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gutsby · 10 months

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Honey Trap

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Warnings: NSFW. Unprotected p-in-v, breeding kink, some wildly unethical investigative techniques, graphic descriptions of violence and gore. Feral Daryl gone wild (and primal), courtesy of this lovely request.

“In espionage terminology, honeypot and honey trap are terms for an operational practice involving the use of a covert agent, to create a sexual or romantic relationship to compromise a target.”

In your mind, the sex was incidental to the mission.

You didn’t have to feel guilty about fucking the man’s brains out if you never meant to do it in the first place.

That was what you kept telling yourself as he shoved your face into the mattress and continued to pound you senseless. When he yanked your head back and nearly dislodged the hair at the roots with the force of each thrust, leaned in close to your ear and smirked.

“Keep grippin’ like tha’ and I’ll put a fuckin’ baby in ya.”

An honest mistake.

He flipped you onto your back and all but devoured your lips, rutting his hips so hard you thought he might displace your cervix as well. Every inch of your taut, aching walls drew him in and clenched him like a vice. You kissed him back, goaded him on, bounced an obscene cadence over his cock, and almost felt the first inklings of fatigue strain your muscles when he dropped his hand to your clit and started rubbing circles.

“Ah, fuck!” you cried, “Just like that, Daryl.”

An innocent slip of the tongue, really.

The longer these gut-wrenching blows and digital strokes continued, the closer you got to the cusp of your release. Were Daryl possessed of even a modicum of civility, you suspected he might have treated your cunt a little kinder, but frankly, the man was all animal in bed. He was a primal being, so cruelly in tune with his baser nature that every time he fucked you raw it was all tongues, teeth, and trembling lips whispering the filthiest, most repugnant things you’d heard in your life. He’d said it had something to do with him being a hunter by trade; you were never quite convinced of it, but you let him breed you like a rabbit all the same.

Presently, Daryl peered down at you with the haziest, most fucked-out look you’d ever seen grace a man’s features. He’d pushed one of your legs straight up to your chest. Two or three thrusts was all either of you had in you from that point on; with the introduction of this new angle, and that added pressure, you both went spiraling toward climax in a matter of seconds.

You threw your head back on the pillow while Daryl tore out of you, wringing his cock over your stomach until every last drop of him had painted that plane of skin.

You melted into the bed. Daryl sopped up the remains of his arousal with a washcloth, brushed a couple fingertips across your belly, and kissed your navel with affection. Then he collapsed to your left for a spell of silence.

A couple minutes later, as if on cue, you both rose from the bed and started dressing yourselves.

You felt no shame in being the first to light up this time. Tugging the pack of Pall Malls from your back pocket, you stepped outside and went fishing for your lighter.

Your eyes captured the dawn of the fresh day rising low on the outskirts of the field, and you smiled. Stuck one muddied cigarette between your teeth and lowered it to the flame you’d brought to life in the other hand. Then you took a seat on the front stoop, stretched your legs out as far as they would go, and watched the morning take shape before you. You took a contented drag.

Operator would have your head if he could see you now.

This was, without a shadow of a doubt, not part of the plan. The fraternizing, frolicking, even semi-regular fucking of your test subject strayed so far beyond the bounds of this mission, and your own ethical norms, that you’d almost forgotten what you were meant to be doing on that brisk November day.

Operator hadn’t forgotten; his aides had assembled the decoy last night. Half a mile from the comfort and calm of your little log cabin, there lay a steel-jaw bear trap nestled under a pile of bright red leaves—‘Real, real red, remember that, honey’—and above it, a target. A leaf a little larger than the rest would be arranged at the top of the mound with a circle drawn on its front, signaling for someone to step there and ensnare their foot.

That was the crux of his plan. Easy as pie.

The rest of this project, by contrast, had taken months of dedicated reconnaissance on your part—tracking and trailing behind this guy, your target, Daryl Dixon. You’d been charged with monitoring the man’s every move with painstaking attention and studying his habits, too. Was he a creature of the night or awake first thing in the morning? Was he rash, wise, or flighty, demonstrably equipped to handle life’s ugliest challenges or liable to run at the first sign of trouble? Most importantly, was he a threat to your community back home or a viable asset? That was what Operator wanted to know.

That was what you had set out to find.

The sex was just an unintended byproduct of that pursuit. Hazard of the job, you kept reminding yourself. You hadn’t lost sight of Operator’s goal at all; you’d simply been obliged to take a different route to get there.

As it turned out, Daryl had caught you in the woods just a few short weeks into your covert surveillance scheme, so you’d been forced to improvise.

Stripped of your anonymity and afraid of raising suspicion in the target, you’d tried striking up a friendship with him. It was Daryl that had been the one to tamper with the platonic seal of that liaison. On one particular occasion that found you tracking the same animal, he’d taken you by surprise and knocked you flat on your ass at the riverbank. He dicked you down, marked you up—even sank his teeth into the flesh of your neck while pinning you down—and made it patently clear that you two were a thing from that point forward.

You weren’t keen on monogamy, especially in this cheap and tawdry context, but damn if it wasn’t nice to have a warm, sturdy body next to yours every once in a while. The last month had passed in an amalgam of quiet, comfort, and peace, before eventually giving way to the foreboding sobriety of this morning, as you always knew it would. You found yourself growing sick with fear.

This was the day you made good on your promise to dear old Operator and brought his plan into action.

Shortly, Daryl joined you on the stoop.

“That’ll kill ya someday,” he snorted, watching you take another toke.

Above your head, he beckoned you with two fingers to pass the cigarette his way. You pretended not to hear.

Daryl scoffed.

“I give ya all eight inches of me, and y’can’t spare me a single one’a yers?” he said, tipping his chin to the tobacco product lodged between your lips. Pleading with you now.

“Seven,” you corrected him. You exhaled.

Without another word, you straightened up and started off toward the woods. Daryl stood, seemingly stunned a moment before bounding after you.

“Eight!” he repeated.

You watched the man emerge in your periphery as he started to trot alongside you. A direct line of sight wasn’t required to spy the indignation on his face.

“Six and a half,” you scrunched your nose, passing a quick but deliberate look over his lower half.

Daryl glanced down at his crotch and, for a second, came to wonder if the appendage hanging between his legs had possibly shrunk in the dozen-odd years since he’d measured it last. His gaze strayed to the ground, then his boots, then his groin once more before turning to you. The smirk at your lips was evident from a single look.

“Fuck you.” He bit back a laugh of his own as he gave you a shove.

Musings on Daryl’s penis length turned gradually to other, more routine topics like hunting, fishing, and the four new love bites you’d found scattered down your body that morning—‘Will you please try to control that rabid fuckin’ mouth of yours next time, Dixon?’—and before long, the two of you were deep in a discussion of what the weather would be looking like in the next few weeks.

Daryl was convinced you’d see snow, you insisted it was still too early to tell, and together, you trudged side-by-side over a stretch of land that was just then starting to make your stomach turn. Gleaming red leaves littered the ground.

Daryl lifted his arms above his head to gesticulate something big and broad, telling you storm clouds were sure to start rolling in, when suddenly, you stopped.

“Why don’t we check the traps?” you asked.

Daryl stalled his steps too, turning to you with a puzzled look.

“Which ones?”

You pointed to a patch of crimson-colored foliage down the way. Daryl followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“I dun’ remember settin’ any traps there,” he said. He eyed a cluster of brambles enveloping the spot and sincerely couldn’t recall ever setting foot on the terrain.

“Just check it. Please.” Your voice was starting to strain.

Up ahead, you saw an unusually tall stack of red sassafras leaves pooled at the base of a tree. Crowning that mound was a circle in black.

You nudged Daryl’s shoulder.

“Go on,” you urged.

Begrudgingly, he set off. The sounds of his footsteps reached your ears a little louder as he stalked his way through the clearing, evidently less than thrilled to make the trek amongst a swarm of thorns.

You watched him walk, at length, to the locale you’d directed him, and you knew there’d be no animal caught in a snare when he checked it. There’d be no body, no trace, no thing to be discovered beneath that brush, and by the time he’d jerked his head up to sneer that he was right, it would be too late.

You padded over to the pile of sassafras leaves and stared down at that ring of dark ink.

‘Like a burst of little ant bites,’ Operator had told you as he’d fluttered his fingers over your ankle. That was all it was and all it was ever meant to be: a nip at your leg and a couple superficial cuts to your skin. Operator’s right-hand man, a guy by the name of Dwight, had set the trap up himself and had rigged it to where the steel jaws of the thing would clamp your ankle with a lot less force than it normally would, all while giving the appearance of having your calf bit in half.

