#sloshing around in there... squashing my organs...

[scooplery]

my oncology intake appointment isn't until april 29th 😭 i want this thing gone already!!!!

[mychlapci]

This might count as wasteplay? Vomit and piss mentioned ig. I’ve been thinking. So much about Tfa shockwave struggling with bloating/nausea when he’s in his longarm disguise, I mean he’s almost twice as tall if not more than his disguised form and probably needs way more energon than the average autobot due to his larger frame, so when he compresses to disguise himself it probably puts so much pressure on his fuel tanks, maybe even causes him to throw up or wet himself occasionally just from having to bend over or get up too quickly afterwards, it would be even worse if he had to go to some important meeting with the elite guard or something right after finally getting a chance to refuel fully, having expected to be able to stay out of his disguise for longer and instead having to sit through a long meeting trying his best not to squirm or whimper out of discomfort from his aching and stuffed full tanks.

OOuuhh yesss you're so right actually… Being folded in on himself is so straining, Shockwave's fuel tank and waste tank are always squashed between other components, uncomfortably full even at half their capacity… Bots who have unfortunately witnessed him throw up just from bending over or wet himself on his way to the washracks probably have endless pity for him. It must be so troubling to live with weak tanks...

hgrhh It would be just terrible if Shockwave had to go into his Longarm disguise after fueling up in his normal form… Squishing all his organs up, components pressing down on his stuffed tanks, perhaps he even has a little belly protruding through because the tank just doesn't fit quite right. He can barely focus on the meeting with all the energon sloshing around inside of him. Sitting only makes it worse, putting pressure on his waste tank as well as his fuel tank. He doesn't think he can hold it in for much longer, but if he tried to stand up now, he'd probably immediately puke and piss himself… You know, it's not really my thing, but I kinda like to imagine him trying to hold in burps, and constantly failing... It's kinda hot.

[hazbincalifornia]

Midnight Snack

Chapter 25: Blitzo gets peckish.

Warnings: As always, mpreg, and implied animal death. Also stuffing if that needs a tag I guess, and BABY VIOLENCE. (Violence committed by a baby, not against a baby.)

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

Blitzo’s stomach gurgled, and his arms tightened around the pillow that he was hugging to his chest. A fussy, hungry stomach wouldn’t have necessarily been a problem, except for the fact that it had been doing it for the past hour, and he was just about ready to tear it right out of his skin and rip it in half. Acid sloshed around audibly in his empty gut- or maybe the freeloader wanted more room and was just squashing the organ down so much that it had resorted to griping as loudly as it could. Relatable fuckin’ content right there.

Dinner had been two burgers and fries smothered in hot sauce and mayo from the grease trap down the road, which was more than enough to coast through until breakfast. Besides, he’d be damned if the kid was going to make him deal with the grocery store any more than he had to in this condition. No, he was staying right where he was, especially considering he’d been denied any sleep last night. One day low on sleep was manageable with reduced caffeine, two would suck satan’s left tit.

“C’mon, that was enough and you know it, I don’t want you ruining my figure any more than you already have,” he grumbled as the muscles clenched around his stomach, wringing it out like a sponge and drawing a pitiful whine out of his throat. “I’m not gonna just- give in and give you whatever you want, daddy’s gotta do him sometimes and I’m not letting you empty out the fridge. I ate enough, siphon blood outta my system like a normal leech does. I’ve got plenty of that.”

The reply was another gurgling groan and a hard clench as Blitzo’s empty stomach demanded sustenance, this time loud enough to make his middle vibrate even through the pounds of baby. He stuffed the pillow over his mouth, drool leaking down the case and over his chin as he forced out a scream.

He had to take a few seconds to pant before setting a hand on the side of his stomach, fingers drumming. “This is a battle of wills, and I am not letting you win. Your baby-daddy already started all this shit, so I’m just going to treat you the same as him- by ignoring you as long as feasibly possible until you decide to pop up and make everything difficult. Sound good? Yeah, sounds perfect.” There was a nudge from inside and Blitzo nodded in satisfaction at the apparent agreement, settling back down on the bed. He’d gone to sleep hungry plenty of times before, the baby gut notwithstanding, he just had to muscle through this for the next few-

There was no time to muffle the next scream as a sudden pinching pain went from ‘noticeable’ to ‘holy shit who’s tearing up my guts with a chainsaw?’, and there was a thud and a shuffling of feet before Loona started pounding on the door.

