Nightlyvorewriter

Voretuber, Writer, Changeling of Many Forms mostly Furry, in that order! N8tely_Nightly on twitch! Feel free to ask questions, commission for stories, or anything like that!

[night-ely]

Sometimes you see a piece of meat everyone else thinks is a person, and you disagree. You take it in. Imagine the taste of it's flesh as it melts off the bone. Imagine biting in. Small or big? Savour, or Devour? What part of...'him' would you eat first? What would you save, if any? A trophy to the one who realized that it need not suffer, and could just be meat. There's so many things to do with meat. The most important step, is simply, the first. Desire it, carnally.

[speedosandsuch]

[conchoronzon]

Nothing better than diving into a pool, finding a cute otter swimming about, quickly shoving him down your cock, and walking right back out with a plumper bulge, no one any the wiser that, underneath that speedo, a fully grown man was churning into cum.

[teaboot]

It is simply not fulfilling to enjoy media in the height of its popularity. You need to show up so late to the party that everybody else is gone and the hosts are asleep so you can rummage through their trash for chip dip and stale hors d’oeurves to eat alone in the dark like a dirty little raccoon secret

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

M.ilo eating some P.okemon

Decided to change this one up by making the P.okemon all anthro cause I like hot anthro guys.

M.ilo sighs and wipes some sweat from his brow. It’s been a hard day of work out on the farm. But it’s getting be about lunchtime, and the low rumbling coming from his abs tells him it’s gonna be a big one. Just as well, he’s got to get some more manure produced anyway before he can get back to work. He should have some volunteered P.okemon around here somewhere…

“Ah, there ya are!” M.ilo smiles as he spots one of them working in the fields. It’s a massive V.enusaur, standing tall and wide. He’s built soft, obviously having muscle but most of it hidden under some plush heft. The grumpy face on the V.enusaur doesn’t shift even when he looks down at the farmer. Despite M.ilo’s size, the V.enusaur stands taller and wider than him.

“Need me for something..?” V.enusaur rumbles, looking down at the gym leader. Other than M.ilo, most of the workers on the farm are anthropomorphic P.okemon, usually around because they’re retired from battling or are more suited for this type of work. This V.enusaur is an example of the former, still covered in battle scars but not able enough for combat. Of course, M.ilo has a secondary use for them beyond labor...

M.ilo reaches up and pulls on the leaf on the V.enusaur’s head, making it bend down with a soft grunt. “Yep, it’s lunch time and I gotta work on manure production. Thanks for all the help, yer retired now!” M.ilo’s maw opens wide before the V.enusaur. It looks far too small to fit the massive P.okemon...but a good, hard shove wedges its head inside regardless.

V.enusaur puts his large hands on M.ilo’s shoulders, grunting as he tries to pull away. The farmer’s jaws are already up to his ears and despite the thick tongue slurping over his face over and over, he can’t get out of the tight jaws’s grip. And once that first swallow happens, dragging his head fully into M.ilo’s gullet, escape becomes even more impossible.

Thick, wet gulps ring out that suck the V.enusaur deeper. His soft pecs get chewed on a few times, earning a pleased rumble from M.ilo. His hands come down to cup the V.enusaur’s ass, giving it a few squeezes while he shoves. The Vensaur’s arms are pinned down, and M.ilo is already sucking on that heavy gut with a big grin. His volunteers always taste so good after a day of working in the sun and working up a sweat...

M.ilo finally tips his head back, working V.enusaur’s ass into his jaws. Thick legs kick in the air above him but they’re disappearing down the hatch as he slurps them down. His stomach is bloating out before him, his abs stretching easily around the massive P.okemon he’s picked as his first course. V.enusaur is grunting and groaning softly as he gets tightly packed up in the farmer’s gut.

With a few more slllllrp!’s and a big, final GLNK!, the V.enusaur disappears past M.ilo’s lips. His massive feet bulge out the farmer’s gullet for a moment longer before disappearing past his massive chest and winding up a bulge packed up in his middle.

M.ilo thumps his chest a few times to blast out a fragrant “BWWWWOOOOOUUUUURRRRRPPPPP!!!!” into the air. A bit of pollen puffs out of his maw. Down below, his gut is stretched almost vacuum sealed around the V.enusaur, who is curled up uncomfortably tight inside. M.ilo’s stomach is a powerhouse and the tight, squeezing walls are already showing that off. It’s a well-trained machine that knows exactly what to do with meat.

“Alright, let's see how much ya make!” M.ilo grins and pats his gut a few times, patting over the muzzle of the V.enusaur. The big beast lets out a slight whine as the stomach walls squeeze over him tightly again. All of the P.okemon working the farm are very aware that this is how it’ll end for them. M.ilo is shameless in it and will often do it in front of others. But that doesn’t mean they’re all excited for such an end themselves.

M.ilo’s mulcher of a gut squeezes down hard enough that a solid crack rings out, followed by a loud roar from the V.enusaur. He’d likely be struggling more if it weren’t so compact, but as it is, he can barely move. His life is flashing before him—every battle, every victory, every time he opened wide and plunged some screaming, roaring, snarling opponent down into his guts. The sounds ring in his ears almost as loud as his own roaring and crunching as M.ilo’s gut mulches him.

Every hard flex makes M.ilo’s stomach shrink a few more inches, breaking down the soft but sturdy body of the old V.enusaur with little issue. The roars become more pathetic and fearful as his body is destroyed steadily by the clenching, squeezing walls. Boiling slop starts to surge over the V.enusaur’s head with every tight clench, making it so he can’t even voice his distress without bubbling and sputtering.

“HWWWWOOOOUUUUURRRRPPPPPP!!!!” Another beefy belch roars out of M.ilo after another clench brings out a dull crunching sound. Some torn flower petals flicker from M.ilo’s jaws and flutter down. His gut is much smaller and rounder now, some bones bulging out his lower gut. But they don’t stay for long, the messy chugging and squelching sounds signaling all that V.enusaur slop pumping through him. The bulges sink in as the rest of his stomach does, steadily forming that prized manure.

Finally, M.ilo lowers his shorts and squats down. He’s not bothered about where he leaves the manure piles since they have to get collected and bagged up regardless. Easier to make them all now then handle the meticulous parts later. So with a grunt and some pushing, a thick log of crap begins to crown. And once the first log comes squeezing out, the rest of the V.enusaur follows along at a rapid pace.

The pile heaps up quickly, many bones and scraps of flower petals littering the muck. M.ilo’s body always worked fast and made sure there was lots of manure left over, so that hefty V.enusaur is making for a big pile. The only thing that gives M.ilo any trouble is the bulky skull, but an extra hard push forces it out and into the dung with a squelch. A few more logs slop out after that and he’s done.

“Now that’s a mighty fine batch!” M.ilo says with a grin, waving the air away as he does. A loud, demanding gurgle comes from his gut and he pats it. It’s hanging off his frame more than usually, now a rounded paunch. “Guess I could make a bit more, though. Let’s see...” He’s already walking off, leaving the pile to sit in the fields for the time being. It’ll get cleaned up eventually.