‘Dixon’s gonna be trippin’ over his nutsack to set you free,’ Operator had predicted, grinning wide as he said it, ‘but Dwight’s got the trap outfitted a little differently—ain’t no pryin’ this thing off your foot without the help of a bona fide professional, see?’

‘It won’t hurt you any— just...tough to take off is all.’ Dwight had added, casting a nervous glance at Operator.

‘Right. Painless.’

Those parting words rang a vicious course in your skull as you stood above the contraption now. Legs shaking something awful and feet refusing to move, you tried to swallow your fears and damn near hurled them all back up when Daryl’s voice broke out a moment later,

“Ain’t nothin’ here!”

Your cue. You lifted your foot.

“Honey?”

No time. He’d spot you any second now.

With all the glamor and ceremony of a person approaching the scaffold, you brought your foot down.

The moment your heel struck the plate—the one you knew was buried deep within those leaves—a pair of springs roused the jaws of the trap in less than an instant and snapped your calf within its teeth even quicker, it seemed. You hardly had the time to react, much less retreat, but when the thing came down and caught you in its grip, you sure as hell knew it had you.

This wasn’t an ant bite, a hornet sting, or a flesh wound from a swarm of horseflies. The trap sailed straight through flesh and bone and made a jarring crunch once its teeth had reconvened across your lower leg. A fragment of your shin splintered out through the skin.

You were screaming bloody murder before your body ever hit the ground.

It was quite possibly the dumbest endeavor you’d ever attempted, but your fingers clawed frantically at the jaws of the trap, trying to pry them apart.

“FUCKING FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

You watched blood jet from rows of jagged puncture wounds.

You heard footsteps thunder ahead, then halt, then give way to the sight of a set of hands thrusting in, joining your efforts to extract the steel from your flesh.

The metal fangs didn’t move.

“Down, down, down, push down— oh God, no, move it there—” Daryl was scrambling, frenziedly trying to tell you to press your foot on the springs to constrict them.

You couldn’t feel your foot, much less move it. You tried jerking your knee upward instead.

Another shriek tore through your chest when every one of your lesions took a hit—unyielding steel shredding more of you than you were of it.

Daryl seized your thigh and eyed your widening gashes.

“Don’t!” he bellowed, far too late but shouting it anyway, “Honey, no, no, please—”

He scarcely knew what he was saying, and you barely heard him. You were draining blood like a stuck pig and losing color in your face even faster. Your head started swimming with the loss of every drop.

Just as you swayed and tried to steady yourself in place, Daryl’s eyes darted to the space right behind you, where a cluster of walkers were shuffling out between the trees.

He clambered for his cross-bow and got back on his feet, moving fast against the pack to start picking them off one-by-one. As he lodged bolts in their brains and took knives to their eyes, you sat there and grabbed your knee, savagely wrestling the steel while red began to flood your vision.

This time, it wasn’t blood but a violent, blinding rage.

“You fucker!” you screeched, raking your fingers over the immotile trap, “Goddamn cocksucking fucker!”

You gripped the thing even tighter in your hands and wrung the metal like it was somebody’s neck—that of Dwight, or Operator, or anyone else to blame for this grotesque horror before you.

They’d set you up. Dwight hadn’t rigged it any safer; he’d boobytrapped the fucking bear snare to make it snap your leg in two. And Operator had given the order. Their goal wasn’t to feign an injury so much as it was to maim you, indelibly, so Daryl would have no choice but to bring you back to his home in Alexandria, and keep you there. You couldn’t believe you’d been so naïve. Every fiber of your being, it seemed, pulsated its wrath beneath your skin.

So wholly immersed in this fit of rage and all but dead below the knee, you shook that rough, bloody stump like it was somehow to blame for your predicament. Heedless of the fluids that came leaking out, of the damage sure to follow, of the sound of Daryl returning beside you in a hurry and begging you to stop.

“Those bastards,” you wept through wet, baring teeth.

Your words barely registered in Daryl’s brain. All he knew was that he needed to prop you up, keep you conscious, and find some materials for a makeshift tourniquet in the next couple minutes. Just as he started to map out that critical move, though, a memory flashed before his mind. Suddenly he was sprinting back across the way he’d came to the bag he’d dropped in the clearing. Almost tripped over his own two feet fumbling to get it open.

You closed your eyes and started to rock back and forth.

“Channel four, do you copy?”

“Dixon to channel four. I have a— a woman in need of emergency help. She’s hurt real bad.”

“Dozen miles out, ‘round Culpeper and Stevensburg.”

You moved your hands from your calf up to the crown of your skull, kneading the skin like it just might banish the waves of nausea and delirium that were starting to take root. Your vision was spinning and dimming each time you chanced to look around you. Colors all bled together.

Your companion kept rattling off names and places and ‘do you copy’s ‘til it seemed he’d turn blue in the face talking into that radio. At length, another voice crackled across the line, and Daryl stopped dead in his tracks,

“Jesus?”

You froze in place too.

In the throes of this blunt trauma-induced hysteria, you sincerely thought Daryl might be talking to a higher power just then. You opened your eyes and tried to wave him over as your body seized with fear. Unfortunately for you, the man was busy barking into the receiver.

“Tell him I ain’—” you whimpered, clawing the air out in front of you, “I ain’t ready.”

Upon seeing your gestures and the poor, frightened look on your face, Daryl stopped once more and dropped to his knees down in front of you.

“’S’wrong?” His eyes already surveying your body for any further signs of harm.

You sniffled, “I ain’t ready to see Jesus just yet.”

“Wh— how come?” Daryl knit his eyebrows together.

“Too many sins on the soul, Saint Peter’ll beat my ass.”

Your mind had worked itself up to a fever pitch at this point, your words coming slurred and near-incoherent. Daryl blinked for a second until it all clicked in his head. Then he said softly, almost wanting to smile,

“We’re not goin’ to meet our Maker, hon, he’s just a friend’a mine.”

“Where’d you find her, Daryl?”

You jumped at the sound of the radio and started to scoot back—dragging the bear trap in tow. Your leg had already gone numb to all sensation, but Daryl saw a thin strip of flesh go peeling off as you moved. He caught your arm and held you firm in place.

“Don’t move, baby,” he pleaded, “Yer just makin’ it worse on yerself.”

Then, to Jesus: “Found her on a— a supply run this morning. Please hurry.”

The man on the other end of the line gave his assent, asked a couple more garbled questions, and shortly ended the conversation. Daryl discarded the radio just as fast and crawled over to take your head in his hands as soon as he did. He shook it fiercely back and forth as your eyelids were just then threatening to close.

“Hey, hey, stay with me, Y/N,” Daryl spoke over and over, patting a desperate measure on your cheeks.

Your complexion was bloodless. Sweat, dirt, saliva, and streaks of garnet red all stained your person in a gory sort of mosaic, too gruesome for Daryl to tear his gaze from.

He pinched your face and pleaded hard, voice breaking, “Honey, stay here— I-I need you awake.”

You swallowed and nodded to nothing at all, eyes scanning the skyline and seeing great globs of gray invade your vision. You were bleeding, seeping, oozing that awful red stuff and feeling it pool about your feet, but there, on the horizon, there was little more than tiny spirals of gray. The sight brought Daryl’s prior weather prediction to mind, and presently, you managed a smile.

“Storm’s comin’,” you mumbled.

You weren’t sure when it started or how it arrived, but a rainfall did reach you at length. Daryl had gathered you up in his arms and squeezed you tight to his chest, rocking you side to side and begging you not to die—‘Die? I feel fine’ you’d grumbled as sparks and flames and fairies danced quietly before your eyes—when droplets of moisture came trickling down from the sky.

That rain went from a drizzle to a downpour in a matter of minutes, and all Daryl could do was drag your two bodies under the shade of a tree and hold you to him. You weren’t sure how long you waited there.

Despite your best efforts, you suspected you might have dozed for a minute or two, because when your eyes had snapped back open from what felt like an extra long blink, you heard footsteps shake the earth beneath you. You glanced down with bloodshot, bleary eyes and saw some fabric fastened tight around your leg and a medley of blue, black, and red painted all down your calf.

“Ew,” you said aloud, your consciousness hovering somewhere far above your head. It was like this body wasn’t yours at all—a mere wax-made effigy, and a shitty one at that—so you felt a bit more at liberty to speak your mind.

Frankly, you didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

Before you knew it, you were being seized by your arms and legs, and you hardly even questioned it.

“Get the door, Rick, dammit.”

“Watch her foot, watch her foot!”

“Fuck’s sake, I got it.”