“You having a heart attack in there or something?”

Blitzo clutched at his stomach, wheezing as he was clawed apart from the inside out. “N-no!”

“Look, if you die, I’m on the hook for the rent.” Still, there was a semi-worried vibrato to her voice, and he swallowed down the coppery taste flooding up with the saliva to his mouth.

“I’m- fINE-!” His voice pitched up at another pinch-turned-horrorshow and his claws dug all the way through the pillow, stuffing spilling out like viscera.

“What the fuck are you doing in there?” The doorknob jiggled. Where was a portable x-ray when you needed one? Or ultrasound, or whatever the fuck you used to look at a baby that was trying to kill him before it even got out yet. What kind of horrible mouth or claws must it have- oh, fucking hell, Stolas had said something about his kid having a razor-sharp beak from birth, hadn’t he?

“Okay, I’m coming in.” Loona eased the door open, already in her pajamas and clutching a package of opened peanut butter crackers tightly enough that crumbs were sticking to her fingers. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit, so good-” Sharp inhale for breath, let it out- “-To know that I’m all on the same page.”

She dropped down on the bed with a metallic creak. “What’d the kid do now?”

“It feels like they’re biting me again, but w-worse- fuck!” Another nip, this one dragging a line on the inside of the womb like they were drift racing in there. Wait, dragging? He swallowed down more coppery bile. “Okay, fine, fine, sheesh, I’ll fuckin’ eat something, happy you little shithead?”

Loona raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything.”

Blitzo shoved himself up off the bed to wobbly knees. “Junior’s gotten real bold, and instead of just sucking up the meat I’m eating for them like a good little lump, they decided to put me on the menu- ow, fuck, I’m going, keep your baby-tits on!”

“Babies don’t have tits, Blitzo.”

“They do if I say they do, sweetie.” Blitzo ruffled Loona’s fur between her ears as he waddled across the room, pausing next to the TV to take a breath.

Loona raised an eyebrow. “Do you need me to bring you something? I don’t want you passing out in the middle of the apartment and tripping over you tomorrow morning.”  In response, Blitzo just waved a dismissive hand.

“I can handle walking across two rooms, Loonie.” The active chewing had paused for the moment, but whatever they’d shredded in there was still shredded, and he’d rather not make it any worse- he had work tomorrow, dammit.

The fridge bathed him in a sickly, hospital-like glow as he tugged it open, and drool immediately started leaking from his mouth as the smells of half-forgotten, time-ripened leftovers hit him. A small mouse with four red eyes leaped up from the floor when he opened the door, burrowing into a box of takeout on the bottom shelf that Loona must have gotten when he’d been at Stolas’s place. His tongue snapped out automatically, snatching its furry body up and slurping up the tail between his lips before swallowing, and it took a second for his brain to load enough to register- after it slid down his throat.

Holy shit, did he just…? It squirmed a little as it descended, little hairs stuck in his teeth, and his fingers tightened on the side of his stomach before he reached for the box it had been after to wash out the aftertaste.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur, although he did retain enough sense of mind to avoid the six-pack of cheap beer in the back that still had four cans on it. Better to not risk puking all of this up or ruining the kid any more than they already were. Carbs, meat, a few wilted veggies that Moxxie had pawned off on him, sweet, sour, cold chili and whole untoasted bagels- it didn’t really matter what it was as long as it was at least mostly edible (he was pretty sure he swallowed a wrapper at some point), he just needed it inside of him now. Smothering everything in hot sauce and salsa and mustard made it more palatable anyway, especially the ice cream. The kid didn’t start taking chunks out of him again, at least, so he must have been doing something right. More and more of the white fridge walls became visible as the floor around him littered with containers, and his stomach grew tighter before he finally slumped back against the nearby counter with a groan. His legs sprawled out on the cool tile, both hands now stained with a mixture of about five kinds of leftovers, and he cradled his stomach after muffling a burp.

“Are you happy now, you needy little shit?”

Blitzo didn’t really expect a reply and almost didn’t hear it over the churning gurgles of digestion, but a soft ‘eee’ of a hoot, more a whisper-screech than anything, murmured from his midsection. He stared down at it, the warmth of his full stomach counteracted by ice dripping down his back.

