

[ladychandraofthemoone]

In my au Stanley (narrow gauge) has a special interest in insects (I hc him as being into animals, they don’t judge you for your “jinx” and he’s got a soft spot for critters that are seen as “bad luck”) and tends to blurt out the most detailed information, he often info-dumps with and to Nia who encourages it cause it makes him happy once he’s freed from his “jinx” and she know every single insect name alphabetically along with their scientific names and nicknames Here we have Duke immediately regretting asking them if they can name every single species and ends up sleeping when they’re engrossed in their conversation before leaving when they were in the mid section of the e category (Nia gave him “the disappointment older sister look” awhile back so the poor guy can trapped there and wondered how did he got ever himself into this situation)

Basically it’s just Stanley to Duke in alphabetical order: Alderflies Angel Insects Anoplura (Sucking lice) Ants Antlions Aphids Archeognatha (Bristletails) Barklice Bees Beetles Bird lice Biting lice Blattodea (Cockroaches) Booklice Bristletails Bugs Butterflies Caddisflies Chewing lice Cicadas Cockroaches Coleoptera (Beetles) Collembola (Springtails) Crickets Damselflies Diplura Diptera (Flies) Dobsonflies Dragonflies-

Nia joining in cause she was mad at Duke: ah yes the alderfly which are megalopteran insects of the family Sialidae. They are closely related to the dobsonflies and fishflies as well as to the prehistoric Euchauliodidae. All living alderflies – about 66 species all together are part of the subfamily Sialinae, which contains nine extant genera. Sialinae have a body length of less than 25 mm (1 inch), long filamentous antennae, and four large dark wings of which the anterior pair is slightly longer than the posterior. They lack ocelli and their fourth tarsal segment is dilated and deeply bilobed. Dead alderfly larvae are used as bait in fishing-

duke:shooketh (Nia’s is basically the train version of a encyclopedia also her design is based off of MrTerrier673 on Twitter)

[nonspeakingkiku]

Puzzle with faer walker and AFOs ☺️

His walker design is based off a nimbo posterior walker (because that is the kind of walker Kiku hopes to get at some point.) Fae previously used a rollator, but found it difficult to use his white cane with it, limiting his ability to use his rollator in public, because he had to choose between his white cane (which fae needs to navigate safely) and his rollator (which helps reduce pain and helps with his balance issues) (this is absolutely projection and helps Kiku feel better about not being able to use Kiku's rollator and white cane at the same time 😅).

ID: A brown, purple, and cream bunny fox hybrid boy wearing a pink cold shoulder crop top that says pretty boy on it, hot pink short shorts, orange socks, pink AFOs, and hot pink and purple converse style shoes. He is standing with a pink posterior walker. End ID

[asexxxualauthor]

Subject No. 073BT: The Skulking Hulk

Subject Details:

Name: Takadox Species: Unknown Previous Affiliation: Barraki Designation: Tank and Close-Range Attacker Abilities: Hypnosis, Elemental Control (Water)

073BT—given name "Takadox"—first incarcerated following defeat at the hands of the Toa Mahri. Was released and conscripted to aid in missions during the war against Makuta Teridax, however continual and deliberate betrayals led to second incarceration and subjection to continually more harsh exposure to mutagen.

Results of exposure have left 073BT with a far more bulky and physically powerful form—conscription to Project SFX in response has been approved. In addition to physical mutations including additional bladed limbs on posterior, exposure to mutagen appears to have given 073BT some control over water.

073BT has a history of treason and betrayal—application of inhibitor chip strongly required.

[mask131]

Arthurian myth: Merlin (1)

Loosely translated from the article "Merlin" of the Dictionary of literary myths, under the direction of Pierre Brunet.

The literary fortune of Merlin was often dependent of the Arthurian literature. However, through its various resonances, the character gained its own seduction and its own popularity that allowed him to return outside of a medieval setting, gaining the status of an autonomous literary myth. He was at first the prophet of the Briton revenge, the one who had initiated the Round Table and who had inspired the errant-knighthood. Through his unique position between good and evil (he is born of a devil and a virgin), between life and death (his paradoxical survival within a “prison of air” or his vault), he embodies in modern times the enigma of History and of the future. Finally, he is the enchanter: causing or suffering many metamorphoses, he is a mythical builder and engineer, and sometimes a warlock/sorcerer. Merlin stays one of the prime heroes of the world of magic.

I/ Origins

The name and the character of Merlin appear for the first time within two Latin-written works of the second quarter of the 12th century, by the Welsh cleric Geoffroy of Monmouth: the “Historia Regum Britanniae” (1136) and the “Vita Merlini” (1148).

