#Stone Carving Chisels

[tabvlarasa1]

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Stone Carving Tools - Tabvlarasa.com

Tabvlarasa.com - There are several different kinds of stone carving tools that may be utilised. The most typical are hammers and chisels, although other options include pneumatic, electric, and hydraulic tools. There are benefits and drawbacks to each kind of instrument.

[ghostbeam]

Gonna write bkg next for my art school au

[ambrozians]

jade’s name is foreshadowing on its own. she’s named after a stone and she gets treated as such. she’s carved, sculpted, chiseled, and honed until she is the sharpest weapon. there’s no emotions, no sentiment, because stones cannot feel. they exist to be molded and used by someone else.

[fmstonecarving]

New to Tumblr, going to start dumping some of the stone carving that I've done here.

This big slate carving is based on a design from the Book of Kells, all hand carved with hammer and chisels.

[lcvemiyuki]

"in proximity" | hq, ushijima

content: ushijima asking for help on English is one thing--him sitting just inches away from you is another

tags+warnings: fluff, ushijimaxfem!reader, thirdyear!ushijima, tendou+semi appearance, not proofread

character(s): ushijima

word count: 1.6k

a/n: im sorry in advance this was written on the bus LMAO

Brown shoes pattered as the students of Shiratorizawa started to cluster in the slightly filled classroom. It was lunch break, and you decided to stay in with your feet bouncing slightly and earbuds in, the music blasting so loud it could be heard from the external world. It was so loud you didn’t pick up on the dress shoes cladding on the wooden floor. You were so focused on reading up the next lesson for English that you didn’t feel a tall, looming presence in front of the desk.

“[Y/N].”

A few more seconds passed until an unknown hand plucked your right bud out of your ear.

The muted classroom suddenly filled your hearing, and the chatter of classmates could be heard crystal clear. Your eyebrows furrowed at the action, and you trailed your eyes to follow up the cladded arm until you reached a calm, yet slightly tilted head.

Wakatoshi Ushijima.

Your mouth clamped shut with only a slight hum in response to the stunned and sudden intrusion of the ace on your academy’s precious volleyball team.

Your puzzled expression had you blinking your eyes more than usual, causing him to only slightly clear his throat.

“I know you may not know me, but you’re [Y/N], right?” His expression remained unchanged as if carved from stone. It almost felt like you were in deep trouble with how a million eyes darted right at the two of you.

After quickly glancing around the now hushed classroom, you peered back up at him and nodded, “Of course, I know who you are, Ushijima-san.”

The pressure of possibly being the next target of rumors in the upcoming week terrified you. It was astonishing at the rate and creativity these students could create over the slightest piece of information.

He only nodded in return and began to rummage through the black book bag slung across his body. It took him a moment to finally find what he was looking for, and he stretched out his unwavering hand to reveal another English textbook.

“I was hoping you could tutor me for the upcoming finals.”

“Huh?” You quickly zipped your lips shut as the thoughts in your head blurted out.

Okay, that really stumped you; your eyes scanned the area for some sort of snicker or nudge of the arms as a sign of a prank.

But that wasn’t part of his nature, was it—no, he meant business with how his sandy-brown eyes never left yours.

It wasn’t like he was trying to hide it either. His voice was crystal clear and projected enough for everyone to chime in. You would expect that from the volleyball captain, yet he still needed your help with English.

“What do you need help with?” you continued.

There was a short pause as he suddenly moved away from your gaze, his hand reaching out for a vacant chair and pulling it up next to you. The slightly grating sound of the chair legs scraping against the wooden floor paused any remaining conversation in the classroom, drawing all eyes to the two of you.

His sudden presence filled your senses in seconds as his side profile came into view. The scent of fresh laundry lingered in the air as he was near. You could see the fine details of his chiseled jawline, and the determined set of his brow. Up close, it was no surprise he looked even more handsome.

Suddenly, your palms felt a little sweaty, and the room got a little warmer.

His intense focus and proximity made it hard to breathe steadily. His huge frame caused him to lean back on the small wooden chair, making it creak slightly under his weight. Meanwhile, your frame remained sort of uptight, your back straight as a rod, in fear you might accidentally touch him.

The sheer size of him was overwhelming; his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than the chair allowed, and his legs spread slightly to accommodate his height. His arm brushed lightly against yours as he reached forward, causing a spark of electricity to shoot up your spine.

He placed the blue textbook next to yours, his large, calloused hands moving with surprising gentleness. Flipping to a certain page, he revealed a passage that had been neatly bookmarked, as if he already knew exactly what he needed help with. The text was underlined and annotated in pencil, showing his efforts to understand it on his own.

His voice, low and steady, broke the silence. "I figured you would be the best to tutor me."

He glanced over at your in-progress notes, his gaze unwavering and thoughtful. The closeness of his presence made the air around you feel charged, every small movement amplified your heightened awareness.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I... I’d be happy to help, Ushijima-san."

He nodded appreciatively, his stoic expression softening ever so slightly. “Thank you. I won’t take much of your time. It’s quite difficult to find time after school to study.”

As you started to explain the notes you had been working on, you couldn't help but feel the weight of his gaze on you. It was intense like he was studying every word you said, every movement you made.