“Oh, of course you sound just like him.” His claws dragged along the sensitive, itchy-while-stretched skin before the protection spell sprung up and pushed the fingers away. It only let him touch his own stupid body when he laid his palm flat. “Sure, it’s cute now when it's all little and squeaky, but you’d better not be as entitled as he is, alright? Or as you are now, since I’ve gotta do everything for you until you’re born. Considering you just settled right down in there without even asking in the first place, I doubt it. Rude.”

There were no more noises other than his stomach grumbling about going from empty to full so quickly, and he stayed slumped against the cabinet for long enough to let some of it digest. He must have been more tired than he thought, because he swore that he already looked bigger than he’d been when he’d finished binging. Maybe it started swelling in a bad reaction from whatever fucked-up food cocktail he'd accidentally made.

When he didn’t feel quite so much like a boulder had gotten stuffed inside his guts, it took three tries to haul his ass off the tile and drag himself back to bed, huffing like a cop running for the last doughnut in the process.

The ice had crept from his spine to the rest of his bones and muscles as he tugged the blanket tight around himself, but at least the churning food kept his stomach warm, and he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

[that-one-guy-that-loves-whump]

Accidentally hurt by a friend

“Yes, just leave those on my desk, for now, Hamilton. Have you completed the missives yet?” George asked from his position behind his desk. They had been working in the same office ever since Washington hired Hamilton to become his aide-de-camp at just 20 years old (20! Hamilton was basically a child as far as Washington was concerned). Their desks were on nearly separate sides of the room, however, with Alexander’s being the messiest. It was littered with both finished and unfinished papers that lay haphazardly on the surface while an inkwell sat open in the top right corner, a quill standing in it since it was not currently in use.

“I have started them and I am almost done” Hamilton hummed in reply, flipping through the papers he held in his hand to make sure that he had the right ones and that he wasn’t missing any. George looked up at Alexander for a moment before casting a glance out the window, noting the time with a sigh as the sun was so far down it was no longer visible.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to finish them tomorrow. It is getting late, son, I think it’s time we both retire” George scooped up some of the papers he had in front of him, organizing them with a yawn. Hamilton placed down the papers he had been searching through and turned back to look at his desk as he realized that organization would become a top priority now that he remembered it existed. He let out a grumble as he walked over to the desk and began sorting his own papers.

“I’m not your son” He mumbled before turning back to look at his commander hopefully. “Sir, these missives are of the utmost importance, surely a few extra moments to finish them is no trouble?”