From what you could make out, you were being hammock-carried by three burly men who were blinking hard against the sheets of rain coming down and shouting extra loud to be heard over the downpour. At your side was a long-haired, handsome sort of guy with eyes the color of the Mediterranean; at your head, another blue-eyed, bearded stud that could’ve easily been a cop in a past life; at your feet, a terror-stricken, and very shirtless, Daryl, holding a healthy foot in one hand and a mangled, steel-shredded lump in the other.

If you weren’t currently bleeding to death, you almost would’ve reckoned this a lovely time to visit Paris.

The trio eased you into the bed of their battered S-10 Chevy. Your head lolled into the lap of the cop, and Daryl squeezed your hand. Then he stepped back over to help his Fabio dupe of a friend at the foot of the bed, and they slowly brought your leg to rest at an elevated level. The two exchanged a few hushed words.

Your eyelids were feeling especially heavy at this point and nearly primed to close, when all of a sudden, the cop tensed below you.

A rough, calloused hand pushed the strap of your tank top a little to the left—and not at all in the way you were hoping—and sharply, the man’s voice broke out:

“Daryl, she’s been bit.”

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #smut #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon one shot #twd imagine #fanfic

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starlightomatic · 2 years

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what i mean to say is i feel like *i’m* downplaying israel’s oppression of palestinians by not centering palestinian liberation in what i’m saying, and, it’s so hard to interact with the topic because there’s so much antisemitism, and, that feels like an excuse

when most goyim who want to discuss it can’t understand zionism in the context of jewish trauma and displacement and see it as like, British Colonialism But Worse

but also focusing on that trauma feels very privileged when palestinians are being oppressed now, and also, looking at it through the lens of western colonialism and imperialism can elucidate a lot of things

when it seems like people let countries like the UK, France, the Netherlands, and Belgium off the hook despite of their legacy of horrifying colonialism but laser-focus zoom in on israel and you’re like well isn’t that interesting

when pointing that out is a textbook hasbara silencing tactic so you don’t wanna use it.

when this whole post feels like privileged navel-gazing anyway

who cares about the psychology of the oppressors? their sob story? it doesn’t excuse anything

it doesn’t, and………… it still feels callous and antisemitic to look at this like any other instance of colonialism.

or maybe tbh we need to be looking at other instances with more complexity too. what was the role of Enclosure in the colonization of North America? Who benefited from this?

Why don’t the nations who turned away Jews both before and after the Holocaust get any blame for what’s happened in Israel/Palestine? The nations who collaborated with the Nazis and who made their countries so inhospitable to Jews post-war that they didn’t re-root? Germany its fucking self?

I don’t know, maybe if millions of refugees poured into one country because other countries refused to take them in, thus destabilizing that country and even if those refugees had made different choices it would not have gone well, we should implicate the countries that turned those refugees away?

Idk, as a Jewish antizionist it’s a lot of “here’s what Jews should have done differently.”

And yeah. There is a lot we could’ve done differently. But maybe the people and countries who continually orchestrate some of these situations shouldn’t escape blame either.

Right of return for Palestinians, of course. But the Jewish family who moved into a Palestinian family’s house… Who’s living in *their* old house in Poland or Hungary? Someone whose grandparents stole it. But we don’t want to talk about that.

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whumppmuhw · 1 year

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Whumptober Day 14: No anesthesia

tw: medical whump, noncon surgery, surgery without anesthesia, intimate whumper, noncon touching (non-sexual), blood eehehehe I love this prompt and trope good shit right there

Whumper made the first incision, right down the middle, collarbone to navel. Whumpee had too many restraints to squirm. Their gag prevented them from screaming. Whumper soaked up as much blood as they could. Then came the second incision, across the abdomen, right under the rib cage. Again, Whumpee could do nothing. Whumper reached inside Whumpee with a gloved hand. They were careful not to displace Whumpee's organs, but it felt good to have a hold on Whumpee that they previously couldn't attain. Whumper's main purpose for the procedure was research and curiosity, but beyond that was a longing for the intimacy that came with being inside of someone. Whumper had fantasized of organs and bones and muscles all in his grip, Whumpee helpless as they took control of Whumpee at a deeper, more physical level. Whumper took his hand out of Whumpee. They removed that hand's glove and changed it to a fresh, sterile one. With their other hand they picked up a small camera. "Hold still," Whumper instructed, "and breathe easy. This next part will go much smoother if you cooperate." Whumpee's panicked, rapid breaths through their nose slowed to deep, full ones. Whumpee became less tense and Whumper muttered a "mhm, just like that," as they prepared for what was next. Whumper lifted the flaps of skin up one by one, taking pictures of Whumpee's internal structure. They could see Whumpee trying their hardest to stay calm as Whumper temporarily shifted things around. Whumper could only imagine what it felt like for their patient. Whumpee was scared in a way they never had been. Whumper had crossed a boundary that Whumpee never imagined being crossed, and every time Whumper touched their insides with that gentle, yet controlling touch of theirs, Whumpee felt a shiver go up their spine. One side of Whumpee felt the pain of the invasive surgery and the restraints digging in, and wanted to lash out, to scream for Whumper to stop every time they felt Whumper's touch in a place it shouldn't be. Whumpee's other side recognized that course of action wasn't possible, and instead kept as still and calm as they could so Whumper could finish up faster. Whumper had to admit to themself, this was fun. Not only were they learning about human anatomy in a direct and fascinating way, but who better to operate on then their very own Whumpee, who just couldn't say no! Whumper oohed and ahhed at seeing the human body laid out before them like this. They wished they could keep Whumpee open like this for days as they took a plethora of pictures and notes and felt the thrill that came with holding Whumpee's insides. Whumper finished taking the pictures and observations they wanted an hour after the procedure began, and set down their camera. To finish, they placed both hands on the two sides of Whumpee's rib cage, fingers gently stroking bones, and felt Whumpee's chest rise and fall with each breath alongside their beating heart. "Thank you, Whumpee," Whumper said quietly, like they were sharing a secret. "This has been a very pleasant and educational time for me. Your body is beautiful, truly something to marvel at." Whumpee wanted to squirm at that comment and Whumper's hands, a knot twisting in their stomach. "Don't be afraid, I've taken great care to make sure everything's still where it's supposed to be. Once I've stitched you up, it'll be like this never happened. Though I bet you and I won't forget." Whumper removed his hands from Whumpee's chest, then put on a new set of gloves and picked up a needle and thread. They moved back to Whumpee and began the meticulous process of putting them back together again. Whumpee hated the pain and wished it would be over. They knew Whumper was putting stitches in, their work done, but the constant piercing from the needle and the pulling of the thread was getting to be too much. Whumpee tried to yell out and failed. Whumper acknowledged this. "Don't be so impatient, this won't take long." They were nearing the end of the first incision and would soon stitch up the second.

A few minutes later, going by quickly for Whumper and painfully slow for Whumpee, the stitching was finished. Whumper breathed a sigh of relief at a job well done; Whumpee at the end of a horrible trial. Whumper took off Whumpee's gag and took their camera and notes journal to their study, leaving Whumpee to recover and take some deep breaths. Whumpee could feel the ghosts of Whumper's hands in their body, and they felt icky. Neither of them would forget that day.

#mine #ailesswhumptober2023 #whumptober #whump #no anesthesia #medical whump #noncon surgery tw #surgery without anesthesia tw #intimate whumper #noncon touching tw #blood tw

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desertleviathan · 1 year

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I have this weird thing where when I'm soloing the ARR Extreme trials that are in my weekly Wondrous Tales book (and are therefore like easy 30 second unsynced runs to a level 90 Dragoon), I can't remember what Primal gets associated with what Trial Name. Or rather I can, but somehow the actionable part of the connection gets displaced in the process of moving my attention from the Wondrous Tales book to the Duty Finder. So I'll look at Wondrous Tales, say "Titan this week", then look at Duty Finder, see The Navel (Extreme) and say "Was Titan one of the ones this week?" And since I forgot in the last 4 seconds, I have to go back to Wondrous Tales and check, and may repeat the process two or three times. Kind of like when you enter a different room and forget what objective sent you there.

BUT.

If, instead of jumping from Primal to Trial Name, I jump from Primal to ELEMENT to Trial Name, then I can hold the sequence in my brain? So when I look at the Wondrous Tails book I'll see Titan, go "Earth, got it", then go to the Duty Finder and go "Which one is Earth?" then queue for The Navel (Extreme).