The sliding door abruptly slammed open, the force of it causing a few heads to turn in surprise. An overly excited redhead waltzes into the room, a completely annoyed companion trailing behind him.

“I thought I saw ya in the window while walking past, Ushi!” Tendou explained, his mouth wide open with a pearly-white smile, eyes gleaming with mischief. His voice echoed through the now silent classroom, making sure everyone knew of his arrival.

Ushijima barely reacted, his focus still on the textbook in front of him, but a faint sigh escaped his lips. You, on the other hand, jumped slightly in your seat, your eyes widening at the sudden intrusion.

Tendou stopped just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual, almost theatrical air. Semi stood beside him, his expression shifting into one of mild entertainment at the sight. “And look who you’re with! [Y/N], right?” Tendou’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he peered over in your direction, taking in the view of the English textbooks and your notes spread across the desk.

You nodded, trying to compose yourself. “Yes, that’s right.”

Tendou grinned wider, not moving from his spot. “Tutoring, huh? Just like we sai—uh, thought so!” He straightened up slightly, trying to awkwardly save himself from the slip-up. His eyes darted everywhere as he looked around, trying to gauge the room’s reaction.

The ash-blonde friend next to him raised an eyebrow in amusement, then let out a small scoff, clearly entertained by Tendou's ridiculous attempt to cover up his mistake.

Ushijima glanced at his teammates, his expression unchanging as he blinked up at the two.

“Yes, that’s right.” he parrots you as he responds to Tendou.

Tendou chuckled, his voice carrying easily across the classroom. “Well, we wouldn’t want our star player struggling with finals, would we?” He shot you a teasing grin before wiggling his eyebrows.

Tendou clapped his hands together, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet room. “Alright! Let’s go and nourish our starving bellies, Semi-pooh,” he cooed, waving a hand towards the sliding door.

Semi’s eye twitched as he muttered a curse word under his breath. “Don’t call me that,” he grumbled, his annoyance clear, but he still followed Tendou out of the classroom.

As they left, Tendou continued to chatter animatedly, his voice fading as they walked down the hallway. Semi’s occasional responses, a mix of chuckles and sighs, echoed faintly back into the room.

You were left there dumbfounded in your chair as you couldn’t help but glance back at Ushijima. He, on the other hand, resumed his notes like nothing had happened.

‘Huh, that was weird.’

You decided not to think anything of it.

𓇢𓆸 Later that day

“I told you to sit across from her, not next to her!” Tendou’s voice echoed out from the locker room, a blend of exasperation and amusement in his tone.

Ushijima glanced up from his phone, intrigued. Tendou’s rants were a familiar occurrence, but this time, there was a sharpness to his words that captured Ushijima’s attention.

“You were practically crowding her! I could feel the awkward tension all the way from the doorway!” Tendou continued, his arms waving dramatically as he paced back and forth. His eyes were wide with mock horror, clearly relishing the chance to tease his stoic friend.

“I thought it would be more efficient,” Ushijima said, his brow knitting slightly.

Tendou snorted, laughter reverberating in the confined space. “Efficient, huh? Sure, let’s go with that.” He gave Ushijima a knowing look, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “Come on, Ushi, we both know why you really wanted to sit next to her.”

Ushijima’s expression remained impassive. “I respect her intelligence.”

Tendou’s grin broadened, his enjoyment evident. “Mhm? And you wanted to be close to her too~”

Ushijima’s gaze dropped back to his phone, his fingers idly tapping the screen as he sat on the dark wooden bench, his posture relaxed.

“That’s why I suggested you ask her for help,” Tendou said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned against the lockers. “You needed an excuse to spend time with her.”

The room was filled with the familiar silence Tendou was accustomed to.

He clapped Ushijima on the shoulder, his cue that he was taking off. “You’ll get the hang of it. Just remember to give the lady a little space next time.”

Ushijima remained seated on the bench, fingers navigating to his contact list. At least he got one thing right: asking for your number.

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[okomy]

Hammer and Stone

Hello Today I am thinking about sculpture. At one time I was an active carver. If this is your first visit, welcome to Musings. If you have been here before, welcome back. Over time we are going to talk about many things: the past, the present, perhaps the future, travel, art, society and more. Wherever my musing takes me. I hope you will come along with me. Hammer and Stone Apollo and Daphne…

[mchaib]

Bathroom - Powder Room

[screamersinmycloset]

✦Dr Ratio x Reader✦

Summary: you walk into your loved sculpting a person that looks awfully familiar.

[type]: gn reader

[cw]: fluff fluff fluffᜊ

ೋ❀❀ ೋ❀❀ೋ ೋ ೋ❀❀ೋ ೋ❀❀ೋ

“Is that..me?”

The room is peacefully quiet, the only sound being the small ticking from the sharp chisel against hard shining marble. Veritas doesn’t even glance at you as his eyes were observing every little detail on his carefully crafted design. “Who else would it be?” He says before gently blowing off the dust from the cracked marble.

"It is merely a small hobby of mine," Veritas said, his voice lacking in its former assurance, but nevertheless maintaining its arrogant edge. He continued chiseling at the stone, seemingly preoccupied with his work, his gaze focused away from you. Yet, from the corner of his eye, Ratio noted your admiring glance as you looked upon the sculpture of your own likeness, carved in stone by the hands of his own. Odd. “It..looks exactly like me.”