“Absolutely not. Though I have noted your desire to frequently not accomplish that of which you are instructed, I believe that a good night’s rest will do you well. God, you’ve been up almost all night for nearly three days, Hamilton! Come on, you need to go to your tent and rest. The missives will still be here tomorrow, son” George stood and shooed his aide-de-camp out the door, ignoring the whispered “I’m not your son” and the indignant squawks of protest. When he was gone, George turned to his desk and closed both his own and Alex’s inkwells before picking up one of Hamilton’s papers and reading it intently.

~~~~~~~~

Hamilton was practically shoved out the doorway before turning to ask a question. He sighed as he was met with a door. Deciding that he was, admittedly, quite tired, he headed towards his tent at a slow, exhausted pace. He paused at the entrance, staring at Hercules, Lafayette, and Laurens as they sang a song that was horribly offkey while sloshing the contents of their ale onto the ground without realizing it. So it was going to be one of those nights. He scooted along the edge, trying to avoid getting trampled by the drunk dancers as he sat next to Burr on his comrade’s cot. Burr looked up from his book for a moment to look at first Alexander, then the three drunks with amusement as Lafayette tripped and fell onto his face.

“Isn’t this a welcome sight to enter to?” Alex asked the only other none-drunk in the tent. Burr just rolled his eyes, although with a smile on his face, and stuck his nose deeper into his book.

“RaIse a glassss to fReedoMm!” Herc yelped, swaying on his feet and leaning on Laurens for support. Lafayette quickly got back to his feet and joined in, slowly moving his arms in a swaying motion. Soon, Herc was also swinging his arms slowly, followed by Laurens, who wasn’t really swaying his arms as much as he was creating a tornado made out of limbs as he flailed around.

“Alexx! C’mere and SiNg with uS!” Hercules called, despite Hamilton being only a few feet away. Alexander got to his feet, wary of the swinging arms, and looked at him in refusal.

“You call that singing? I thought you were just making meaningless animal noises at each other” Alex crossed his arms as Lafayette put a hand on his chest in fake hurt.

“‘hat was nott very kindd, mon amiii!” He slurred, grabbing Alex with an arm around his shoulders as dragging him into the group. Alex grumbled as all three of them quickly ended up spilling ale onto his shirt. He looked down at the stain, pulling the end of his shirt down to get a better look with a frown. What he didn’t notice, however, was the hand that was flying towards his face. A loud SMACK sounded through the tent, and the three abruptly stopped singing as Hamilton let out a small yell of surprise and put his hand to the side of his face.

“Oh, god I’m sorry, Alex, I didn’t mean to do that-” Laurens began, eyes wide in worry as his friend stumbled a little bit to regain his footing. Herc and Laf watched Hamilton in surprise and even Burr looked up again in what appeared to be curiously similar to worry. Hamilton rubbed the side of his face for a moment, a flashing pain consuming the area where he was slapped.

“Augh, It’s quite alright, Laurens. I am sorry, I should’ve paid more attention to what was happening around me” He quickly apologized, sitting down on his own cot this time. He was sure there would be a red mark on his face and he just hoped Washington wouldn’t think he had been in a fight with a fellow soldier again. John placed his alcohol onto the ground with unsteady hands and sat next to Hamilton before he hugged him, squashing the man with his arms.

“I’m sorryy” The soldier repeated despite Alex’s own apology, wrapping his arms around his friend even tighter if that was possible. Alex just laughed as both Hercules and Lafayette joined in on the group hug.

“You are all very emotional when you are drunk” Burr commented dryly before his eyes returned to the pages of his book. Lafayette turned and glared at him for a moment.

“You are the worst, Burr”

“I am aware”

“Burr, get over here! You deserve to be in this hug too!” Laurens smiled at the other man, who, in return, gazed at him with amusement. Hamilton was sure that he would refuse, let out a few grumbles, maybe leave the tent to continue his reading elsewhere, but he didn’t. The reserved soldier simply sighed, put his book down beside him, and stood, walking over to the other four and joining in the group hug.

“Why is everyone hugging me, I just wish to rest” Alexander whined, trying to hide the fact that he was glad to have such interesting friends (Though he would never admit to such a thing aloud). At his words, Lafayette and Herc let go, standing and laughing quietly to themselves as John only held tighter. Burr let go too, opting to sit beside Hamilton with a hand on his shoulder.

“How did I get stuck with such bizarre comrades?” Aaron mumbled to himself as Alex looked at him with a grin. “I’m sure the whole of the camp is awake now as well” he added to no one in particular.

“I’m not sure about that, considering that no one has charged in demanding us to retire immediately. They are surely as tired as I” Alexander let out a fake groan, earning a smile from Laurens and an eye roll from Burr. “However, I truly do wish to rest now, so if you would all be so kind..” He gestured for the two soldiers to move. They relented, grumbling as they all made their way to their cots. Hamilton sighed contently, ignoring the faint tingle of pain from his face, as he laid down and began to drift off.