But the Elemental Six aren't the only ARR Primal Trials. And if the Wondrous Tales book wants me to fight Odin or Good King Moggle Mog the XII, the way I find my way to Urth's Font or The Thornmarch (Extreme) is by saying respectively "Sword" or "Marshmallow"

Those are their elements. Etherys is made up of Fire, Ice, Wind, Earth, Lightning, Water, Sword, and Marshmallow.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #ff14

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peerlessscowl · 1 year

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his wet cat vibes have bewitched me

(matchmaking starter for @lilythofthevallites)

"What on - ?"

Several things happened to Raven at once.

He had heard the chattering of their jailers overhead, attempting to keep himself from grinding his teeth, wanting to shout skyward, but knowing that ultimately it would lead nowhere. He heard the hissing of his saints-forsaken air patron, the mocking laughter in his ears, practically felt the glee dripping down his neck like rain that had gotten underneath his coat.

The card had appeared in his pocket, stiff card stock, pointed edges digging into his skin until he had fished it out, eyes skimming over the words written on it before registering that it seemed to be some sort of…adoption plea? He had the time to flip the card over to read the name Lilith in ornate metallic script.

And then, quite suddenly, he felt the familiar infuriating sensation of being buffeted by wind, but with more force, more control this time, lifting him to the tips of his toes and giving him not a moment to even consider fighting back before he was bodily dragged from his position at the outskirts of the ballroom, tugged from the shadows looming in the hall out into the bright lights of the dance floor, as though some anchor at his navel was attached to an invisible line that he was being reeled to, his toes scuffing against the shining, buffed floor.

He was stopped very suddenly - thankfully, just before colliding with a young lady, soft of feature and bright in the eyes. The stop was so abrupt he nearly fell to his knees, but recovered his balance well enough.

Once more, he felt the curling laughter of air in his ears. Now play, it hissed at him, make nice.

The urge to snarl was dampened by the girl blinking innocently at him.

And then he understood. Aided by the miserable weeks (days? Hours? How was he to know?) he had spent in the morbid toy house, the pieces fit together as he raked his gaze across the dance floor to find everyone else had been quite displaced from where they stood, presented to someone else as though for inspection.

He could not remember the contents of the card exactly, but it had indicated that she was friendly - no, perhaps more than friendly. Perhaps closer to eager.

Before she could open her mouth to confirm his suspicions; "I'm not…you don't want me."

#in character #toaball2023 #thread: his wet cat vibes have bewitched me #matchmaking thread #interaction: lilythofthevallites #let me know if you need me to change anything!

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mudaship39 · 1 year

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Character Questionnaire for BIPOC and QTIPOC Character Creation

What is their name? Full name? Nickname?

Do they have a separate Indigenous name and nickname?

What is their racial identity?

What is their cultural identity? What clan are they from? What bands or tribes are they? What nation are they from?

Are they connected or are they displaced disconnected diaspora?

Do they wear any regalia?

Do they wear Indigenous jewelry?

Do they have any Indigenous traditional tattoos?

What is their role in their community? What is their duty in their clan, tribe, & nation?

Are they white Natives, Asian Natives, West Asian (Middle Eastern) Natives, Black Natives, or Latine Natives?

What is their sex gender gender identity and sexuality?

Are they two spirit of Turtle Island or mahu/fakaleiti/fa’afafine/maohi of Oceania?

What are their pronouns? He/him, she/her, they/them, and, or xer/xers?

Are they monogamous or polyamorous?

Are they disabled? Are they autistic? Are they nuerodivergent? Are they chronically ill? Do they have any personality disorders? Do they have mental illnesses?

Are they abled bodied? Are they allistic? Are they neurotypical?

Do they have add, adhd, hyperlexia, ocd, and or dyslexia?

Do they have DID Or dissociative identity disorder, schizophrenia, bd or bipolar disorder, & or bpd or borderline personality disorder?

What is their religion and spirituality?

What languages do they speak?

How tall are they?

How much do they weigh?

What is their hairstyle?

What is their eye color, hair color, & skin tone?

How old are they? By our standards since this is afro futurism, native, & poc futurism about poc coded and native coded metahuman and superhuman characters living from the ancient past to the far future

When is their birthdate? Month day and year?

Whats their Chinese zodiac and western astrology sign

Do they have tattoos or piercings?

What kind of piercings?

What kind of ear piercings do they have?

This can be a tragus ear piercing, a conch ear piercing, a helix ear piercing, a daith ear piercing, a snug ear piercing, a lobe ear piercing, an anti tragus ear piercing, a rook ear piercing, an anti helix ear piercing, a forward helix piercing, a lobe transversal ear piercing.

It can be high lobe, barbell, helix stud lobe, or upper lobe piercings on their ear

What kind of body piercings do they have?

It can be vertical or horizontal eyebrow piercing spiked barbells on their eyebrow. It can be Medusa diamond stud piercing above their lip, it can be dimple studs in their cheeks, it can be a spiked labret on their chin, it can be a septum ring piercing that goes through their nose, it can be a barbell bridge piercing between their eyes on top of their nose, it can be a rhino barbell nose ring piercing on the top of their nose, it can be nasallang piercings on the left and right side of their nose, it can be a third eye stud piercing on their forehead, it can be a barbell piercing in their navel, or even a barbell piercing on their chest.

What do they have tattoos of? What kind of tattoos? Retro by their standards and modern by ours or futuristic by ours and contemporary by theirs in the form of holographic tattoos. Do they have magical tattoos?

Where are they from Where do they live now? List of possible locations are in the location glossary of the google doc.

Which city, county, state, & or country do they live in?

Do they live on Earth? Or off world since humanity and aliens left Earth and colonized the rest of space?

Which colonized and terraformed planet, moon, comet, asteroid, or planetoid do they live on? Where in the planet, star system, & galaxy do they reside?

What is their personality?

What are their virtues? What are their vices? What are their strengths? What are their flaws?

What kind of clothes do they wear?

What are their favorite foods?

What is their favorite drink?

What are their hobbies and interests?

What is their economic class?

What is their political party affiliation?

Are they conservative, liberal, progressive leftist, green party, third party voter, no party affiliation, non voter?

Story is post land back. So this can include voting in Indigenous tribes/clans and nations

Are they communist, anarchist, radical, & or militant.

What is their backstory?

What is their occupation?

Are they a high school dropout, a high school graduate, a college dropout, or a college graduate?

Are they a graduate of a two year community college, a four year university, an Ivy League university or military academy?

Did they graduate from a vocational or trade school?

What degrees do they have? Associates bachelors masters or doctorates? In what field or fields? Do they have a minor, major, or dual major?

Tell me about their parents, aunts and uncles?

How many siblings do they have? Are they the oldest, youngest, or middle child? Or are they an only child? Do they have any cousins?

Are they an BIPOC ex of the queer and trans Asian Pasifika and Latine Native superhero/superheroine main character Kana’i Makoa Latu/Ataahua Kamalani Latu?

Are they single, dating, widowed, divorced, or married? Tell me about their spouse(s) or partner(s)?

Are they in a monogamous or polyamorous relationship or marriage?

How many children do they have? Are these children adopted or biological? Tell me about their children.

What kind of pets do they have? Do they have regular pets, magical pets, or alien pets?

What is their mode of transportation? List of transportation are in the modes of transportation glossary of the google doc.

Do they use a hoverboard, hover bus, hover bike, hover motorbike, hover quad, hover motorcycle, hover sport bike, or hover vehicle (car, truck, SUV, etc)

What kind of weapons do they use? List of weapons are in the weapon glossary of the google doc.

Do they use a power armor suit or a mech suit?

Questions for native coded characters and poc coded characters of Warring Kingdoms:

What species are they?

What humanoid race are they?

Are they a hybrid with a humanoid race?

What is their variant or subrace?

Are they human?

Are they magical human (poc coded human)?

Are they Indigenous magical human (Indigenous coded human)

Are they non magical human?

Are they Homo magi (non native and white coded human)?

What is their class? Are they a fighter, warrior, barbarian, ranger, druid, bard, wizard, witch, warlock, sorcerer, or paladin?

Are they a hybrid class?

Are they a special class?

What is their subclass

What is their rank?

Are they F class, E class, D Class, C class, B class, A class, or S rank?

What is their background

What class are they?

What is their alignment?

What magical tools do they use

List of magical tools in the google doc

Do they use a wand, a mage staff, a magical baton, or a broomstick?

Which village, town, city, kingdom, empire do they live in?

Do they have magical powers?

Are they part of a guild?

What faction are they a part of?

List of factions in the google doc

What guild are they a part of

Are they part of a knight and or paladin order?

What kind of mount do they use?

What kind of familiar do they use?

Do they have an animal companion?

Are they an adventurer? Are they a guild member?

If so why do they dungeon dive as an adventurer?

Why do they go on quests or guild missions as a guild member?

If they are a warlock who is their patron?