"It is a laborious process," Veritas admitted under his breath, his attention still focused on the sculpture. "The human form is far more complex than one would initially believe". He took a step back to admire his work, his gaze once again meeting yours. "However, given enough time and a strong desire to create something beautiful, the process is eventually quite rewarding.”

“..something beautiful?”

"Beauty is a concept of the utmost importance. When something is beautiful, it appeals to us, and stirs within us a primal desire to observe, possess and admire it." Veritas shifted his gaze from the statue to you, "Even as we speak, your beauty entrances me." he said, gesturing towards the sculpture.

You would groan under your breath at his words, mumbling to yourself as a shade of pink dusted your cheek “don’t say that so casually…” your eyes trail over the sculpture, every little detail you had was on it. He hadn’t missed anything at all. Though it wasn’t so surprising considering every morning he would trace over your features while waiting for you to wake up.

Looking around the white dusted room you spot two more sculptures of yourself near the window where the sun shined on it. It felt like looking in a mirror. Veritas noticed your fascination with his. sculptures, his gaze following you. “I found myself unable to stop myself from creating more sculpts of you after I created the first. Your beauty has been forever engraved upon my heart." He confessed, staring at the statues with an unreadable expression. His voice betrayed his words, however, as a hint of a blush appeared on his cheek.

“Veritas..”

"What?" Veritas said, his attention snapping back to you, a small blush still present on his face. “Is something wrong? Surely you are not unsettled at my honest admiration for you?" You would chuckle and walk back to him leaning up and gently kissing his cheek “you know… i recently got a haircut. Just so you know for future sculptures~”

His white dusted hands found its way to your cheek as he softly rubbed his thumb against your jaw “I noticed. How could I not my dear?”

ೋ❀❀ೋ ೋ❀❀ೋ

[first hsr fic, I don’t know much about Dr ratio so if I did something wrong or realllly out of character please tell me!!]

[unknownhomosapien]

1 of 7. Dagoth Araynys

Dirt Regent of Mamaea, called "Evermin" and "Keeper of the Photostatic Numen". Appointed entrant of Vivec by the will of the Sharmat. Chief artist of the Sixth House, memory was his chisel. Turning thought to stone, he created the so called ash statues and propagated them throughout Vvardenfell. Immune to the concept of distance and length, he carved as far as Cyrodiil without impediment. From his etchings we learn the mighty lessons of multiplication and patience needed for awakening dreams.

ispired by @ijiwaruuma ash vampires design and this topic in particular

[vestaignis]

Пещера Деветашка считается одной из самых крупных в Болгарии и всей Европе. Она расположена на реке Осым, между селами Деветаки и Дойренци (Ловечская область). Пещера обнаружена лишь в 1921 году, а с 1996 года является охраняемым памятником природы. Ее протяженность составляет около 1,5 км, а входом служит гигантский проем 55 м в ширину и 35 м в высоту.

Пещера Деветашка поражает воображение туристов. Ее потолки высотой от 60 до 100 метров имеют многочисленные провалы, которые местные жители называют окнами. Они создают естественное освещение, но практически не нагревают пещеру. Поэтому здесь прохладно даже в знойные летние дни. Внутри протекает река, есть подземные озера, водопады, сталагмиты и сталактиты. В залах обитают летучие мыши, поэтому они закрыты с 1 ноября по 1 апреля, чтобы не мешать размножению животных.

В пещере обнаружены следы обитания древнего человека. Согласно археологическим исследованиям пещера служила убежищем людям с поздней палеолитической эпохи. Археологические раскопки обнаружили остатки из культурного слоя почти всех доисторических периодов. Рельефный слой толщиной от 0,3 до 5,5 м содержит остатки поселений разных эпох: палеолита(кремневые орудия мустьерских форм, позднепалеолитические изделия из кремня и костей); неолита (очаги с каменной основой, узкие каменные топоры, кремневые заточки и скребки, костяные лощила, шила и долота, керамику с резьбленными надписями); энеолита ( разрушенные жилища, печи, зернотерки,орудия из камня и костей, посуда с резной, рельефной и другой орнаментацией, антропоморфные фигуры); бронзового века (боевые топоры из бронзы, темнолощённые керамические изделия); железного века (бронзовые ножи, железное оружие).

Вторая мировая война оставила и здесь свой след. Во времена социализма пещера использовалась в качестве склада боеприпасов на случай военных действий, а также служила хранилищем нефтепродуктов. В пещере до сих пор остались следы в виде кругов с тех времен.

Немаловажной частью этого чудного места является разнообразие представителей фауны. В пещере обитают более сотни различных видов живности, некоторые из которых даже занесены в Красную книгу! В их числе 12 видов охраняемых земноводных (эскулап, полоз, тритон, древесные лягушки, черепахи Германа), около 80-ти видов птиц, 34 вида млекопитающих и 15 видов летучих мышей.

Devetashka Cave is considered one of the largest in Bulgaria and throughout Europe. It is located on the Osam River, between the villages of Devetaki and Doirentsi (Lovech region). The cave was discovered only in 1921, and since 1996 it has been a protected natural monument. Its length is about 1.5 km, and the entrance is a gigantic opening 55 m wide and 35 m high.