M.ilo spots his next batch in the making—a tubby G.engar that’s sleeping under a tree. He’s a ‘problem P.okemon’ that got sent to M.ilo. Didn’t listen well or seem to care about battling. He’s stuck around so far because his levitating and phasing through objects can be real useful, but he’s also a lazy bum and M.ilo’s decided on a much better use for him.

Coming up to the ghost, M.ilo puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. The big guy is snoring away under the shade, arms folded under his head. Looks like he’s been snacking, too. Ah well, the G.engar is off to better things now. Not bothering to wake him up, M.ilo lifts up the ghost’s legs and crams his feet into his maw.

M.ilo is at least gentle, carefully hefting the G.engar up as he eats without disturbing him. He’s already working his way up the ghost’s shins and getting to his thighs, his mouth forced to stretch more and more to accommodate the growing heft. By the time he’s getting over the G.engar’s ass, he’s lifted the whole ghost up and tipped his head back to let gravity help work his meal down.

Progress slows a bit once M.ilo has to focus on that giant gut, each gulp sucking in another few inches of fat. It’s steadily squeezing the G.engar down, who’s still snoring lazily without realizing the situation. He doesn’t wake up even when M.ilo gulps down the last bits of his gut and then chugs down his moobs soon after.

By then, the G.engar’s arms are lifting over his head. He starts to come to once his head sinks back in and M.ilo’s tongue starts to slurp over his face. The G.engar grumbles and winces a bit before cracking an eye open. He gets to see the tree he’d been sleeping against, framed by his own arms and M.ilo’s teeth. The G.engar’s scream goes unheard as a wet gulp overpowers it and his head becomes a bulge slithering down M.ilo’s neck.

With a wet slurp, the G.engar’s flailing arms are sucked down and he disappears fully. A pleased sigh escapes M.ilo once he feels the last of the ghost slosh into his gut. Unlike the V.enusaur, the G.engar has a much easier time wiggling around and shouting. He’s now saying stuff like ‘I’ll stop taking breaks’ and ‘Give me another chance’ but M.ilo isn’t listening much.

Instead, the farmer has braced himself against the tree and starts to grind his gut against it. The G.engar screeches inside when he feels the pressure pick up, bulges now shifting along M.ilo’s stomach as he flails around madly. M.ilo groans and closes his eyes, shoving harder against the tree. “C’mon, now, no need to be so difficult! I’m just gonna pump ya into a fresh load of manure!”

That doesn’t do much to settle the panicking ghost. Ghost types like G.engar can be a bit harder to break down than normal P.okemon due to their physiology, but M.ilo handles that by just getting a little rougher. Each hard grind and shove against the tree is helping the ghost’s body break down as he struggles to maintain his form. When the G.engar notices his body falling apart and the bubbling, purple muck that’s starting to fill the space around him, he starts screaming again.

“BWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLCCHH!!!!!” A rumble belch rolls out of M.ilo, a thick smog puffing in the air with some purple quills flickering out as well. M.ilo winces slightly at the smell. Poison types never do smell pretty, even compared to his usual process. He grinds his gut hard against the tree again, feeling the solid mass give a bit more with a wet squelch. The G.engar inside is a whimpering mess, his voice bubbling every time he makes a noise. He’s falling apart real fast...

M.ilo huffs a bit, pressing in hard again. His guts squelch wetly, already rounder and softer, the G.engar more liquid than solid. “We’re almost there, big fella,” M.ilo grunts, giving his abs a clench this time to help packed the G.engar deeper. “Just work with me here...then you can do aaaaall the lazin’ ‘round yer heart desires!”

The G.engar whines and cries out weakly, some garbled attempt at pleading for mercy that’s barely audible over the squelches and churns of his body breaking down. M.ilo barely notices it. He presses his guts hard against the tree, blasting out another smoggy “OOOOOOOOOUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPPP!!!!!” into the air. He knows the G.engar is good and processed by that point only because the belch smells just a smidge worse than the first one.

Things move fast from there. M.ilo’s round, gurgling guts quickly shrink down with messy, sloppy chugging noises. All that G.engar slop pumps right through him, and much like the old V.enusaur, nearly all of it is converted into fresh manure. What isn’t has given the farmer a bit of a pot belly. M.ilo squats down by the tree, dropping his shorts and once again exposing his ass as he feels the rush of mass shooting lower.

Soft shit slops out of him, splattering against the tree and quickly starting to heap up. As expected, the smell in the air is noxious. Even for a Poison type, this is pretty bad, but that’s to be expected with G.engar. Hardly the first of them M.ilo has flushed through his mulcher! He’s plenty used to the process and the nasty parts that come with it, so despite how much waste is made, the G.engar slops out relatively quickly and he’s done in only a few minutes.

The heaping pile left behind is mostly a uniform mass, certainly a lot less solid than the previous pile of manure. No bones and the like to speak of, but there are a few stray purple quills poking out here or there. The only thing that helps signify the shitpile used to be a living being. M.ilo looks at the mess, smiles, tips his hat, and then walks off. This is a good start, but he should get a bit more to be safe!

It takes a bit of walking around and watching some of the other working P.okemon, all of which look nervous whenever the farmer’s gaze lingers on them for too longer, until M.ilo spots something that makes it guts gurgle. It’s a C.orviknight, big and bulky, who works more as a protector and supervisor on the farm. With so many P.okemon around, it helps to have others who can do a bit of managing for M.ilo. Still doesn’t protect them from his gut...

The C.orviknight perks up when he sees M.ilo approaching and gives a nod to him. “Afternoon. I’ve got things running smoothly over here but if you need anything, I can--” He cuts himself off with a soft yelp as M.ilo tugs roughly on his arm, dragging him down to the farmer’s level.

“I just need some manure today!” M.ilo reassures with a chipper tone. His drooling maw opens wide and the C.orviknight can only stare into it with a stupid expression as it lunges down for him.

It’s a relatively easy meal, despite the considerable bulk of the burly C.orviknight. The normally stoic bird is left so stunned by the act, that he doesn’t even struggle, letting M.ilo work him down with ease. The farm moans in approval as he gets to taste over that well trained meat, slurping on his pecs and over his muscle gut as he chugs it down.

If M.ilo recalls right, this C.orviknight used to work for the taxi services, but decided to switch to helping M.ilo run the farm. He’s one of the older workers here, even considering the high turnover rate. It must have been long enough to make the C.orviknight complacent, think he was safe or off the menu. He was wrong, of course.

M.ilo’s gut bulges out as the C.orviknight starts to pack inside, the sharp edges and contours of his body easily stretching the farmer out. His ass is being gnawed on at this point, but it’s only a few moments of tasting. M.ilo tosses his head back with a wet slurp, suddenly sucking down his meal’s thick legs and packed it up tightly in his groaning tank.

The C.orviknight is still completely frozen, even after getting tightly packed up in M.ilo’s groaning guts. The walls squeeze and churn around him, already plenty warmed up after mulching down two other P.okemon. His powerful body and strong steel plating won’t save him from being mulched like everyone else. He just can’t accept that fact still...