Nothing allows us to claim that a character named Merlin (Myrddin in Welsh) existed before these works. The very name of Merlin might have been an invention of Geoffroy, based on the name of the city of Kaermyrddin (today’s Carmarthen). It is also possible that Geoffroy used the phonetic similarity between the city and a “Merlin(us)” which belonged to the Armorican tradition (or more largely the continental one). However, Geoffroy of Monmouth did not start out of nothing. In the middle of the 12th century, Robert of Torigny, library of the abbey of Bec, claimed that two Merlin existed: a Merlin Ambroise/Ambrose (Ambrosius Merlinus) and a Merlin Sylvestre/Sylvester (Merlinus Silvester). This opinion was renewed thirty years later by Giraud of Cambria. Thes two names seem to correspond to two different traditions that Geoffroy joined:

1) “Merlin Ambrose” designates a character of the 6th century named Ambrosius. Gildas (in his “De Excidio et conquest Britanniae) made him the descendant of a Roman consulate family. Nennius( “Historia Britonum” presented him as a child born without a father, and whose mother had sex with an incubus – a tradition maintained by posterior authors. Nennius also provided the motif of the child revealing to the king Guorthigirn (Vortigern) the existence of two underground dragons preventing the building of his citadel. Discovered by the agents of the king at Kaermyrddin, the young Ambrosius interpreted the battle of the monsters as the omen of the long battles between the Briton and the Saxon. When Geoffroy retells this scene, he explicitly identifies Merln to this Ambrosius (“Merlinus, qui et Ambrosius dicebatur”).

2) “Merlin Sylvester” appears mainly in the “Vita Merlini”, and he seems to be the heir of older Celtic traditions. These traditions, shared by both Scotland and Ireland, depict a prince who lost his sanity and ran away into the forest, living there a wild existence while gaining supernatural powers. In Scotland it is Lailoken, known through the “Life of saint Kentigern”: on the day of the battle of Arfderydd (located by the “Cambriae Annals” at 573), this character, companion of the king Rodarch, heard a celestial voice condemning him to only have interactions with wild beasts [Translator’s note: The expression in French here is unclear if it speaks of human interactions or having sex, and I unfortunately can’t check the original Life of saint Kentigern right now]. Several predictions were attributed to him, predictions that the “Vita Merlini” places within Merlin’s mouth. Another incarnation of the “Merlin Sylvester” can be find back as early as the 8th century: in Ireland, the legendary king Suibne, turned mad after the battle of Moira, lived in trees (from which he ended up flying away), and shared similar traits with Lailoken. Similarly, in the Armorique there was the prophet Guinglaff, known through a verse-work of the 15th century “Dialogue entre le Roi Arthur et Guinglaff”.

The link between Merlin and those “wild men” becomes even more apparent thanks to several Welsh poems bearing the name “Myrddin”. Three of them belong to the “Black book of Carmarthen” (Welsh manuscript of the end of the 12th century) : The Apple-Trees (Afallenau), the Songs of the Pigs (Hoianau) and the Dialogue between Merlin and Taliesin (Ymddiddan Myrddin a Thaliesin). If the prophetic passages of these texts cannot be older than the Normand invasion, several lines where the bard talks to the trees and animals of the Caledonian forest (especially his pet-boar), complaining about his loneliness and his sorrow, could be the remains of a poem between 850 and 1050, which could be the oldest record of the Merlin legend.

Despite these many obscure origins, it seems that even before the publication of the “Historia Regum Britanniae” Merlin had awakened a certain interest within Geoffroy’s entourage, since Geoffroy decides to publish in 1134, due to the demands of several people including the bishop of Lincoln, a fragment of an unfinished work of his: the “Prophetiae Merlini”. Inspired by the Books of the Sybil, by the Apocalypse and by the prophetic imagery of Celtic and Germanic tribes, these “Prophecies”, that Geoffroy claimed to have translated from the language of the Briton, is first a record of several events that happened in Great-Britain since the Saxon invasion until the reign of Henry the First. Then, they announce in an obscure fashion the revenge of the Briton, and a series of disasters prefacing the end of the world. This text was a huge success: until the end of the Middle-Ages, these “Prophecies” were commented and quoted as equals to the holy Christian books. Alain of Lille, the “Universal Doctor”, wrote a commentary of the Prophecies in seven books. Merlin, first the great prophet of Wales, then of Scotland, was adopted in the 14th century by the England, which completely forgot the anti-Saxon origins of the character, and took the habit of beginning almost every speech by quoting a Prophecy of Merlin.

The ”Historia Regum Britanniae”, after the story of the two underground dragons and the text of the Prophecies, attributes to Merlin the building of Stonehenge, in the memory of Briton princes treacherously killed. Finally, it tells of how the prophet gave to the king Uter Pendragon magical potions that gave him the appearance of the husband of the duchess Ingern. A trick that allow the birth of the future king Arthur. As early as this first work, Merlin appears at the same time as a prophet and a wizard: a character claims that no one can rival with him when it comes to predicting the future, or accomplish complex machinations (“sive in futuris dicendis, sive in operationibus machinandis).

The ”Vita Merlini”, told in verse, completes Merlin’s biography by telling adventures of a very different tonality. Seer and king in the south of Wales, Merlin became mad after a deadly battle, and lived in the woods like a wild beast. Only the music of a zither can appease him. Led to the court of king Rodarch, chained in order to be kept there, he proves his gift of second sight throughout several “guessing scenes”. Before returning to the woods, he agrees to letting his wife Guendoloena marry again. However, on the day of the wedding, he appears with a horde of wild beasts, riding a stag. Ripping one of the antlers of his ride, he uses it to break the head of Guendoloena’s new husband. The rest of the text depicts Merlin as being saved by his sister Ganieda: he performs a series of astronomical observations and makes prophecies about the future of Britain. His disciple Thelgesin (identified with the Welsh bard Taliesin), back from the Armorique, joins him and they talk lengthily about nature. Finally, Merlin regains his sanity thanks to the water of a stream that just appeared, but he refuses to rule again and stays faithful to the forest.