Devetashka Cave amazes tourists. Its ceilings range from 60 to 100 meters high and have numerous gaps, which locals call windows. They create natural light, but practically do not heat the cave. Therefore, it is cool here even on hot summer days. A river flows inside, there are underground lakes, waterfalls, stalagmites and stalactites. The halls are inhabited by bats, so they are closed from November 1 to April 1, so as not to interfere with the breeding of animals.

Traces of ancient human habitation were found in the cave. According to archaeological research, the cave has served as a shelter for people since the late Paleolithic era. Archaeological excavations have discovered remains from the cultural layer of almost all prehistoric periods. The relief layer, 0.3 to 5.5 m thick, contains the remains of settlements from different eras: Paleolithic (flint tools of Mousterian forms, Late Paleolithic objects made of flint and bones); Neolithic (hearths with a stone base, narrow stone axes, flint sharpenings and scrapers, bone polishes, awls and chisels, ceramics with carved inscriptions); Eneolithic (destroyed dwellings, ovens, grain grinders, tools made of stone and bones, dishes with carved, relief and other ornamentation, anthropomorphic figures); Bronze Age (battle axes made of bronze, dark-polished ceramics); Iron Age (bronze knives, iron weapons).

The Second World War left its mark here too. During socialism, the cave was used as an ammunition depot in case of hostilities, and also served as a storage facility for petroleum products. There are still traces in the cave in the form of circles from those times.

An important part of this wonderful place is the diversity of fauna. The cave is home to more than a hundred different species of living creatures, some of which are even listed in the Red Book! These include 12 species of protected amphibians (aesculapius, snake, newt, tree frogs, Hermann's tortoises), about 80 species of birds, 34 species of mammals and 15 species of bats.

Источник:/bulgariaexpert.ru/info/peschera-devetashka.php, /www. ntabulgaria.ru/blog/interesnye-mesta/peshhera-devetashka/, juicyworld.org/devetashka-cave/,/volimo-balkan.livejournal .com /450004.html,//meteo.by/around/c288c52491142c32.html, //www. tripadvisor.ru/Attraction_Review-g14037230-d4184576-Reviews-Devetashka_Cave-Devetaki_Lovech_Province.html,/bolgarskiydom .com/devetashka/.

[letsgetbigger]

A Big Team

Part one

The university was gearing up for the start of a new football season. Their team hadn’t had good results in recent years, and the administration decided it was time for a drastic change. So, they invited Samuel Reeve, their most outstanding former star, to take the reins as the new coach. Samuel, 38, accepted the offer, leaving behind his monotonous office job and the small apartment he had rented for the past few years.

At 330 pounds, well distributed on a robust frame, Samuel was an imposing man. Despite having a round and prominent belly, his musculature was evident, reminding everyone of his glory days on the field. His attractive face didn’t go unnoticed either: piercing eyes, a chiseled jaw, and a confident smile. However, he harbored a very personal secret. He got turned on by making other men gain weight. And with his new role as coach, he saw the perfect opportunity to fulfill his most intimate desires without raising suspicion.

One Saturday morning, Samuel woke up in his new apartment on campus and dressed in his coaching uniform. He briefly admired his reflection in the mirror. The tight shirt accentuated his figure, giving him an unquestionable air of authority. It was a new beginning, and he was determined to make it memorable.

He left the apartment and took a deep breath. Walking confidently toward the stadium, he enjoyed the familiar atmosphere. The red brick buildings and wide tree-lined avenues reminded him of his days as a student and player, but now he was back with a different mission.

He arrived at the stadium and headed to his new office. He took a moment to observe the space. The walls were decorated with trophies and photos from his playing days, a clear testament to his legacy. The desk, though simple, was tidy and ready for the tasks ahead. But best of all, a door led directly to the locker room from his office, and if left open, he could even see the showers. The view from his chair gave him a strategic advantage. He would be able to observe the players without them noticing. Samuel smiled to himself, imagining the future. He didn’t just want to win games; he wanted to make his boys grow in a very particular way. He was eager to meet them and start implementing his plan.

Finally, the players started arriving at the locker room to change. The noise of conversations and laughter filled the room. There was a lively atmosphere. From his office, Samuel watched every detail with growing interest. The players undressed naturally, stripping off shirts, pants, and underwear before putting on their uniforms. Some were chubbier, and others were slimmer. However, three players caught his attention because they looked like Greek gods carved in stone.

The first one was Axel, a beefy blond with a beard. His muscles were impressive, each of them perfectly defined and visible even under the locker room’s dim lights. His nipples were large and pink. He wore boxers that comfortably hugged his glutes, enhancing his figure. As he undressed, his arms and torso tensed and relaxed with natural grace.

The second player was Marco, a Latino with dark skin and dazzling eyes. His thighs were wide and powerful, a clear display of his strength. Although what really stood out was the size of his penis, which seemed even larger when he took off his tight briefs to put on a jockstrap. Marco had an innate confidence, and moved with an ease and charisma that attracted all eyes.

The third one was Jamal, a young Black man with a perky butt that immediately drove Samuel crazy. Jamal also wore briefs. These accentuated his firm, rounded glutes. His body was a work of art, with defined muscles and shiny skin that reflected the light. When he bent over to pick something up or simply turned, his butt swayed provocatively. And he had a contagious laugh.