Not that he’ll have a choice. Where its through being crushed like a can or smelted like steel, M.ilo’s gut is going to take all that he is and use him for another fresh batch of manure. When the first grisly sound of metal creaking and crunching comes from M.ilo’s stomach, it’s like a switch was flipped. The C.orviknight is soon incredibly animated, screeching and writhing madly in M.ilo’s gut.

“Woah there!” M.ilo stumbles a bit feeling his batch-in-the-making fighting for his life. He presses his hands down roughly on his gut, shoving the C.orviknight back down into place with a few more screeching and crunching noises. “BWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEUUURRRRRRRRRRRPP!!!!!” A noxious belch roars out of M.ilo, thick fumes puffing from his maw as his stomach works on all of that iron. His meal has settled in now, other than some meek squawking or cawing that’s drowned out by the thick bubbling sounds of his working tank.

Steadily, M.ilo’s stomach starts to shrink down and round out. He helped it settle the meal fast and now its churning it down with ease. The C.orviknight can only offer a few more meak twitches and pathetic pleas before the farmer’s gut completely overpowers him. Thick slurry is already pumping lower and M.ilo squats down in preparation for what’s to come.

After a bit of waiting, M.ilo can feel a solid mass sinking downward. He winces a little and pushes, feeling a very solid and dense mass squeezing out of him. The Corvikngiht made for a very thick shit, the whole thing tight packed despite how large it is. Bits of corroded metal and bones tickle M.ilo slightly on the way out, but they’re also very tightly packed in the mass. He barely even notices when its skull slides out, the top of it peeking out of a nearly black log.

M.ilo huffs softly through his nose once he feels the log pinch off cleanly. He stands up again, his gut wobbling as he does. He’s gained even more heft, his shirt riding up his stomach even without a P.okemon packed inside. He pats the side of it a couple times and smiles as it bounces. That’s three huge manure piles so far but...hm...yeah, he thinks he can do just one more. He’ll make it a good one...

It takes a bit of looking around and scouting, judging the size and build of every P.okemon around the farm. Some of them definitely look like they’d be good manure and even make his stomach growl...but he sees the real last pile he wants, leaning on a fence after having clearly done some hard labor.

A massive T.errakion wipes his brow with the back of his hand. Sweat trickles off of his muscles, which are sore from a few hours of hard work. He’s massive, even compared to some of the other P.okemon on the farm. He’s been here to longest, one of M.ilo’s more diligent workers and strongest P.okemon in the crew. The T.errakion is almost invaluable to the team...but he’s also going to make a lot of very rich, healthy manure.

M.ilo’s drooling as he comes over, the thick, rich scent in the air making his stomach rumble. He feels like he’s starving, and there’s no more resisting the desire to devour this absolutely perfect meat. His stomach is demanding it. He comes right up to T.errakion, offering him no words. But just one look at the farmer tells the Legendary everything he needs to know--he’s manure now.

T.errakion tenses, his hands gripping onto the fence tightly. He always expected this to be a possibility, but that doesn’t mean he’s eager about it. His grip isn’t going to deter M.ilo, though, who simply grabs the T.errakion by the ankles and hoists it up to his drooling maw. His stomach practically roars for meat as he crams the Legendary’s feet in.

It’s every bit as delicious as M.ilo suspected to it to be. He groans happily and takes a thick gulp, starting to work his way up T.errakion’s shins. The Legendary grits his teeth and tries to pull himself out, hoping that if he can somehow stop M.ilo from eating him, the farmer will simply give it up and let him live another day. But the tight grip of M.ilo’s gullet makes it impossible to get more than a quarter of an inch before another thick gulp sucks him deeper.

As M.ilo starts to reach T.errakion’s knees, the Legendary’s feet enter his stomach. It roars to life with heavy noises...and the T.errakion’s eyes widen. There’s a sudden, intense warmth and a sharp sting and then...nothing. Numbness overtakes everything below the ankle. M.ilo seems to notice it as well before he winces and lowers his pants, starting to squeeze out a thick log of crap while he starts climbing up T.errakion’s thighs.

That’s enough to finally crack through T.errakion’s tense calm and he starts loudly roaring for M.ilo to stop. Despite his attempts to sound intimidating, he’s clearly panicked, and his fingers dig harder into the fence post. His demands to stop echo through the farm, but M.ilo keeps gulping, moaning softly as he tastes the meaty thighs of the Legendary, all while the T.errakion’s lower legs boil away and squeeze out of M.ilo’s ass.

M.ilo doesn’t slow down, jaws stretching to take in T.errakion’s waist and ass. The Legendary roars out again, his arms shaking as he keeps trying to desperately pull himself free. He can feel M.ilo gnaw on his ass and it makes his cheeks burn hot, but a few wet gulps suck it down and he can instead feel M.ilo starting to take in his soft, bulky stomach. T.errakion keeps losing ground, and the heap is growing higher and higher behind M.ilo, leaving an increasingly powerful thick stench in the air.

M.ilo keeps traveling up, groaning the entire time over the immense pleasure of T.errakion’s taste. The Legendary’s arms shake more, his body tense and dripping in sweat. Tears sting his eyes as he just tries to focus on pulling out. His legs are completely gone, M.ilo is over halfway up his stomach, and he can feel that stinging and then numb sensation over his hips. There was no going back the moment M.ilo got his feet in his jaws, and T.errakion knew that, but his body still demands he fight for survival.

T.errakion’s gut is gone, the last of it slurped down, and now his massive pecs are squeezing into M.ilo’s jaws. They’re tasted and chewed over, more pleased moans coming from the farmer. T.errakion huffs and pants, his eyes drooping, exhaustion setting in hard. More shit slops out of M.ilo, an entire pelvis coming with it. The pile is already massive, easily as big as the other three, and there’s still plenty more T.errakion to go.

M.ilo finally reaches up and seizes the T.errakion by the horns roughly. The Legendary grunts and forces out a final plea. “S...Stop...” M.ilo’s grip tightens on the T.errakion’s horns and he shoves down hard. His pecs plunge down and most of his stomach enters M.ilo’s, immediately being boiled away and starting to slop out the back. T.errakion groans weakly, staring out through M.ilo’s jaws whenever that tongue isn’t slurping over his face. His shaking arms finally go limp and M.ilo tosses his head back with a massive gulp.

Lots of thick shit heaps up behind M.ilo, and soon, a ribcage squeezes out of him. M.ilo slurps hard, sucking down T.errakion’s arms. As the fingers slip past his lips, a giant, bulky skull squeezes out and lands with a large thud behind M.ilo. More thick shit drapes over the top of it as T.errakion’s arms follow, and M.ilo lets out a pleased groan as he does it.

The farmer stands up again and stretches out. His gut bounces from it, hanging down heavily. His shirt doesn’t even begin to fit over it anymore, but at least the thing is finally sated. The heap of shit behind M.ilo is bigger than himself and will definitely be preserved for his own fields. He looks at the pile with a smile and sighs contently. “Thanks for that, big fella. Was just what I needed!” He tips his hat to the pile and walks off.

By the end of the day, the four heaps of crap will be shoveled up by various P.okemon all trying not to think about the fact that someone will be shoveling them off the ground one day, too. Half of it gets bagged up, and the other half is kept around for personal use. It was another good day on the farm...at least for M.ilo.