Are they demigods? Are the the child, grandchild, or descendant of a god or goddess? If so from which pantheon?

Are they Atlantean, Amazonian, Vanir, or Asgardian hybrids?

Are they half elves, half orcs, half trolls, half goblins, or half dwarves, etc?

Are they missing any body parts as someone disfigured? Did they have these part or parts replaced with prosthetic limbs?

Do they have an electrical, steam, & gas powered automotive armored prosthetic arm or leg?

Are they an ex of the queer and trans poc coded and native coded Indigenous magical human, magical huma, & homo magi hybrid S rank adventurer and guild member Afro Asian native coded main character Lysander/Luciana Norwood or Kittsak/Kaeo Pramoj

Questions for native characters and characters of color of Alpha Centurion War:

Are they a superhero, antihero, or supervillain?

What is their superhero antihero or supervillain name?

What is their superhero antihero or supervillain costume?

What superpowers do they have?

How exactly did they get their powers?

Are they a metahuman or superhuman?

What is their lair? Where is their home base? Is it stationary or mobile.

What superhero, antihero, or supervillain team are they a part of?

What is their role in these teams?

Are they part of the superhero conglomerates the Elites, the Paragons, or the Sentinels?

Are they alien hybrids?

Are they demigods? Are the the child, grandchild, or descendant of a god or goddess? If so from which pantheon? The Egyptian, Mayan, Norse, Greco-Roman, Celtic, Hindu, Japanese, Chinese, African, or Oceanic/Pasifika pantheon?

Are they cyborgs or bionics?

Are they Atlantean, Amazonian, Vanir, or Asgardian hybrids?

Are they half elves, half orcs, half trolls, half goblins, or half dwarves, etc?

Are they missing any body parts as someone disfigured? Did they have these part or parts replaced with bionic or cybernetic limbs.

Do they have cybernetic implants or bionic enhancements?

Are they an BIPOC ex of the queer and trans Asian Pasifika and Latine Native superhero/superheroine main character Kana’i Makoa Latu/Ataahua Kamalani Latu?

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gluttonemporium · 2 months

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At Futaba’s signal, two hoses were lowered down into the mouths of both challengers by a set of tentacles. His eyes darting hungrily up the length of the hose, Morgana noticed two enormous tanks filled with sweet bubbly soda suspended in the air by Necronomicon, each tank easily the size of Futaba’s own street-filling gut! Mona was jostled again as his room-filling, waterbed belly vibrates with bouncing ripples as it *RUUUMBLED* in anticipation of the refreshment it now desperately craved.

Futaba planted her hands onto her hips, both easily sinking up to the wrist in the pale assflab that currently entirely blocked the street behind her and assumed her ‘power stance’ in preparation for the huge influx of weight to come streaming down into her own groaning gut. The gamer heaved up one pale, marshmallow tree-trunk thigh, it’s flab swinging, before planting it heavily on the ground like a sumo wrestler. The force of the impact propagated out from Futaba’s thigh— heaving flab slapping against her even softer underbelly—and sent rippling waves across the enormous gut that still consumed Mona’s vision of his rival. Futaba then followed suit with the other leg, providing her marshmallowy boulder of a gut enough room to pooch out some, her navel nearly kissing Mona’s own larger belly. Finally, the NEET clapped her hands on either side of the street filling mass and *pushed* with her thinner (relatively) arms. Fingers, wrists and eventually elbows all disappeared into the ‘leveled up’ mass of Oracle’s stomach, displacing fat elsewhere and pushing the pale marshmallowy pudge around her notorious navel like an avalanche of soft gamer girl fat into Mona’s inky black belly, sending bouncing waves back and forth over it’s soft expanse. As Mona sat determined and hungry, rocking and bobbing across the rippling fatty expanse of his waterbed belly, the collision seemed to have the added effect of rousing his bellypets: a small rounded imprint of Makoto’s head pushing up amidst the sea of catfat and exclaiming a very muffled, “Quit while you’re ahead Futaba!” soon being joined by another round lump close beside which may have been Sumire as she cheered, “You can do it Futaba!” before Morgana placed a paw on both bulges, gently pushing them back down beneath the sloshing waves of his belly, smugly as if to say “Don’t worry, she’ll be in here soon enough.”

As both of their jiggling guts came to a halt, there was a silent moment underlined only the the expectant growling of both challengers’ bellies until—SNAP! Futaba signaled again and syrupy cola surged down the hoses.

A liquid that wasn’t broth swelling out his cheeks to the size of jiggling medicine balls allowed Mona to realize just how thirsty he had been—so much food and so much fat girl curves really can make you parched—he needed all of this in his ocean of a belly as soon as possible! The catboy began taking deep, heavy *GALUMPHING* swallows, passing the rounded bulge of fizz from his swollen cheeks down his throat and into his room-filling waterbed of a gut, which wobbled and surged outwards and upwards with a rolling *GLUNK-SLOSH* after each greedy gulp, Mona’s vision inching rhythmically higher and higher and higher as his belly expanded out against Futaba’s own, comically large bulges of soda propelling quickly down the hose and into Morgana’s belly—*GALUMPH* *GLUNK-SLOSH*, *GALUMPH* *GLUNK-SLOSH*, *GALUMPH* *GLUNK-SLOSH*—until his view of her navel was completely smothered under his own jiggling black mass.

It wasn’t long until the catboy’s greedy gulps drew in only air, his waterbed stomach somehow even bigger and rounder from all the fizzy soda, having pushed him up, up, and up, like a tide of malleable, gurgling dough. Morgana ran a paw along the curved dome as it groaned airily, his gut rattling against layers of catfat as he peered over his churning gut at Futaba, he was still so thirsty, and now he was hungry again!

All her training had lead up to this, those hours chugging down entire two liters alone in her room at night had to mean something right? The NEET’s throat was open as wide as possible simply allowing the tanker’s worth of soda to rush uninhibited down her throat and into her gradually expanding stomach. Futaba mused to herself as she rubbed circles along her gut to relieve some strain, Mona might’ve gulped down her friends, but compared to her who lived to snack, he was still a total n00b! Besides, with a belly big enough to fill an entire ramen restaurant with pudge, there’s no way he could have room for anything else anyway! She could picture it now: sitting in her room sandwiched comfortably between her double-wide beanbag of an ass while her pale, marshmallowy flab completely overtook the rest of the room, nearly touching the ceiling, rippling and bulging soothingly in front of her, with Mona crammed in her sweaty navel, like an internal massage toy. Business as usual, really, give or take a few pounds, but knowing that she conquered the friend consuming blob would be a great achievement to cross off her list, and who knows maybe once she got them out Makoto, Haru, and Sumire would even—*GALUMPH*

Huh? Futaba was being yanked rhythmically down, feeling pressure building in a ring around her midsection—probably just gas—but no way was gas going to stop her from getting this victory royale! Faster and deeper she sucked bulges of soda down the tube, but still —*GALUMPH*—she felt the pressure growing and growing, moving up her tower of tummy foot by foot—*GALUMPH*, *GALUMPH*, *GALUMPH*. The enormous NEET still refused to give, a burp would totally disrupt her tempo now, and she was so close to the finish line *andohnothatwasdefinitlyatonguelappinguphernavel*. From the outside it was clear what was happening: Morgana was claiming his next bellypet. Each gulp made Mona’s entire shake and quiver, bobbing up and down like gelatin as he greedily attempted to force a girl almost half his size down his gullet. With another impossibly heavy wet *GALUMPH* Morgana’s lips crested Futaba’s head, sending her to join the rest of his bellypets struggling in the black jiggling *ocean* of cat blubber that was his belly. Morgana pushed and pushed his paws *deep* into his fat, his arms completely engulfed by his own belly as he attempted to aid Futaba’s descent into his cramped guts, while his mouth got hold of Futaba’s hose, gulping again with all his might —*GALUMPH*. Mona had intended merely to drain the tank of the rest of its soda to sate his thirst, but the force of his swallow was so great that Necronomicon’s tentacle became lodged in his throat—figuring the persona was part of Futaba and was therefore his bellypet as well, Morgana sucked the spacecraft down from tentacle to chassis like a noodle, sending it to join its master with another greedy *GALUMPH.*

Finally, Mona’s thirst had been sated with as much as he could drink and another in pet right where she belonged in his belly. The fat cat delivered a gentle *pat pat* to the nearest bulge he could see, forcing it back down into his cauldron of a gut, not even caring if it was Futaba or not.