“And Burr, I do believe that you enjoy the entertainment of such strange friends”

“Well, I won’t argue with that”

[tisfan]

Slack Water

Name of Piece Slack Water, part five: Tsunami Square Filled K4: Mates Also on A03 Rating Mature  Warnings: violence, gore, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, mermaid AU Summary: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes

Bucky and Tony need to get out of the Hydra facility. Too bad the Red Skull and Zola have been notified about their escape attempt...  Created For : @tonystarkbingo

Part One: Ripples | Part Two: Gyre | Part Three: Phytotelma | Part Four: Palagic

Tony didn’t feel so good.

There was water all around him -- and Starfish, too, pulling him into one of those multi-limbed cuddles, his face pressed against Starfish’s chest -- but it was bad water. He couldn’t breathe right. The water was too warm, too full of rich oxygen and it was making him sick.

I don’t feel so good.

Starfish nodded. Or Tony thought he did. It was hard to tell, with Starfish’s arms all over him, and squashing him. That felt nice, safe. Comforting. But it also made it difficult to move.

You have water shock.

Tony didn’t know what that meant. He wasn’t sure he cared. He just wanted to lay there, safe in Starfish’s arms and rest.

We can’t, I’m sorry. We need to go before more mansthings come.

Tony opened one eye, squirmed around a little until he could glare up into Starfish’s face. I don’t want to go anywhere. Sleep now.

Starfish unwound himself. It’s all right. I’ll take care of everything. Take care of you. Get you out of here. Starfish exited the tank, splatting down on the floor. With one arm, gripped the tank and started dragging it across the manthings cavern.

No out. Sleep.

One of Starfish’s arms wrapped gently around Tony’s wrist, a squeeze of comfort. Tony let himself drift off, rocking back and forth as the tank moved in sharp jerks, a few feet at a time. Sometimes Starfish made noise, as he moved things out of their path -- the bodies of manthings, their strange and unknowable devices, opened portals -- and sometimes he stopped to slither into the tank again, wrapped himself around Tony like a clam making a pearl. Tony. Tony wake up and kiss me.

Tony decided he didn’t need his eyes open for that, but the movement soothed Starfish’s worries, and he would breathe for a while, before dragging the tank further.

Water sloshed out of the tank, and Tony woke up enough to look. Starfish was dragging, using all of his arms, stretched out obscenely, him up an incline, a few precious inches at a time. You weigh a ton, he complained.

Had a big breakfast.

The tank slipped backward a few inches and more water spilled out. Tony squeaked and pulled himself to the bottom of the tank. He stared at the cavern floor, dangerous and ugly and empty of water. Tony had never been outside the water for more than a second or two, and if he never did it again, never tried to pass that burning nothingness over his gills, never felt the entire world smothering him, weighing him down--

Tony’s chest ached from sucking water, his heart was beating too fast. Salt flooded his organs, but he didn’t have anything to shock, there was no danger, no real danger, just what was in his head, pointless and pathetic. Tony whimpered and squashed himself further into the water, until his scales were resting on the bottom.

Starfish hauled the tank the rest of the way up the incline, a bit beyond it, then was back in the water, aggressively petting Tony’s hair, his back, his arms. You’re okay. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. We’re going to get out of here.

It soothed the panic, being cradled in Starfish’s arms. Why?

Why?

Why are you-- this… all of this. I don’t understand.

I am helping you because this is a terrible place. And no mer should ever be in this place. I am helping, right? Helping you? Starfish was even clingier, the little suckers biting into Tony’s skin. It didn’t hurt, it felt good, but he had to pull one arm off to move his head, and the popping noises as the suckers let go were funny and they left little marks on his skin.

Of course you’re helping. Because that was true. There was no way Tony would be able to get out of this place on his own, he was trapped by his own nature even as much as the mansthings with their ability to survive in the empty nothingness outside the water. For what, kisses?

All the kisses. Starfish covered Tony’s face with them, his neck, down his shoulders. I’m going to get you out of here, and then I’m going to keep you. My interesting mer-eel, my brave, strong, clever Tony. Mine. My mate.

That is absolutely the worst proposal I’ve ever heard. Tony sighed, looking down at his skin where the little bruises marked him. I don’t even know your name.

It’s Bucky. I remembered it. So, now will you be my mate?

That’s not much better. Bucky. Bucky. Tony contemplated the new name. It wasn’t quite as sweet at Starfish, but it was good enough. Strong. Bucky would be a good mate; he was smart, he knew the ways of the manthings. He was dedicated, loyal.

Have you heard so many proposals? Bucky sulked.