[night-ely]

Hot~!

[the-toy-boy]

[vore-mecca]

“Go ahead, I’d like to see you try. Bet you couldn’t even get past my knees.”

Famous last words of hubris before panicking as I swallow the big guy while with ease. Ironically, under a fair fight I probably would be melting in his belly right now, as he did to hundreds of guys before; and yet he was so confident that he was too big for me he didn’t even start to struggle until it was too late. Alpha pred to alpha pudge. What can I say? Confidence kills

[hungryfan45]

3. Drowsy

Markiplier was so happy seeing the release of his new show. The anticipation left him stressed, so much so he ended up losing sleep just like the character he played. Thankfully after the release he could finally kick back and take a good long rest. Only passing out at the acting site is asking for trouble. Jacksepticeye came by the site to congratulate his friend, only to find Mark fast asleep on the floor. Jack couldn’t possibly leave his buddy on the cold floor, so he put Mark in the comfiest place he could get, his gut! Mark stayed asleep the entire time he was swallowed, and continued to snooze as Jack carried his bulging gut home.

I hope he took him feet first.

[tiedmuscle]

from WatchFighters (ABS_ART)

[dodeedodoesatumblin]

Stephen was captured by the enemy.

“Unf-Urfpmh! What are you going to do to me! Just do it! Get it over with!”

He was easily apprehended, abused and tortured. Stephen was then led out to the forest where he assumed it would be all over for him.

The enemies tied him to a tree and took turns molesting him.

He didn’t enjoy it, but his cock said otherwise as it was hard and throbbing in his under, much to his captor’s enjoyment.

“Oh yeah he loves this. You love it when we play with your cock huh?” Said one of the men as Stephen noticed a large group of men who were led to them.

This group looked familiar and it was none other than his platoon of men he was a part of.

“First let’s do this…” as a man came behind and blindfolded Stephen.

Stephen struggled as he only heard the muffled whimpers of his team whimper and try to call for help as he couldn’t believe what they were going to do to him and them next.

As Stephen was blindfolded, another one of his enemies had came over with a tray with a glass jar that was filled with a thick, clear liquid.

Stephen could only struggle as he suddenly felt something cold be smeared heavily on his cock.

The captive immediately tried to pull away, but the person applying the cream was an expert at this as the stranger used both hands to stroke and apply the cream up and down Stephens shaft and an even heavier amount was applied to his balls.

Stephen groaned and bucked as those hands that were stroking him pulled back from Blu to be overcame with heat as he felt his cock swell and grow between his legs.

He tried to buck against this feeling, but he couldn’t fight this as his cock rapidly thickened and grew!

If only he could see it as one man from each side came to massage and stroke his monster cock as Stephen felt his ballsac press against his thighs as he could only struggle as his cock continued to swell beyond normal means.

Stephen was sweating as he could only imagine how huge his cock was as he struggled weakly against his binds to no avail as it wasn’t over yet.

As his cock was still outrageously huge, a practical cock cannon as it torpedoed 7feet in between his legs, glistening with precum, several men led the failed troop over to the cock.

Unlike Stephen, the men were gagged, not blindfolded as they watched the men apply the strange cream to Stephen and watched them stroke it until it grew to such a monstrous size.

And now they were going to be sent inside it.

With one man on each side, another man came from behind and grabbed one of Stephens failed team and pushed his head into the slit of Stephens huge cock.

It was all very quick as the first man went in whole!

He muffled a yell as the huge cock slit opened and took him in, kicking and struggling as he was sent down into Stephens balls.

Stephen in turn, moaned as he felt something huge enter his cock! But it didn’t hurt. In fact, the action felt very erotic to him and Stephen buckled under the pressure and immediately let loose a hose of cum that splashed over his former teammates.

This is turn caused something quite freaky.

One by one, his teammates were pushed inside his cock.

Each one a man different size and stature but it didn’t matter as Stephens cock was hungry for more and more as it gulped and swallowed each man easily.

Stephens balls stretched and stretched and stretched as 11 of his men were in his sac; with only one man left.

It wasn’t that his cock wouldn’t eat him, but this final soldier put up the best struggle of his life.

So much that the two men who were holding Stephens cock had to stop holding it and helped force him into the monster cock in front of him.

This was a mistake as not one, not two, but three men were all pushed into Stephens cock slit, which was more than capable of handling this predicament as it expanded and pulled all three in at once.

The last man from the enemy squad panicked and tried to pull his friend out from the pile, but he too was pulled in as Stephens shaft throbbed and expanded with four bodies being simultaneously sucked into and down his cock.

Stephen nearly buckled into himself as the feeling was too much as he still couldn’t break free from his binds as he twisted and turned as four human sized bulges descended downwards into the mass of his ballsac.

As the last of the men landed in there, they all struggled as Stephen ironically was the last man standing as his former team and the enemies that captured him were all rolling around in his ballsac.

But Stephen couldn’t fight against whatever urges presided and not even an hour later did all the men in his balls become a thick cum soup as Stephen groaned louder than ever as his cock erupted with thick white cum shooting from the tip like a hose.

The trees and foliage were drowned under the sheer amount of cum shooting out from Stephens cock as it would be another half an hour of steady heaves of cum before it would shrink down enough to manage so he could finally escape with his new found gift.

[teal-fiend]

The New Hire

An assistant for a wealthy business owner is given the task of hiring a pred to perform at their party

Content: fatal vore, digestion, observer pov

—

The assistant had a party to plan. It was part of their job as a personal assistant to one of the most terrifying people in the world. Although their employer never did anything terribly illegal, the assistant had the feeling that there were dark things happening that even they didn’t know about. 

There were dark things that they did know about too. For example, their bosses' borderline obsession with predators.

Their boss had a kind of motif for the unconventional and disturbing. Their company crest was a serpent, which is already a devious animal. Instead of collecting valuable art, like a normal rich person, they purposefully bought forgeries that had been in museums and books for years before they were discovered. They bought houses where tragedies had taken place. And they loved finding old jewellery with no one left willing to inherit it. 

Despite, or maybe because they weren’t a predator, the boss effused about preds whenever the opportunity arose. Telling the assistant about famous people who were preds, or business associates who were. However, this was an avenue of themselves that had yet to be truly indulged. In fact, the boss had never hired one before, the assistant suspected they went out of their way to avoid it. Until today.

One of the things the assistant had to organise, was finding a predator to be at the party. This is how the boss phrased it: “I want you to find one who can keep down their prey, who can keep still for several hours. Maybe one who has experience as a figure painting model - I don’t know - I don’t really care, I know this was kind of last minute.”

It was last minute, it was the day-of.

“-But, just as long as you can find a predator who doesn’t have ‘stage fright’ or ‘performance anxiety’, someone moderately professional - that’s really all I need. You will pay them whatever they ask, of course. I know it’s a strange request, but it would really bring something to this party; there’s a few people I want to scare the shit out of, and this'll do it.”

The boss hired them for a reason: the assistant could get anyone, at any time, exactly where the boss wanted them. They had many, many feelers. And it didn’t take them long to get a bite. 