“For aaauuuUUHRRPll—that ‘level grinding’ OUUUURP—racle, I wuuOOOOHHHURP—would’ve hoped—BLUUUHRRP—that you would’ve put up moOOOOUUURRROOORRP—of a—HIC—fight!” Morgana did the best he could to deliver his taunts to his newest challenger-turned-bellypet through the burps the soda had kicked up, who would’ve thought almost an entire water tower’s worth of soda and four enormously fat girls would’ve made him so gassy? Would Futaba even be able to hear him through all the layers of his fat or above the belches so loud they made its entire surface vibrate and jiggle and blew out the windows that remained in the ramen shop?

Whatever the case, for all of that hemming, hawing, and spectacle just to wind up right in his big fat belly with the rest of the girls, barely able to make as much as a small imprint! Mona grinned smugly as he continued to push down the increasingly faint bulges he could reach bobbing and bouncing among the black ocean of his fat as his bellypets struggled to make room for their new occupant—who could blame her, he thought, it was becoming clear none could hold a candle to the cat burglar’s belly!

Right, his belly. In the ensuing struggle to gulp down Necronomicon, Mona had been pulled upright, giving him the opportunity to admire his immensity from a different perspective. The fat catboy could see for all his gluttony he had earned a new meaning for the nickname ‘Monabus’: his gut had ballooned to three times it’s already inconceivable size, easily big enough to tower over a double-decker bus, and nearly able to fill not just a room but all of Leblanc’s first and second floors, floor to ceiling, corner to corner. Interesting at this angle Mona could see the shape of his belly had changed somewhat as well—the upper bulging roll of his gut seemed more rounded while the lower roll was much more pliable and soft, articles of debris sinking so deeply into the hungry, gurgling fat that it was as though they vanished. Forget Futaba’s ‘cute’ spare tire navel, Mona’s was big and deep enough to hold an entire *car* now!

Morgana swayed and wobbled atop his double decker bus sized stomach for a while before—* GRRRRUUUNNNNNMMMMBLEEERLRLR*. The cat’s eyes went wide as he was met with another deafening, belly-vibrating rumble emanating upwards from deep within his guts, a pocket of pressure fighting to rise beneath his mound of rippling flab. It took a few seconds just due to his sheer size but Mona could feel it building, pushing, and rising. Finally a visible bubble of air surged up Morgana’s throat and bulged out his cheeks each to the size Sumire had been after their challenge (Morgana wondered if one

had even been been Sumire herself), only for the cat to unceremoniously gulp, sending it plummeting back down to the depths of his guts with a strained *HRRRUUUULK*, the huge round bulge sliding back down his throat before visibly bloating out his upper belly roll.

Morgana couldn’t help but exude a smug sense of pride, “LoOOOOOOUUUURRRks like I was the—HIC—protagoOOOOOUUAAAARRRnist after aaaUUUUUHHHllp, huh OOOOUUURacle? Even thAAAAAAUUURP little escAAAEEEEUUURRP attempt wasn’t enOOOOUUGGGh to beat my belly!” Mona patted his belly as he stared down at it, expecting a reply. Despite these, all his two-story gut did as it bubbled with activity was deflate slightly with each grossly, lip-flapping brassy belch he expelled, with no sign of any trash talk from his ‘rival.’

“The silent treEEEAAAAAUUURRPtment huh? I—HIC—I guOOOUUUURRRPess I’ll just enjOOOOOUURRRPH my size myseEEEAAARRRRllf” Morgana swayed again as his fat cat gut seemed to vibrate again in reply, bubbles still rapping against every inch of his guts from the inside, creating bouncing, bobbing ripples as if on the surface of a chummy lake of pure inky black fat. Before Mona was big, but now he was truly *huge*:

multiple banquet tables worth of sushi, the entire challenge’s worth of Big Bang Burgers,

an entire restaurant’s worth of ramen, and a water towers worth of soda all filling out his guts. Mona thought about how all of that delicious food from all around Shibuya was right *here* gurgling away in *his* belly—melting away into more street-packing, room-filling, and soon-to-be *building-filling* lard.

Mona’s greatest treasure, though, was his growing collection of bellypets: girls who themselves had appetites which rivaled his own, whose bellies he had occasionally filled, and whose curves which themselves could flood a room with fat. Despite that though Morgana’s gluttony was so great that he had outeaten and eaten them all, greedily and happily gulped them all down and now they were *his.*

*His.* Morgana liked the sound of that—his—the fat cat closed his eyes and leaned back, licking his lips and rubbing his belly in the hopes his pets could feel it. *His* trophies to prove he was bigger, more gluttonous than them all combined, reduced from predators to prizes for him to slosh his enormous gut to display: moaning and groaning faces, huge beach hall sized breasts, jiggling, door-blocking boulder asses, and guts all filling *his* belly, even if they were nothing more that small lumps fighting to be seen or escape the *yards* of pure catfat now. Small lumps which he could nonchalantly suck back or push in just to remind them that they were where they *belonged* for a week. Yards of catfat which only seemed to grow and expand by the minute as he used his unique cognitive physiology to ‘steal’ their fat for himself without digesting or harming them, just to keep himself full and satisfied—a *hungry* ball of black dough that never stopped rising.

Morgana let loose another rattling, triumphant belch, “AAAAAAUUUURRRPnd what aboOOOUUUUUUUURRt you—HIC—Queen? The stroOOOOUUUURRRPPHngest out of eveEEEUUUUURRRRPHryone but I—HIC—gulped you doOOOUULCCCHHHOOUUwn *first*! And Noir—HIC—practically leEAAAAAAUUUUapt into my belly—BWWWUUUAAARRGH—to join you HIC!” Morgana pushed a paw as deep as he could into his belly as if to prompt a reply from his pets—his entire arm sinking so deep that he almost worried if it would swallow *him* up too. Yet when he pulled his paw free from the prison of his flab, only wet *GRRRNBBLING* gurgles and the clapping of rippling fat answered him as his gut bounced back up into place.

“The only one—HIC—of you whoOOOOUUUURRRAARP even gave me a—HIC—*real* challenge was VioOOOOUUUUURRRPlet, but I don’t think with a gut like this—“ Morgana wrapped his arms around as much of his quaking fat as he could, paws sinking in deep and flab spilling over the sides as if he was trying to knead an enormous mass of black dough, jiggling and sloshing as ripples collided into each other “—that anyboOOOUUUUURRRRdy’ll get a—HIC—shot like thaAAAUUUEEERRUURPt ever again! Yep, get—HIC—used to it in there girls, if yoOOOUUUUUUurp want a rematch after—HIC—you’re all oOOOUUUUUUUUUuut, you’ll just be headed right back into my big hungry belly!” Morgana released his hold on his flab, his rolls now falling and colliding with the rest of his gut with a dull *CLAP* that reverberated throughout his fat. There was a wet *SLOOUUURSH* as the momentum rippled his belly outwards, a huge wave of fat rolling from the top of his gut to the soft bottom where it bounced forward with a gastric lurch, smothering an abandoned snack cart and receding as though it had swallowed it. The cat burglar was certain *this* would get the response he’d desired from his bellypets.

There was a faint bubbling in his gut, undoubtedly the struggles from his pets, Mona thought as he watched a series of small, almost imperceptible bulges appear at the bottom of his soft, lower belly, their weak impact wiggling it some—but Mona was taken aback as they shot up into his round upper roll with an airy groan, inflating it just as it had been before—these were not bumps from his struggling pets. Finally the bulges combined into a single orb, which pushed out Morgana’s throat before puffing out his cheeks once again, this time to the comically large proportions of Futaba’s gut. Mona worked to swallow it back down just as he had done before, but the bulge moved too quickly, prying Morgana’s lips open and forcing out a wet, airy belch that rattled his entire body and reverberated across the Scramble Crossing,

“mmbuhHWOOOORRRRUUURREEROOOOOUUURRRRP”

As the burp finally petered out, a wet glob of ‘something’ splatted onto Mona’s belly. The fat cat stared down at what had just escaped his guts: Makoto’s headband, one of Haru’s shoes, Sumire’s bow, and Futaba’s glasses.

This wasn’t good, Morgana could easily control his digestion somewhat, but what if something had happened? Had he really gotten fat enough that he couldn’t see them anymore, or even feel their struggles? What if the girls’ cries for help were entirely drowned out by the avalanche of food and jiggling, sloshing flab—the sheer amount of *him*? Wha if it got too cramped or there wasn’t enough air? Mona had been digging his hands into his gut every few seconds to confirm that they were in fact, still there, and had not just become more catfat by mistake—but with the sheer immensity of his belly it was like finding a needle in a dough stack. Mona reached as far as he could towards the front of his belly and plunged his arm as deep as it would go into the churning black ocean of flab. Finally—relief—Mona’s paw just barely brushed a solid object beneath his layers of fat, one that he recognized well as Futaba’s head. Morgana was a glutton, not a monster, but he still had to act fast to make sure his pets would be safe for their week-long stay. Drumming his fingers along his belly as he continued to belch and hiccup idly, an idea finally entered the fat cats mind! Unfortunately for Morgana’s bellypets, while he was certainly a glutton and certainly not a monster, he wasn’t exactly bright either.