Samuel couldn’t take his eyes off them. Axel, Marco, and Jamal were the embodiment of physical perfection. He decided it was time to introduce himself. He got up from his chair, adjusted his uniform, and stepped out of the office.

As he entered the locker room, the noise quieted down, and all eyes turned to him. Samuel smiled, ready to get to work.

“Good morning, guys,” he said firmly. “I’m Mr Reeve, your new coach. I’m here to lead this team to victory. You need to gain strength, clearly, and to do that, you’ll need to put on some weight.”

A murmur ran through the room. Some players exchanged worried looks, while others frowned.

“Listen up,” he said, raising a hand to silence them. “You’ve lost nearly every game in recent years. I’m convinced that gaining weight and building muscle mass will change everything. To achieve this, you’ll not only continue training hard on the field and in the gym, but also follow a strict plan of meals and protein shakes I’ve prepared for you.”

Samuel handed out a sheet with detailed instructions. The protests began immediately. Some players looked at the papers in disbelief, others with evident annoyance.

“It’s too much,” Marco said, looking up from his sheet. “With all this, I’m going to get fat.”

Samuel looked at him intently, challenging him with his dark eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked seriously, his voice echoing in the locker room. “I’m the best player this team has ever had. You shouldn’t question me. If you follow my instructions, we’ll win.”

The room fell silent. Marco, quiet, slowly nodded, accepting Samuel’s superiority and experience. The other players, seeing the determination in their new coach, began to review the plan with less resistance.

“And now, off to the field. Let’s see what you’ve got to offer.”

They stood up and left the locker room. As Samuel followed them outside, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. This was just the beginning, and he was determined to see his fantasies come true, pound by pound.

Part two

After a month of rigorous training and a high-calorie diet, the young athletes showed undeniable changes in their bodies. Without exception, they had each gained around 20 pounds. Samuel watched them from his office as they showered.

Marco stood with his back to the stream of water. His previously defined abdomen now had a slight layer of fat that softened his muscles. Marco’s long penis contrasted with the growing roundness of his belly. His already wide thighs had become even more imposing. And his pecs had grown as well.

Axel, meanwhile, was slowly lathering himself. His muscular torso had a bulkier appearance. His large pink nipples stood out even more on his firm chest, now slightly covered by a new layer of fat. His belly had begun to round, burying the lines of his abs. As he rinsed off the soap, his muscles and the added fat under his skin moved in harmony, giving him a chunky appearance.

Jamal, standing under one of the showers, was in profile, offering Samuel a privileged view of his perky butt, which had grown in size over the last month. His glutes remained firm but rounder, with an extra softness. His hips had widened slightly, and the definition of his muscles overall had mixed with the new fat.

Samuel couldn’t stop staring. The transformation of those physiques, the result of his meticulous plan, was exactly what he had hoped for. His cock hardened, an uncontrollable reaction to the spectacle before him. Sitting at his desk, he observed every detail, every new curve, every pound gained.

That week, they played their first game and, to everyone’s delight, won. The atmosphere in the stadium was of pure joy, and the players were ecstatic about their victory. After the game, Samuel was called to the dean’s office to discuss the team’s impressive performance. Following a brief conversation filled with praise, he returned to his own office with satisfaction.

Upon opening the door, he found a scene of wild celebration in the locker room. The players, freshly showered and in their underwear, were singing and jumping. The accumulated fat on their bodies over the last month bounced in increasingly tight underwear. Suddenly, one of the players grabbed Marco’s large package.

“Your girlfriend’s gonna be happy, huh?” he said with a mischievous grin.

Marco slapped the hand away, laughing along with the rest of the team. Another player approached Axel and, pinching his nipples playfully, exclaimed:

“Look at the tits this one’s got now!”

The laughter grew louder as Axel blushed slightly. Then the guy next to him poked his now-rounded belly.

“And what a gut!” he added.

Axel, maintaining his composure, replied:

“If I weren’t this big, I wouldn’t have tackled that aggressive player from the other team.”

The others nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words.

“Besides, what’s grown the most isn’t my gut, it’s this.”

He approached a distracted Jamal and slapped his butt. Jamal’s cheeks, squeezed into too-small briefs, jiggled like jelly. More players started doing the same, seeing the opportunity. They laughed non-stop. One of them even pulled down Jamal’s briefs, revealing his huge cheeks. The shouts and whistles were immediate.

Samuel, watching the scene from his office, felt a wave of desire he couldn’t control. He discreetly closed the door, ensuring no one saw him. The sight of his fattened players, their rippling flesh, and their uninhibited camaraderie turned him on. His hand slid into his briefs. The vision of Jamal’s perfect, exposed glutes, quickly brought him to climax. He felt an explosion of pleasure as he came inside his underwear, filling it with hot jizz.

The victories continued as his boys’ bodies expanded. After another couple of months, the changes in their physiques were even more pronounced. In the locker room, after another exhausting practice and shower, the players dried off with towels, showing the results of their special diet.

Jamal dried off slowly. His butt, always large, was now impressive. Its fat jiggled with each step. He still wore the same briefs, which stretched to their limit to contain his fat cheeks, leaving his butt crack exposed, a sight Samuel found irresistible. The elastic waistband dug into his flesh, highlighting his volume even more.