One of their scouts had found someone who was free that night, a pred, a masters student, broke and willing to take a sketchy job. But their LinkedIn looked reliable, and they worked at a local theatre. They played the donkey in a modern rendition of MidSummer Nights Dream... A perfect hire, really. They could probably handle some weird shit. 

The new hire was picked up and delivered to the event’s location on time (one of the bosses’ cursed apartments, a place where they specifically hosted parties). The assistant took the opportunity to formally debrief them.

“You will be dressed and prepared by our costume designers, and the hair and makeup team; we have a few other performers that you need to match - you’ll meet them soon. Your job after that is to consume the prey provided for you, you only have to eat one, and then you must begin digesting and continue until you are dismissed. The choreographer will guide you on how to compose yourself before you begin the performance. 

If you need a break, there’s a discreet button you can press, you will be able to go backstage for a short time, and someone will get you what you need.”

The pred looked overwhelmed, but eager to impress them. They nodded and said something, but the assistant was already busy with someone else. 

—

An enclosure was set up for the pred and a couple other performers to be contained in. The rest of them would be serving drinks, or performing other acts in separate areas across the venue. 

The enclosure was visible from most angles, almost in the centre of the room, although there was a backdoor that the performers could exit from. Inside was like a small, midas forest, with faberge-like flowers and funguses. It matched the decorations of the rest of the venue, except it was more dense and atmospheric. 

The enclosure was inaccessible to the audience, although there was no actual barrier, more of a circumference of props that would be impossible to navigate. The assistant had requested this, so that the view of the performance would not be obstructed.

Soon, the predator emerged, glittering under the moody, dappled lights. They had in contacts that made their eyes a solid, iridescent gold. On their back was a thin cape that looked like butterfly wings. On their head were some kind of horn or antler piece, decorated with primrose blooms. On their arms and legs were a metal lace, with a flowing transparent garment over top. 

The curves of their body, especially their now plump abdomen, was lined with the finest paint brush, of intricate, organic patterns. They looked like a bounty, the cornucopia, or a paegan god. Their prey visibly wriggled under their skin, trying in a futile attempt to escape the stomach acids that were just beginning to release. The movements of the meal made a strange optical illusion under the temporary tattoos, it glittered as it shifted in the dim lights. 

This was not the same person who came in two hours ago. Frazzled, mousy-haired, rectangle glasses, exceedingly average appearance. The person who the assistant was looking at really wasn’t a person at all. It moved, but it wasn’t a person. 

The assistant was impressed, to say the least. They’d have to give credit to the makeup department. Maybe even give them a raise. Maybe. 

They’d have to hear what their boss thought about this whole thing. Was it too much? Where was their boss anyway? 

The assistant suddenly got a sinking feeling. Had the predator they hired somehow eaten their boss? But no, just then, they appeared behind a crowd of people. Although it was early, it would only get more crowded later on. 

The assistant watched their reaction closely. Laughing at some joke, their boss turned to look at the stage. Their eyes went wide, but only for a second before they regained composure and guided their group forward to get a better look at the performance. 

---

The assistant stayed close to the predator for most of the night, this was not a time for them to network. And they also made sure two security guards stayed nearby, just in case any guests got carried away and tried to get in the enclosure. 

The other reason they stayed by, though, is to gauge reactions of the guests. Their boss couldn’t pay close attention to these things, but if the assistant gathered data, they would be able to tell how successful the idea was. 

There were mixed reactions. Some guests gawked like the pred was a zoo animal, trying to get a reaction from them, which thankfully was unsuccessful. The most the pred would do is stare at a party-goer, unspeaking, with their emotionless, ethereal golden eyes. The pred did it once to the assistant, a good, long stare, and it did send a shiver down their spine. It was a primal fear, being spotted by a predator, their belly obviously full of one of your fellow prey. But were they still hungry? Am I next? What was going on behind those eyes…? Even though the assistant of all people knew it was an act, they couldn’t help but endure those thoughts. 

Other guests let the assistant know that they thought it was obscene. A predator out in public, digesting a person alive, right in front of everyone? It was frankly unacceptable. And dressing them up didn’t make it any better. The assistant listened to these people sympathetically, but unfortunately for them, this was exactly the reaction that their boss wanted. 

The party went on and the pred laid down on a kind of mossy platform that the enclosure featured. They spread across it languidly on their side, belly resting heavily on the moss. They traced gentle patterns on it with a clawed fingertip, tracing the curves of the prey.

With a slightly sickening realisation, the assistant noticed the prey wasn’t struggling any more. They knew this was what happened when one put prey in the stomach of a predator, but they never had seen it happen in real time. They couldn’t help but feel a sense of injustice as the pred lay there smug, satisfied, petting at their engorged belly. 

The assistant shook the thought away. It’s what the boss wanted. What the boss wants, the boss gets. 

—

It was getting late, many guests had already left. The assistant looked for their employer, who wasn’t hard to find. 

“Boss,”

They were wearing all black, like an oil spill. 

“You’ve done well today,” they said, “I’m impressed, I’m inspired, I have so many ideas. Everyone was upset about it- it was great. And the predator…” they sighed. “Perfect. Maybe a little over the top with the costuming, but the idea came across perfectly.”

“Thank you.”

“They’re a keeper, don’t you think? I’d love to see them here again. In fact, let’s go over there right now.” The assistant was led back to the main room with the enclosure.

Another sinking feeling. The pred’s stomach was rounder, the curves that the pred had been tracing were faint if not non-existent. And now that the party had died down, the assistant could hear the stomach over the music growling, murmuring, with deep digestive gurgles. 

The boss clasped their hands together, “magnificent. Look at how far along they are already - what a brutally efficient stomach you have,” the boss said to the predator. 

The boss rarely complimented people. The pred rested a hand on their stomach, maybe self-consciously, and avoided looking at their audience. 

“They won’t acknowledge you,” the assistant reminded their boss, “by your request.”

“Oh I know.” the boss waved their hand, “and that is how I want it to be. More mysterious that way. People fear what they don’t understand, you know.”

—

After the party was over and the boss went home and to bed, the assistant still had work to do. Packing down, making sure everyone got paid. 

By the time they next saw the predator, they had reverted back to their former selves; wearing the clothes they arrived in, make up washed from their face (except for a faint gold smudge), and their eyes were brown and with pupils again. They looked tired. It was nearly 10am, they had been on location for over 12 hours by this point. Still, when they saw the assistant, they sat up straighter and anxiously waited to hear what they thought. 

The assistant looked down at the pred’s bloated stomach. They thought about warning them; They might not want to put up with the bosses’ antics. 

They should get out before it is too late. 

But then again, the boss wanted this pred, and what the boss wants, the boss gets. The assistant was the last person on the earth who would sabotage that.

So all they said was “well done,” and gave the pred an envelope with ten thousand dollars cash. They would be back.

[smokbeast]

Hi hello, just a reminder I have commissions open! I do have a set prices but since I am not that uh up there in the social of media for it (cause I just get zero interest anytime I remotely raise prices haha;;)

It is 15USD= 1 ILLUSTRATION of any kind!