The humid chamber within Morgana’s double decker bus sized gut was undoubtedly cramped, if not from the amount of food and drink Mona had consumed over the challenges then the sheer volume of wobbling girl fat from each of his bellypets helplessly jostling, bouncing, and smacking into each other. It was already uncomfortable enough for the girls *before* Mona gulped down the bloated NEET: tummies pushed past their limits sweaty, and slick with catboy saliva constantly colliding and slapping into each other with every move, hiccup, or burp from their captor. Haru’s navel nearly slurping up Makoto by accident after she tumbled over her friend during a particularly hungry rumble. A torrent of soda pushing Makoto’s ponderous asscheeks onto Sumire’s face, clapping around the poor gymnast’s head and almost entirely smothering her beneath a couch-filling amount of cellulite. Vibrations from Mona’s belly walls after a belch pushing Sumire’s round, soft refrigerator sized gut into Makoto and Haru, knocking them over like bowling pins and smothering them while the gymnast tried to find her footing in the jostling, gastric sack.

Makoto was had almost completely lost her patience with all this—she figured her discipline would’ve given her the edge so she could have just swallowed Mona and gotten on with her week, but somehow the pudgy cat’s voracity had overtaken her and started him on a gluttonous warpath that was quickly gobbling up all her friends. Instead of returning right back to work with a fuller belly, Mona’s belly has co-signed her to a week of being paraded around displayed and rubbed—she’ll have so much work to do when she gets out of here! Haru, perceptive as always figured that something like this might happen, and knew that as soon as she saw the imprint of Makoto’s grimacing face above her stuffed tummy and door-wrecking hips in Mona’s black fatty ball of a belly that she would lose it in there on her own, and merely accepted her week as a bellypet with grace for the sake of her friend. For her part, Sumire was frustrated too, but for a different reason: she was disappointed that she gave up midway through her challenge with Mona. Even if she needed the break, and even if she was bound to lose regardless, the gymnast couldn’t help but feel like she could’ve tried harder.

Just then, the stomach opened above the girls, only for what looked like an enormous, wet marshmallow to have gotten lodged in the opening. There were a series of deep, heavy jostles, sloshing the stomach around as though the girls were being tossed around on a water bed, what seemed to be gulps ringing out around them muffled by Mona’s fat. The soft orb jiggled and shook as the gulps pushed it through the opening, inch by inch, before it finally fell on top of them with a heavy *SLOUUURRRSH* and a wet *SLAP*, revealing itself to be Futaba’s soda-and Necronomicon bloated-belly. The round orb of fat and junk food took up nearly all the girls’ space, and they were forced up onto its saliva soaked surface, staring at Futaba across the pale, squishy expanse. A deep rumble rocked them all atop Futaba’s gut. “Eheheh… sooOOOOOUUUUUURRRY guys.” The NEET squeaked out as she burped directly into the faces of her fellow bellypets, pelting them with

spittle.

So there the girls sat, barraged alternatively by the huge, muffled belches that shook the confines of Morgana’s stomach as he continued to gloat at them all—his playful jabs inaudible through the combined noise of his digestive processes, his yards of flab, and Futaba’s own gas as it was rocked by Mona’s prods and movements from outside, all of them still completely pinned against the gamer girl’s flabby dome. Having been in Mona’s gut the longest Makoto been keenly aware of the fact that as time passed, sounds from outside grew fainter and fainter until they were just barely audibly above the cacophony of digestive gurgles and belches. It was going to be a long week.

Just then, all the girls felt something shift as they were sent tumbling around Morgana’s stomach, Futaba belching even more rapidly as her still sensitive stomach was agitated so roughly. Finally the movement stopped and the walls closed in quickly around them—Makoto knew what was coming and braced herself—her headband rocketing off of her head alongside accessories from the rest of the girls and flying up and out of the esophagus above them. There was silence for a moment, and then what felt like an earthquake as the walls reexpanded, each of the girls’ own stomachs wobbling from the sheer force of Mona’s immense burp.

After what had felt like ten minutes, there was finally (relative) silence again, all the girls staring at each other. “Is it really going to be like that for the whole week?” Sumire questioned innocently. “We should count ourselves lucky that that’s as bad as it gets,” Makoto sighed. “Sorry again everybOOOOUUURRRdy, I totally misjuUUUUUURRR—misjudged Mona, he’s in Ultra-SuUUUOOOORRRPer-Secret Boss tier!”

The conversation was broken up by a rhythmic thumping, muffled under the waves of Mona’s jiggling fat. Haru interjected, “Hold on a moment everyone, do you hear that? I think that might be a signal that Mona is trying to tell us something important this time!”

The girls pressed their ears against the slimy stomach walls and listened as best they could to Mona’s voice as it vibrated across his fat gut, “Don’t woOOOUUUURRrry guys, I’m going to—HIC—just maAAAAAEEEUUUke some rooOOOOOUUUuum and keep yOUUUUUUURRRP safe by shoving you aAAAAUUUUHHHLpll deeper doOOOOOUUUUUUwn. Hold on tight!”

The girls sat confused for a moment before Makoto huffed, “I know Mona won’t digest us, but I guess I’m the only one who remembered to study Mementos biology here—if we get sent into his intestines, we’re going to be there for *much longer* than a week! It might even be a whole month before we’re out again!” The girls looked at each other in a panic: they had to find a way out. Round Intermission.

"Mwehe... Nyehehehe... NYAAAHAHAHA-!!"

Oh, Futaba... you've done more damage than you could imagine. You've inflated his ego, AND his belly.

Morgana had reached such a terrifying level of fullness, glunking and wiggling all over with even the slightest movement, that all he could do was laugh! He... might be slightly drunk on the feeling of power, and drink. Belches poured from his mouth nonstop to celebrate like invisible fireworks, as that fattest cat in the world gloated over his victory~!

But now that he held four well earned bellypets within his luxuriously squishy walls... he had to be responsible. A good honest, even... the BEST host! One that they'll always remember.

So his possessive little mind started to hatch an idea...

"MweheheeEEEEEEERRRRLLLP~! Hey... is it tight in there?"

Mona suddenly piped up cheerily. He had to yell talk to make himself heard over the ocean of soda his tummy had taken into itself, dotted with countless stores of assorted foods. Oh, this couldn't be good...

"Wellllll... sorry, but it might get even tighter soon~."

Whether his pets heard his warning or not, he didn't know. Nor did he really care, there wasn't much they could do to stop what was coming! Mona's cute hands wandered over the squishy landscape of furred fat in front of him, searching the best place to push down - imagining muscles he'd never used before to try and help him "secure" all four of his friends.

Thanks to their chunky sizes, all of the girls were somewhat near the bottom of Mona's ravenous belly... exactly where they needed to be. Oh gosh, this was going to be a REAL stretch for him in unexpected places-

"Leeeeet's see... it should be Makoto right at the bottom." Mona mused to himself. So she'd be the first to be swept away~. "Hehe, she's the smallest right now, so she should be easy! Here we... go..!"

Morgana took a break from belching out into the city streets to scrunch up his face, forcing any brewing belches to stay down... and his lower muscles to start flexing! At the very pit of his greedy gut, a kind of suction began to form and... latch onto Makoto-!

GLRRRRP~!

"Gwuuuh-hrrrn!"

Wow, that worked better than expected! Mona's eyes shot wide as a big shape lodged itself somewhere it normally shouldn't... a very bottom-heavy shape. Yep, that was Makoto alright! Heart pounding, Mona clenched again with a greedy huff, and dragged the girl into the depths past her enormous hips!

Oh god, it was even more sensitive than he imagined... but with Makoto's fat ass swallowed, the rest of her upper body followed suite, and the ultra-tight entrance sealed behind her! Sending her snaking into her much less spacious, more lengthy home...

Right into Mona's lower guts~.

"Nnngh, w-woah... that was the smallest? This is gonna take some effort..." Morgana fidgeted atop his self-made flab throne at his actions. He could still feel Makoto moving down there, in places no living thing should go... and it only fueled his drive to keep them all more~.

One down... three to go~!