Axel dried his blonde beard. His torso had gained a noticeable amount of fat, softening the muscles beneath. His belly had rounded significantly, and his pecs, once hard and defined, now looked like small mounds of fat with pointy nipples that wiggled with every movement. As he tried to pull up his boxers, they struggled to contain his new size. The elastic waistband dug into his waist, and his glutes, though not as bulging as Jamal’s, were also partially exposed.

Marco stood in front of his locker, dropping his towel. His body showed a thick layer of fat. His round belly hung slightly, and his wide thighs rubbed together with each movement. His briefs were so tight they squeezed his big cock. And every time he moved, his butt bounced.

Samuel, watching from his office, noticed Marco’s head was down, an expression of sadness on his face. He decided to approach him to see what was wrong.

“Marco, what’s going on?” he asked.

Marco sighed and grabbed his large belly with both hands, shaking it. His tits and genitals moved with the jerks, a sight that made Samuel gulped.

“My girlfriend left me because of this,” Marco said, his voice filled with disappointment.

Samuel tried to maintain his composure as his heart raced.

“Listen, Marco. If she can’t see beyond the surface, then she doesn’t deserve you. You’re more than your appearance, and everyone here knows it.”

Marco nodded, but the sadness in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. Samuel, feeling his control slipping, quickly retreated to his office. He closed the door behind him and looked down, confirming that pre-cum had stained his shorts.

At the next practice, Samuel watched proudly as his players wore the new, larger uniforms tailored to their new bodies. During a break, Jamal approached with a look of discomfort on his face.

“Coach, I’ve got a pain in my shoulder,” he said, rubbing the affected area.

Samuel, always ready to take care of his players, offered a physical therapy massage in his office, where he had a treatment table prepared. Jamal accepted, and they agreed to meet that afternoon.

When Jamal arrived at the office, he wore a tight t-shirt that highlighted the curve of his belly and jeans that fit snugly around his hips and thighs. The clothes emphasized his bulk and evidenced his size. Samuel welcomed him with a professional smile, though his mind was full of lustful thoughts.

“Let’s work on those tense muscles, Jamal. Take off your clothes and lie on the table.”

Jamal nodded and began to undress. First, he took off his t-shirt, revealing his rounded abdomen and large pecs with firm, dark nipples. Then he unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his sturdy legs, revealing thick, powerful thighs. He was left in a pair of newly purchased XL gray briefs that hugged his hips and butt provocatively.

He lay face down on the table, and Samuel got closer with a bottle of oil in hand. He poured some of the liquid into his palms and began massaging the tense shoulders, working with skill and firmness. As his hands moved, he couldn’t help but notice how Jamal’s enormous glutes swayed with the movement. Samuel’s eagerness intensified as he continued massaging. The sight of those big buttocks moving under the thin fabric of the underwear was overwhelming.

“I’m going to relieve the tension in your glutes too, Jamal. Relax.”

With a steady hand, he pulled the elastic waistband of Jamal’s briefs, lowering them with some difficulty. The smooth skin of his cheeks was exposed. It shone under the light with the oil Samuel applied directly from the bottle. Feeling the fat under his fingers for the first time was an incredible sensation. It provided a combination of firmness and softness he found very tempting. Jamal began uttering involuntary moans as he was being touched. They resonated in the room and in Samuel’s mind. Without stopping to fondle the sexiest player on the team, Samuel noticed his own excitement growing, his breathing becoming heavy. Jamal seemed increasingly affected by the physical contact. His moans grew louder and more intense until he finally let out a long shout and came, his body trembling with pleasure. Samuel stopped abruptly. Embarrassed and blushing, Jamal quickly got up, muttered a thank you while dressing hastily, and left the office.

Samuel remained in the room, contemplating what had happened. His mind revolved around one question: Was Jamal gay? And if he was, were there other players like him on the team? He was confident that, in time, he would discover the answer.

Part three

Christmas arrived and most of the team left campus. Axel and Jamal stayed. Axel, because he was an orphan, and Jamal, because his family had decided to take a trip and visit him.

One afternoon in late December, the coach took the opportunity to catch up on paperwork. He was in his office, with the door closed, when he heard noise coming from the locker room. He recognized the voices of Axel and Jamal. Intrigued, he turned off the light and cracked the door open just enough to remain unseen. From his position, he could see them. They had entered the shower. Axel was lathering himself up with slow, deliberate movements. His round, prominent belly shook slightly with each motion. Jamal, next to him, was also covered in soap. His large, full buttocks swayed gently as he scrubbed. Samuel noticed that both of them were semi-erect.

Suddenly, Axel and Jamal started touching themselves while looking at each other. Axel rubbed his pink nipples with his thumbs, opening his mouth with pleasure. Then he lifted and dropped his belly, making it bounce up and down with its weight. Jamal, with a lascivious smile, grabbed his breasts with his palms and fondled them. Then he turned around and slapped one buttock with a hand. The sound echoed in the space. With the other hand, he began to masturbate, his hard, shiny cock in his grasp. He slapped again. Axel seized his own cock and started masturbating as well, eyes fixed on Jamal. They panted and laughed, enjoying the moment. Finally, Axel and Jamal climaxed and ejaculated. The streams of jizz were lost down the drain.