- can be a quick ref sheet, full body/headshot/halfbody, painting, or sketchpage.. whatever of your choosing!

-I only ask is please have a ref or images in hand. I don't Have the best energy or physical health to create a full design from scratch :,D

- I will draw anything,

-I will not draw offensive content, anything bad and anime.

**tips are greatly appreciated, and if you like to see my original commission prices that is also optional (I'd greatly appreciate paying them to my original prices but it's ok if not pf;;)

[night-ely]

The latest form I have adopted, from the amazing @smokbeast seriously!!! Their art is amazing and super affordable, I think they're absolutely underselling themselves but yeah! Still working on what to name him, but utterly fantastic work! They do have other adopts currently available!

[mollyjames]

Tumblr, buddy, listen to me. This is an unprecedented opportunity. You can snap up all of the pie here, and become defacto internet goodguy easy. All you gotta do is... drop the nsfw ban. Unambiguously. Announce that dicks are back on the menu. You want people subscribed the blogs? You want people to actually use your Post+ function? Porn. Let us use it for porn. The youngins aren't joining this site anyway, you're not competing with tiktok. The vaguely horny 20-40 demographic though? You can have that. You can have all of that. Think about it.

[mollyjames]

Do you know how many pinup artists alone are itching to come back to tumblr, but dont because of the unclear, seemingly arbitrary application of your nsfw policy? These are insanely talented people who are practically begging to give you content. For free. But you gotta change the policy. We can't keep dancing around this. Just think of publicity. The drama. A complete 180. You'd kill it tumblr. You could make it happen. Please.

[fullhalalalchemist]

URGENT: 🚨🚨EARN IT ACT IS BACK IN THE SENATE 🚨🚨 TUMBLR’S NSFW BAN HITTING THE ENTIRE INTERNET THIS SUMMER 2023

April 28, 2023

I’m so sorry for the long post but please please please pay attention and spread this

What is the EARN IT Act?

The EARN IT Act (s. 1207) has been roundly condemned by nearly every major LGBTQ+ advocacy and human rights organization in the country.

This is the third time the Senate has been trying to force this through, and I talked about it last year. It is a bill that claims "protects children and victims against CSAM" by creating an unelected and politically appointed national commission of law enforcement specialists to dictate "best practices" that websites all across the nation will be forced to follow. (Keep in mind, most websites in the world are created in the US, so this has global ramifications). These "best practices" would include killing encryption so that any law enforcement can scan and see every single message, dm, photo, cloud storage, data, and any website you have every so much as glanced at. Contrary to popular belief, no they actually can't already do that. These "best practices" also create new laws for "removing CSAM" online, leading to mass censorship of non-CSAM content like what happened to tumblr. Keep in mind that groups like NCOSE, an anti-LGBT hate group, will be allowed on this commission. If websites don't follow these best practices, they lose their Section 230 protections, leading to mass censorship either way.

Section 230 is foundational to modern online communications. It's the entire reason social media exists. It grants legal protection to users and websites, and says that websites aren't responsible for what users upload online unless it's criminal. Without Section 230, websites are at the mercy of whatever bullshit regulatory laws any and every US state passes. Imagine if Texas and Florida were allowed to say what you can and can't publish and access online. That is what will happen if EARN IT passes. (For context, Trump wanted to get rid of Section 230 because he knew it would lead to mass govt surveillance and censorship of minorities online.)

This is really not a drill. Anyone who makes or consume anything “adult” and LGBT online has to be prepared to fight Sen. Blumenthal’s EARN IT Act, brought back from the grave by a bipartisan consensus to destroy Section 230. If this bill passes, we’re going to see most, if not all, adult content and accounts removed from mainstream platforms. This will include anything related to LGBT content, including SFW fanfiction, for example. Youtube, Twitter, Reddit, Tiktok, Tumblr, all of them will be completely gutted of anything related to LGBT content, abortion healthcare, resources for victims of any type of abuse, etc. It is a right-wing fascists wet dream, which is why NCOSE is behind this bill and why another name for this bill is named in reference to NCOSE.

NCOSE used to be named Morality in Media, and has rebranded into an "anti-trafficking" organization. They are a hate group that has made millions off of being "against trafficking" while helping almost no victims and pushing for homophobic laws globally. They have successfully pushing the idea that any form of sexual expression, including talking about HEALTH, leads to sex trafficking. That's how SESTA passed. Their goal is to eliminate all sex, anything gay, and everything that goes against their idea of ‘God’ from the internet and hyper disney-fy and sanitize it. This is a highly coordinated attack on multiple fronts.

The EARN IT Act will lead to mass online censorship and surveillance. Platforms will be forced to scan their users’ communications and censor all sex-related content, including sex education, literally anything lgbt, transgender or non-binary education and support systems, aything related to abortion, and sex worker communication according to the ACLU. All this in the name of “protecting kids” and “fighting CSAM”, both of which the bill does nothing of the sort. In fact it makes fighting CSEM even harder.

EARN IT will open the way for politicians to define the category of “pornography" as they — or the lobbies that fund them — please. The same way that right-wing groups have successfully banned books about race and LGBT, are banning trans people from existing, all under the guise of protecting children from "grooming and exploitation", is how they will successfully censor the internet.

As long as state legislatures can tie in "fighting CSAM" to their bullshit laws, they can use EARN IT to censor and surveill whatever they want.

This is already a nightmare enough. But the bill also DESTROYS ENCRYPTION, you know, the thing protecting literally anyone or any govt entity from going into your private messages and emails and anything on your devices and spying on you.

This bill is going to finish what FOSTA/SESTA started. And that should terrify you.

Senator Blumenthal (Same guy who said ‘Facebook should ban finsta’) pushed this bill all of 2020, literally every activist (There were more than half a million signatures on this site opposing this act!) pushed hard to stop this bill. Now he brings it back, doesn’t show the text of the bill until hours later, and it’s WORSE. Instead of fixing literally anything in the bill that might actually protect kids online, Bluemnthal is hoping to fast track this and shove it through, hoping to get little media attention other than propaganda of “protecting kids” to support this shitty legislation that will harm kids. Blumental doesn't care about protecting anyone, and only wants his name in headlines.

It will make CSAM much much worse.

One of the many reasons this bill is so dangerous: It totally misunderstands how Section 230 works, and in doing so (as with FOSTA) it is likely to make the very real problem of CSAM worse, not better. Section 230 gives companies the flexibility to try different approaches to dealing with various content moderation challenges. It allows for greater and greater experimentation and adjustments as they learn what works – without fear of liability for any “failure.” Removing Section 230 protections does the opposite. It says if you do anything, you may face crippling legal liability. This actually makes companies less willing to do anything that involves trying to seek out, take down, and report CSAM because of the greatly increased liability that comes with admitting that there is CSAM on your platform to search for and deal with. This liability would allow anyone for any reason to sue any platform they want, suing smaller ones out of existence. Look at what is happening right now with book bans across the nation with far right groups. This is going to happen to the internet if this bill passes.