#anonymous #muse: morgana #kink tag: vore #kink tag: entrapment #amazing stuff as always~

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my3dartblog · 9 months

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Details:Introducing SX Madeline for G8! Whether you need a bold main character or a reserved best friend in your scenes, enjoy this versatile young model character today. What's Included and Features SX Madeline for Genesis 8: (.DUF) SX Madeline PresetSX Madeline Full Apply/RemoveSX Madeline Head Apply/RemoveSX Madeline Body Apply/RemoveSX Madeline Navel Apply/RemoveSX Madeline Nipples Apply/RemoveMaterials Include: SX Base MaterialSX EyelashesSX Blushes05 Eye Materials07 Lip Materials01 Body/Face Tattoo02 Leg Tattoo01 Eyelash OptionsSpecial Effects Materials: Black & White Special MaterialBloody Special MaterialTextures Include: 58 Texture, Bump, Displacement, Metallic, Normal, Roughness, Specular, Sub-Surface Scattering, and Transparency maps from (1024 x1024 to 4096 x 4096).Daz Studio Iray Material Presets (.DUF) NotesThis product includes Bonuses Coming soon: https://3d-stuff.net/ #daz3d #dazstudio #3drender #3dart #daz3dstudio #irayrender #3dartwork #blender #blenderrender #blenderart #noaiart #noaiwriting #noai https://3d-stuff.net/

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thipmedia · 9 months

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A Comprehensive Guide to Navel Displacement Medicine

Navel displacement, a condition where the navel or belly button shifts from its normal position, can be a source of discomfort and concern for many individuals. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the causes, symptoms, and available treatments for navel displacement. By delving into the world of navel displacement medicine, we aim to provide valuable insights and information to those seeking a deeper understanding of this condition.

What is Navel Displacement?

Navel displacement, also known as umbilical displacement or belly button displacement, occurs when the navel shifts from its central position. This displacement can be caused by a variety of factors, including pregnancy, obesity, abdominal surgery, or trauma to the abdominal area.

Symptoms and Diagnosis

Individuals experiencing navel displacement may notice symptoms such as pain, discomfort, or a visible change in the appearance of their belly button. In some cases, a protrusion or bulge may be observed. Proper diagnosis of navel displacement involves a physical examination by a healthcare professional, who may also use imaging studies such as ultrasound to assess the extent of the displacement.

Navel Displacement Medicine: Treatment Options

Non-Surgical Approaches

Lifestyle modifications: Adopting a healthy lifestyle that includes regular exercise and maintaining a healthy weight can alleviate symptoms associated with navel displacement.

Physical therapy: Targeted exercises prescribed by a healthcare professional can help strengthen the abdominal muscles and support the navel, reducing the likelihood of displacement.

Medical Interventions

Pain management: Over-the-counter pain relievers may be recommended to manage discomfort associated with navel displacement.

Supportive devices: In some cases, the use of supportive devices, such as abdominal binders, may be suggested to provide additional support to the abdominal area.

Surgical Options

Hernia repair: If navel displacement is associated with a hernia, surgical intervention may be necessary to correct the underlying issue and reposition the navel.

Laparoscopic procedures: Minimally invasive techniques may be employed to surgically address navel displacement, minimizing recovery time and scarring.

Prevention Strategies

While not all instances of navel displacement can be prevented, adopting certain measures can reduce the risk of developing this condition. These measures include maintaining a healthy weight, practicing proper lifting techniques, and addressing any underlying medical conditions that may contribute to abdominal strain.

Conclusion: In conclusion, understanding navel displacement and the role of navel displacement medicine is crucial for individuals affected by this condition. By recognizing the symptoms, exploring treatment options, and adopting preventive measures, individuals can take proactive steps towards managing and alleviating the discomfort associated with navel displacement. Remember, consulting with a healthcare professional is essential for personalized guidance and a tailored treatment plan.

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gastrosurgeons-blog · 1 year

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Hernia Surgery Benefits, Risks, and What to Expect

What Is Hernia Surgery?

Hernia surgery, also known as herniorrhaphy, is a medical procedure performed to repair a hernia, a condition where an organ or fatty tissue protrudes through a weak spot in the surrounding muscle or connective tissue. Hernias can occur in various areas of the body, but they are most commonly found in the abdominal region, groin, and upper thigh. The surgery involves returning the displaced tissue to its proper position and reinforcing the weakened area with sutures or a mesh patch to prevent recurrence. There are different types of hernia surgeries, including open surgery, where an incision is made directly over the hernia, and laparoscopic surgery, which involves smaller incisions and the use of a camera and specialized instruments for repair. The choice of surgical approach depends on the type and location of the hernia, as well as the patient's overall health and surgeon's recommendation. Hernia surgery is typically safe and effective, providing relief from the discomfort and potential complications associated with untreated hernias. Patients often experience a significant improvement in their quality of life after undergoing this procedure.

Hernia Surgery Benefits and Risks

Hernia surgery, also known as herniorrhaphy or hernioplasty, offers both significant benefits and potential risks to patients. The primary advantage of undergoing hernia surgery is the resolution of the hernia itself. Hernias occur when an organ or tissue pushes through a weakened spot in the surrounding muscle or connective tissue, causing pain and discomfort. Surgery aims to repair this structural defect, relieving pain and preventing complications such as strangulation, a life-threatening condition that occurs when blood supply to the herniated organ is compromised. On the flip side, like any surgical procedure, hernia surgery is not without its risks. Common risks include infection, bleeding, and post-operative pain. It's essential for patients to consult with their healthcare providers to weigh the potential benefits against the associated risks and make an informed decision about whether hernia surgery is the right course of action for their specific case.

Conditions We Treat with Hernia Surgery

Hernia surgery is a medical procedure employed to address a variety of conditions related to hernias, which occur when an organ or fatty tissue protrudes through a weak spot or tear in the surrounding muscle or connective tissue. This surgical intervention is primarily used to treat inguinal hernias, which are the most common type, affecting the groin area. Inguinal hernias often require surgical repair to alleviate pain and discomfort. Additionally, umbilical hernias, which occur around the navel, and incisional hernias, arising from a prior surgical incision, are also treated with hernia surgery. Ventral hernias, located in the abdominal wall, and femoral hernias, typically occurring lower down in the groin region, can also be addressed through this procedure. The aim of hernia surgery is to reinforce the weakened area and reduce the risk of hernia recurrence, ultimately improving the patient's quality of life and alleviating associated symptoms.

During hernia surgery

To start the surgery, you'll receive some form of sedation, so you don't feel any pain during your hernia surgery.

To repair your hernia, your surgeon will:

Push the bulging tissue or organ back where it belongs.

Repair the weak spot or opening in your muscle.

Use surgical mesh to strengthen and cover the hernia defect in some cases.

There are two methods for hernia repair: open and minimally invasive (laparoscopic or robotic) hernia surgery.

Which one is best for you will depend on your hernia's type and size and risk factors from other health issues.

With both options, there's a chance the hernia can come back.

Open hernia surgery

Larger hernias often require open surgery.

Your surgeon makes one long cut in your groin or abdomen to see and repair your hernia.

You'll know ahead of time if a surgical mesh is needed. The mesh keeps a hernia from forming again in the same spot.

Minimally invasive hernia surgery

Your surgeon will make several small cuts in your abdomen and insert:

A tiny camera inside a hollow tube through one cut to see your hernia.

Special tools through other tubes and cuts to repair your hernia.

Hernia surgery recovery

Each person is unique.

How long it takes you to recover after hernia surgery will vary based on factors such as:

The size of your hernia.

The type of hernia surgery you had. Most people recover faster after minimally invasive surgery than they do after open hernia surgery.

Your age and overall health.

Your surgeon will give you specific post-op instructions and advise you when you can resume strenuous exercise or activity.

You will likely be able to resume light activity in the days after the operation.

Your surgeon will also tell you when they want to see you again to make sure you're healing properly. Be sure to make a follow-up appointment within that time frame.

Meet Dr. Kapileshwer Vijay For Hernia Surgery in Jaipur

If you're in need of expert hernia surgery in Jaipur, look no further than Dr. Kapileshwer Vijay. With a wealth of experience and a reputation for excellence in the field of hernia treatment, Dr. Kapileshwer Vijay is the dedicated and skilled gastro surgeon in jaipur you can trust. His commitment to providing top-notch medical care, along with his compassionate approach to patient care, sets him apart as a leading specialist in the region. Whether you're seeking treatment for inguinal, umbilical, or any other type of hernia, Dr. Kapileshwer Vijay is here to provide you with the highest standard of care, ensuring your comfort and a swift road to recovery. Don't compromise on your health; choose the expertise of Dr. Kapileshwer Vijay for your hernia surgery needs in Jaipur.

#hernia surgery in jaipur

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