Samuel couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. He stayed still, waiting to see what else they would do. The pair, still breathing heavily, got dressed while chatting casually.

"Dude, the coach is so hot," said Axel, adjusting his shirt over his belly.

"Totally," said Jamal, struggling to pull up his pants, his rounded buttocks protruding. "I would love to be as big as him."

Axel nodded. His eyes shone with a mixture of admiration and desire.

"Imagine what it must feel like to have that body. Strong, sexy, and with such an impressive belly. It would be awesome."

Jamal smiled, visibly excited by the idea.

"Yeah, man. Well, with what we've been eating lately, I think we're on the right track."

They laughed together, complicit in their fantasy.

"Do you feel like having some pizza?" Axel suggested.

"Perfect. We need to keep growing, right?" Jamal responded.

They put on their shoes and left the locker room, discussing how much pizza they were going to eat. Samuel, who had heard every word, formed an idea in his head.

The next day, he took his phone and sent a message to Axel and Jamal, inviting them to spend New Year’s Eve at his apartment. Both accepted immediately. Beaming with enthusiasm, Samuel went to the supermarket and bought an entire cart of food. He wanted to make sure the evening was memorable.

He spent hours cooking, filling his apartment with the delicious aromas of his preparations. When Axel and Jamal arrived, Samuel greeted them with a smile and offered them a beer.

"To help you relax a bit," he said, sensing they were somewhat intimidated.

They grabbed the beers and settled on the couch. The three of them chatted for a while, laughter and anecdotes flowing easily as the alcohol took effect. The atmosphere became more relaxed. Samuel found them incredibly attractive. Axel, with his blond beard and bulk, looked like a true Viking. Jamal, with his dark skin and curves, was like an irresistible chocolate treat.

"Well, guys. Let’s go to the table," Samuel announced when he thought it was time.

Axel and Jamal followed him. They sat down. The coach served the starter: a huge plate of pasta. On the side, he put another plate with bread and a generous slab of butter for each of them.

"I want you to eat it all," he ordered, taking a seat next to them.

They exchanged a knowing look and started eating obediently. The coach led by example, eating heartily as well. The pasta was delicious. The players ate quickly at first but soon began to slow down.

"Come on, you can’t leave anything," he insisted. "And spread all the butter on the bread."

After finishing the pasta and the rest, Samuel got up to serve the second course. The roast turkey arrived at the table surrounded by a bunch of golden, greasy potatoes. And he gave them more bread and more butter.

"Here you go," he said, inwardly enjoying their perplexed faces.

With each new bite, Axel and Jamal felt their stomachs filling up. After finishing the turkey and potatoes, they were all stuffed.

"Well, we’ll have dessert on the couch," Samuel announced.

"Dessert?" they protested.

They headed to the couch with difficulty, their bellies swollen and heavy after the feast. Samuel followed, carrying an enormous chocolate cake.

"Unbutton your pants and get comfortable," he told them.

They obeyed. Samuel watched as their bellies expanded once freed from the pressure of their clothes. The two young men felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness as Samuel placed the cake in front of them.

"Axel, I want you to take a piece of cake and give it to Jamal. Tell him how fat he's going to get."

Axel cut a large piece of cake. He held it out to Jamal and, in a provocative voice, said:

"Jamal, you're going to get so fat with this... Eat it."

Jamal, whose eyes gleamed with desire, opened his mouth and let Axel feed him the piece of cake. He chewed slowly, relishing both the food and Axel's words.

"Now you, Jamal," Samuel said. "Give Axel a piece and tell him how fat he's going to get."

Jamal cut a generous piece of cake and brought it to Axel. Looking at him, he said:

"Axel, you're going to get so fat today... Open up."

Axel took the piece of cake with a mix of lust and delight, savoring not only the dessert, but also Jamal's words.

"I'm going to step out to give you more privacy," Samuel said with a wink. "When I come back, I don't want to see a single crumb."

He put on his coat and exited the apartment, leaving them alone with the cake.

He walked around the campus, enjoying the fresh air and the tranquility of the night. His thoughts wandered to what Axel and Jamal might be doing in his absence. Fantasy sometimes turned him on more than reality. After an hour of walking, he returned to his apartment, eager to see the result.

When he opened the door, he found a scene that exceeded his expectations. Axel and Jamal were reclined on the couch, naked. Their bodies seemed even more bloated, with chocolate-stained mouths and bellies about to burst. What fascinated him the most was seeing jizz on their chests. They had fallen deeply asleep, exhausted from the excess of food and pleasure.

Final part

The season was coming to an end and the university football team, under Samuel's supervision, had undergone a radical transformation. All the players had gained weight dramatically, ranging between 270 and 330 pounds. For Samuel, watching them on the field was an endless source of pride. Their bodies had become imposing masses of muscle and fat.

Marco, with his now more robust build, dominated the center of the field. His jersey stretched over his belly, and his butt, tightly packed into his uniform pants, seemed almost to overflow. Every time he ran, Samuel could see how his fat oscillated with the movement and how his thighs rubbed together.

Axel, whose transformation was perhaps the most noticeable, played with renewed ferocity. His wider and heavier body gave him an advantage in body-to-body clashes. His pecs, turned into true masses of flesh, shook with every impact. His enormous, round belly moved hypnotically under his jersey. Every time Axel hit the ground, Samuel beheld how the fat in his abdomen flattened and spread, showing the weight he had gained with Jamal's help.