Tony made a face, baring his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. A few. Before I was taken. More than a few, really. The Starks were a strong breed, his caverns in the ocean were vast and well protected. He was a good provider. What if I keep you, instead?

Bucky considered that a moment. You can do that.

Tony drew Bucky in for another kiss. My mate. Heart and blood.

Mine. Mine mine mine. Bucky kissed him again, all over his face. We’re going now.

Bucky climbed out again, continued. Sometimes he would come to the tank and kiss Tony and suck more water -- Bucky could live outside the water, but not for terrible long. He would get dried out and tired. Sometimes he left for a few minutes, to scout ahead. He grumbled quite a lot when they had to backtrack, something about stairs, which Tony didn’t understand even when Bucky tried to explain it to him.

Not far now.

Good. Tony was starting to get more and more uncomfortable from rocking back and forth in this tiny tank, and the oxygen inside was getting stale. He needed to breathe. He needed to swim. He needed--

A portal slammed open and a mansthing strode in. He was shorter than most mansthings, and instead of a shell on its head, or hair -- Tony had seen both. So weird that the mansthings had hair, just like mers did. What did mansthings need with hair? -- this one had only a bald, pale skull with fringe around it.

Behind it, came another, its head grotesque and red and like a dead thing. A dead thing that walked. Tony started shrieking in terror, they were gross, they were terrifying.

They didn’t hold any weapons that Tony could see, no sharp sticks or rock flingers, but they were terrifying, nonetheless.

Salt flooded through Tony’s organs, and he banked it away, concentrating on his fear, on his anger, on his hope for a better and new future.

“Zhelaniye,” the pale on said, his face showing his teeth. He rubbed his hands together and it made a dull, hissing sound, like a snake in the water. Tony shuddered. He never understood the mansthings words, but these were even worse. He didn’t know what they were, or what they meant.

Bucky clasped many arms around his head and screamed. The word was hurting him, somehow. Tony didn’t understand.

Bucky!

“Zhavyy,” the pale thing continued. Tony swam back and forth in the little tank, desperate to do something. Something was terribly, terribly wrong and he didn’t understand it.

Tony, get away, get away from me! You have to get away. He--

“Semnadtsat'.”

I won’t leave you!

“Rassvet.”

I’ll hurt you, you have to get away--

And where am I going to go? Tony scrunched himself all the way up at the end of the tank and slammed forward, striking the plastics with all the strength in him. The tank scooted across the cavern floor, maybe a few feet. Tony did it again, and again.

Bucky kept screaming, his words disintegrating into nothingness, until all there was was pain. Agony. His mate was suffering.

His mate was scared.

Bucky had helped Tony. Tony was going to help Bucky. Water slopped out of the tank with each impact. He had to hurry. The mansthings weren’t paying any attention to him, helpless and contained as they thought he was.

He pushed the tank another few feet, despite the ache in his arms from the impact, despite how fear squeezed at his chest. Despite how ugly and terrifying the mansthings were. No more, no more!

“Pech'.”

Only a few more inches.

“Devyat'.”

Close enough. Whatever was happening was happening faster than Tony knew how to handle it. He shoved, one last time, then leaped, grabbing onto the pale-faced mansthing with one hand. As soon as his fingers touched that dry, unpleasant flesh, Tony ignited all his organs in a single, heart-stopping shock.

The pale mansthing didn’t even have time to scream. His features crisped and seared, his mouth gaped open and ugly.

Tony fell to the dry ground, gasping for water that wasn’t there, and watched his enemy die. You won’t harm me, or mine, ever again.

The spell of pain and fear that was tearing Bucky apart ceased with the same suddenness as the death of the pale thing. He leaped, all arms reaching out for the red skulled monster, wrapped his arms around tight on the narrow throat and squeezed. More arms, wrapping the creature’s limbs. The red thing staggered back, trying to rip Bucky’s arms free, trying to speak its dangerous and ugly words, but Bucky kept squeezing.

Tony gagged on the hot nothingness, dragged himself back toward the tank. Oxygen. He needed oxygen.

Bucky made a loud, terrifying sound, a scream of anger, and the red mansthing fell to the ground in two pieces, head rolling and fetching up at the base of the tank. Tony made a face, but he was in too much pain to care much; he used the skull to climb, grabbing the edge of the tank, just a little help in this too heavy, too dry place.

With a splash, and a heave of his gills, Tony fell back into the tank and lay at the very bottom of the class, sucking in as much oxygen as he could get.

A moment later, Bucky’s head ducked into the water. Tony?

I’m okay, I’m okay. It wasn’t that much of a stretch of the truth, was it? He was alive, he wasn’t hurt. He was just very tired.

You helped me.

That’s what mates do. Tony reached out one hand and touched Bucky’s face. His mate. His… starfish.

Tony closed his eyes and slept.

Art from @monobuu Buckyhugs are a little all encompassing.