(Remember, the state department released a report in December 2021 recommending that the government crack down on “obscenity” as hard the Reagan Administration did. If this bill passes, it could easily go way beyond shit red states are currently trying. It is a goldmine for the fascist right that is currently in the middle of banning every book that talks about race and sexuality across the US.)

The reason these bills keep showing up is because there is this false lie spread by organizations like NCOSE that platforms do nothing about CSEM online. However, platforms are already liable for child sexual exploitation under federal law. Tech companies sent more than 45 million+ instances of CSAM to the DOJ in 2019 alone, most of which they declined to investigate. This shows that platforms are actually doing everything in their power already to stop CSEM by following already existing laws. The Earn It Act includes zero resources for proven investigation or prevention programs. If Senator Bluementhal actually cared about protecting youth, why wouldn’t he include anything to actually protect them in his shitty horrible bill? EARN IT is actually likely to make prosecuting child molesters more difficult since evidence collected this way likely violates the Fourth Amendment and would be inadmissible in court.

I don’t know why so many Senators are eager to cosponsor the “make child pornography worse” bill, but here we are.

HOW TO FIGHT BACK

EARN IT Act was introduced just two weeks ago and is already being fast-tracked. It will be marked up the week of May 1st and head to the Senate floor immediately after. If there is no loud and consistent opposition, it will be law by JUNE! Most bills never go to markup, so this means they are putting pressure to move this through. There are already 20 co-sponsors, a fifth of the entire Senate. This is an uphill battle and it is very much all hands on deck.

CALL YOUR REPRESENTATIVES.

This website takes you to your Senator / House members contact info. EMAIL, MESSAGE, SEND LETTERS, CALL CALL CALL CALL CALL. Calling is the BEST way to get a message through. Get your family and friends to send calls too. This is literally the end of free speech online.

[phone] connects you to the congressional hotline. Here is a call script if you don't know what to say. Call them every day. Even on the weekends, leaving voicemails are fine.

2. Sign these petitions!

Link to Petition 1

Link to Petition 2

3. SPREAD THE WORD ONLINE

If you have any social media, spread this online. One of the best ways we fought back against this last year was MASSIVE spread online. Tiktok, reddit, twitter, discord, whatever means you have at least mention it. We could see most social media die out by this fall if we don't fight back.

Here is a linktree with more information on this bill including a masterpost of articles, the links to petitions, and the call script.

DISCORD LINK IF YOU WANT TO HELP FIGHT IT

TLDR: The EARN IT Act will lead to online censorship of any and all adult & lgbt content across the entire internet, open the floodgates to mass surveillance the likes which we haven’t seen before, lead to much more CSEM being distributed online, and destroy encryption. Call 202-224-3121 to connect to your house and senate representative and tell them to VOTE NO on this bill that does not protect anyone and harms everyone.

[night-ely]

Anyone, everyone, and whoever, if you've been here since the Tumblr ban, or if you're interested in a free internet. It's something we need to do.

[dear-yandere]

The Tumblr writing community is dying.

It’s something I’ve noticed over the past two years of using this site. It was gradual, imperceptible at first, something that most would brush off as a silly concern, or fault Tumblr algorithm for. While it’s true that Tumblr’s engine leaves a lot to be desired, I’ve noticed that even popular blogs have started to dwindle in terms of interaction or motivation. There could be a lot of reasons for this, but the biggest two I’ve noticed, experienced myself, and asked fellow writers about is this: (1) content being stolen, and (2) lack of feedback or interaction. I’ve never seen any logical person defend content being stolen, so I want to address point 2 instead.

Lack of feedback and interaction. I’m not saying this on my behalf so much as I’m saying this for friends and smaller blogs who have lost motivation to write. I was looking at my yandere writing blogs list the other day and noticed that a good majority of them no longer write. I usually update the list every few months, and by that point, more and more writers have stopped writing entirely. This isn’t a problem confined solely to the yandere fandom; in fact, there’s less writing blogs in general these days, especially ones that are active. I used to run a very popular BNHA blog with some friends, but that dissolved after our content was stolen and our followers stopped interacting as much. Out of our 8,500 followers, we hardly got 0.015% notes (~128 notes) on an average post. Tumblr is to blame for the lack of eyes seeing our posts, for sure, but that also means that at least 128 people saw one post and didn’t leave a comment or ask. We were considered a big blog; imagine what it’s like on a small blog.

My friend recently made a post that summed this up perfectly: 

“I’ve seen people say “Be grateful that people even lurk on your page.” and, while I get the message they’re trying to say, it’s more dismissive and hurtful in my opinion. Like you’re saying, “Oh your writing is mediocre, you should be grateful people even LOOK at it.”

Me personally? I’ve heard the argument that AO3 is a better place to post fanfics, and while that might be true, I’ve had friends experience firsthand the lack of interaction there too. I’ve heard the argument that interacting with some writers is intimidating (me included). I’ve heard that argument that followers might be too shy to interact. I’ve heard the argument that writers should write for themselves and not for views / likes / reblogs / etc, and while that’s ideal, it’s not sustainable for everyone. What works for one writer won’t work for another, but you know what will? Interaction.

That comment or ask that took you 2 seconds to write? We remember it. That reblog with the compliments in the tags? We remember it. Every single ‘named’ anon we get (heart anon, sunflower anon, etc)? We remember them. And the best part is? It’s actually easier to do these things on Tumblr since you have the option to send anonymous asks or make a sideblog specifically for reblogs! Trust me, whether the lack of interaction is the cause of a lack of motivation or what have you, every writer appreciates feedback (don’t be shy to offer some critique or compliments) or even a simple keyboard smash with some emojis. Even sitting down for 5 min a day per week to comment on your favorite writers’ new pieces makes a huge difference. Personally, since Tumblr’s activity feed is beyond terrible and I have over 1,500 posts, I don’t always see new reblogs or comments on my content; asks though? Always see those, can never go wrong with those. If you don’t want to reblog or leave a comment, then you can never go wrong with an anonymous ask. 

As my wise friend says: writing is an art, and in order to improve that art, we need other people’s eyes to see what we don’t.

For the sake of every writer (past, present, and future) on this platform, please share this post.

[verefex]

Fun party game; tossing the obnoxious drunk guy at the giant

[the-regimes-records]

This is an **adult** blog about the completely fictional Regime, an oligarchy that props up the Regime Official, and where every other man in in peril of slavery, snuffing, or being consumed or tortured at the mere whims of the Officials. Images of men can be submitted, for their fates to be recorded in the records, 18+ only please. This is entirely fantasy, and no actions herein written are endorsed.

[night-ely]

New sideblog, that takes submissions. Will have vore, snuff, and anything else that I feel fits it

[abnormoinfo]

new ebbits! new site!

[poison-liker]

this is probably my favourite comic of all time jsyk

[sonic-gems-collection]

can someone explain this to me?

[shadeddaxion]

Sure thing! For convenience I’ll refer to the guy with his arms in his pockets as SG (shorter guy) and the one on the computer as TG (taller guy).

In the first panel, SG sees TG playing on the computer and is disappointed. SG puts a lot of value in the idea of “making things,” specifically “art,” and thinks TG is just wasting their time

So he asks them if they wouldn’t rather be “making something” instead of just playing games and listening to music, implying that TG isn’t doing anything worthwhile or creative with their time

But TG replies that “interpreting is generative,” meaning that even if they spend their time just doing fun stuff, the mere act of enjoying something is creating an experience and an interpretation. Talking about something, dancing to music or sharing a piece of art with your friends IS “making something,” and each of those can be worthwhile and artistic.

SG leaves, complaining he “can’t be an auteur of [interpretation].” Auteur is a movie term that refers to a filmmaker with artistic control and vision enough to be considered essentially the singular creator of the resulting work of art. Turns out, SG doesn’t just want to “make things,” he wants to make things he and others see as “important.” He wants to make art not for the sake of art, but for the sake of being recognized and praised for his art.

This comic really speaks to elitism within the artistic community, the idea that art needs to meet certain standards to be considered art. SG’s viewpoint is really traditionalist, that art need to be “approved” and validated in order to be considered “really art;” while TG recognizes that art can be as little as just talking about what you love.

TLDR: Art is for everyone, not just some sort of social “artistic elite.”

[abnormoinfo]

ooh i love the explanation

[trickstertime]

Rebloging for that in depth and not even a little snarky explanation. 10/10

[gingerly-writing]

Prompt #3043

“It will be much worse if the heroes get hold of you”, the villain said softly. “You have to learn to use your healing powers on yourself. If you can’t block your pain signals, you won’t survive an interrogation.” Their gloved hand moved to their sidekick’s next unbroken finger and began to apply pressure. “So try again. Three, two, one-”

[haro-whumps]

In truth, this had always been an inevitablility.

“You’re awake,” the hero said, with something of a soft tone, something of a pitying one. Sealseam looked up at them, feeling the ache underneath his eyes, the tired stress in both hollows of his jaw.

Heartstar was different, here, than they were in a fight. Their color palate stayed much the same, a dusty gold that didn’t shimmer unless it caught the sun, deep browns that matched their eyes and night-dark blues for accents. Their long, dirty-gold hair was down, free hanging, and with their cape exchanged for a floor-trailing shawl they looked like some mix between a Lord of the Rings character and some Catholic saint immortalized in stain glass. They lacked the stony pragmatism they showed on the street. The ice cold, statuesque tension in their jaw and eyes and mathematical deeds.

“I’m awake,” Sealseam agreed, keeping his tone dead, already trying to squirrel himself away in that distant place within his mind, the one where all sensations were muted and the pain didn’t beat as hard, the one his boss, Heartstar’s nemesis, had helped him build.

“How’s your head?” Heartstar asked, extending their hand—the very hand Sealseam had witnessed weilding a lance the last time he’d been conscious—to gently caress the side of his skull. Sealseam bore it. Didn’t flinch away. He knew there was worse to come.

He didn’t answer.

“We know your identity,” Heartstar stated, though it didn’t feel quite as much like a threat as it should have. “Mine has always been public, as I never bothered with masks,” they continued, with something of a self-depricating chuckle. “We haven’t made yours known, though. My team is the only group that knows you’re here, aside from Splitter.” Even just hearing his boss’s villain title was enough to make him flinch. Heartstar paused at that, then sat in the modest chair next to the bed Sealseam was strapped to. It seemed too small for them, like their aura took up more space than the chair could possibly hope to support.

“We need a little information from you, alright?” Sealseam braced. Here it comes. He’d prepared for it, at least. Splitter had trained him for this, broken his bones, he’d reset them and healed them over and over, he’d be able to take it, he could withstand it all. “I promise you won’t be hurt, and if you speak willing my team has the kind of sway necessary to grant you amnesty. Will you?”

Sealseam grit his teeth, worked his jaw, then forced himself to spit on Heartstar’s stupid, golden robes. They blinked, not seeming at all angered or put off, just a little surprised, then huffed out a sigh through their nose. Like they’d expected this, but were disappointed anyway.

“You know,” they said, taking a tissue from the side table and cleaning the spit, “my face has always been public, but my main power has never been disclosed. Can you guess as to what it is?”

Sealseam felt cold dread pooling in his gut, the momentary rush from spitting now chilled down to his bones. He knew Heartstar had super strength, a certain degree of invulnerability or at least toughness that let them withstand things that would break a normal human, and could fly for short distances. Common side-powers that many of the supernatural had. But Sealseam had not ever caught even a whiff of what Heartstar’s true power could be.

“Something so evil-sounding your reputation would never recover from it, if word got out?”

Heartstar laughed, though it was a pained sound. “You’re not far off, actually.”

Thoughts of electrocution, burning, suffocation, bleeding, all forms of torment ricocheted through Sealseam’s head. He could heal himself, he could withstand it, he’d practiced, Splitter had taught him.

“Meanwhile your powers are so naturally suited for healing, yet you’re a villain’s doctor.” They sounded… almost sad.

“Looks like we’ve both made our choices,” Sealseam grit, wishing he sounded more defiant than he felt.

“I suppose we have.” It was coming, it was coming, he could heal himself but in the meantime it was going to hurt. “Hey,” Heartstar said, tone so achingly gentle it made his breath catch, “look at me.”

Gentle fingers tilted his chin, and he found his eyes drawn to their face without really thinking. His eyes met their brown ones, and

The whole

World

Tilted.

Sealseam blinked, breath caught in his chest, and then he let out a deep sigh, smiling. Oh. Oh! Heartstar, they—! Oh, they were, well they were everything! Why had he ever opposed them? Now he could see, now he understood much better, Heartstar was the greatest person in all this universe. In all the multiverse! Heartstar was better than anyone, better than Sealseam’s own life, better than a god! They were the only thing that mattered, the only thing that had ever mattered, every single event in history had just been a cosmic foundation building up to the exact events it would take to create Heartstar.

They pressed their lips to Sealseam’s forehead, and even Atlas shuddered.

“Heartstar,” he breathed, the restraints on his wrists catching him, preventing him from reaching out and touching Heartstar, his everything, his compass’s point.

“There you go,” Heartstar said, and they were sad, intolerably sad, staring at him with such exquisite sadness Sealseam would kill himself if it meant ridding them of the thing that would bother them so. “Will you please answer my questions now?”

“Of course!” Sealseam said urgently. He’d been such a foolish waste of breath, before, to deny them anything. “Anything, anything you want, my very life, I’d give it, if it was for you.”

“Thank you, but not that, please,” they said, the skin around their eyes tightening even further. “Just the information; I want you alive and unharmed, okay? I don’t want bad things to happen to you.”

Sealseam nodded, agreeing practically before the words were out of their mouth. Anything they wanted, he would do. This was beyond love, this was beyond even devotion, Sealseam knew from now on every breath of the rest of his life would only be taken if it was in service to Heartstar.

“Aw, shit, you had to enthrall him?” Heartstar’s own sidekick, Greensilver, said as she entered the room, notebook in hand.

“Unfortunately,” Heartstar said, “Let’s just get the information and add him with the rest, alright?”

“You’re the boss,” she said casually, shrugging and adjusting her oval glasses.

“Yes,” Heartstar said heavily, “I know.”

[night-ely]

Non-vore, but simply amazing!