Jamal, with the roundest and most prominent buttocks Samuel had ever seen, was a sight to behold on the field. His butt, miraculously covered by the tight uniform, moved like an independent mass from his body with each step. His thighs combined muscle and fat. When Jamal ran, Samuel couldn't help but stare at how his buttocks swayed from side to side, a true spectacle. Axel had also done a good job of feeding him.

As the players moved on the field, Samuel felt a surge of excitement. Although victory was important, for him, the true satisfaction lay in witnessing how they had transformed. Seeing those previously athletic young men become powerful masses of obesity under his tutelage was the culmination of his deepest fantasies. The team, which previously lost almost every game, now played with renewed strength and determination.

The final whistle blew and the team erupted in joy. Samuel joined them on the field, his heart pounding. He knew he had achieved something extraordinary.

The celebration after the victory was something else. The players, full of adrenaline and euphoria, headed straight to the locker room, where the showers awaited them. The atmosphere was electric, with shouts of happiness and laughter echoing off the walls.

Samuel stood at the entrance, watching as the players stripped off their sweat-soaked uniforms. Their heavy, robust bodies moved with contagious energy. Axel was the first to get completely naked, revealing his impressive figure, with his round belly and prominent pecs. He headed to the showers, closely followed by Jamal, whose buttocks swayed sensually with each step. Marco, with his hanging belly and voluminous butt, wasn't far behind.

The shower started with streams of hot water and uproar. The players pushed and splashed each other. Samuel, from a corner, watched them quietly. However, his serenity didn’t last long. Axel, with a mischievous smile, approached him.

"Come on, coach, it's time to join the celebration," Axel said.

And before Samuel could protest, Axel and Marco grabbed him by the arms.

"Hey, guys, what are you doing?" Samuel exclaimed as he tried to resist in vain.

The players, still laughing, began to undress the coach. Samuel let himself be carried away by them. First, they removed his shirt, revealing his impressive torso. His large pecs and round belly were exposed, prompting jokes among the players.

"Look at those muscles, coach!" Marco said, laughing.

Then, they took off his pants, lowered his boxers, and pushed him under the hot water.

Being completely naked, the coach found himself surrounded by his players in the shower. The hot water cascaded over their bodies, creating an atmosphere charged with arousal. Axel and Jamal took turns touching Samuel's belly, their hands sliding over his wet skin. Samuel felt completely liberated. The obese bodies of the players moved around him, bumping and rubbing against each other in a choreography of flesh and desire under the water.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Four

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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You stand in the middle of the chaos, the ground still vibrating slightly beneath your feet. Broken statues and uprooted plants litter the once pristine garden. Mervyn, his pumpkin head glowing faintly in the dim light, mutters to himself as he surveys the damage.

"Well, this is just peachy," he grumbles, kicking a shattered stone bench with his boot.

You bend down, picking up pieces of a shattered sundial. The metal feels cool and heavy in your hands. "Where should I start?" you ask, glancing at Mervyn.

He waves a hand toward the toppled arbor. "That thing's got to go upright again. Can't have the vines just lying there like that."

You nod and head over to the arbor. It’s heavier than it looks, and as you lift one side, your muscles strain against the weight. Mervyn joins you, grumbling under his breath as he helps lift the other side.

"Watch your step," he says, and you both maneuver it back into position. The vines cling desperately to the wooden structure, some leaves torn and wilting.

"Think it'll hold?" you ask, wiping sweat from your brow.

"It better," Mervyn replies, inspecting your work with a critical eye. "Next time an earthquake hits, it might not be so lucky."

You move on to the broken statues. Some of them are beyond repair, their faces cracked and limbs scattered across the grass. You gather what pieces you can find, placing them in a pile near the garden's edge.

Mervyn's voice breaks through your concentration. "I’ll have to get new ones made. These were classics."

"I know a sculptor in the Dreaming who could help," you offer, thinking of the artist who lived near Fiddler's Green.

Mervyn grunts in acknowledgment but doesn’t reply. His attention shifts to a large tree that’s leaning dangerously close to one of his prized rose bushes.

"We need to prop that up before it crushes everything," he says.

Together, you find sturdy branches to use as supports. It takes some effort and coordination, but eventually, you manage to brace the tree enough that it stands upright on its own.

"Good enough for now," Mervyn mutters, wiping dirt from his hands onto his overalls. "You go talk to that sculptor while I clean up the rest of this mess."

You make your way out of the garden, leaving Mervyn to his grumbling and repairs. The path to the sculptor’s workshop winds through the heart of the Dreaming, where reality shifts with each step. The ground beneath you transitions from cobblestones to soft moss, and trees with leaves of gold and silver arch overhead.

As you walk, you notice a group of dreamers gathered around a small fountain, their faces serene and distant. They murmur to each other in hushed tones, their words lost to the babbling water. You pass by quietly, not wanting to disturb their reverie.

The sculptor’s workshop comes into view, a quaint cottage nestled among towering trees. The air here is filled with the scent of freshly carved wood and wet clay. You push open the door and step inside.

The sculptor, a tall figure with delicate hands and piercing blue eyes, looks up from their workbench. "Ah, a visitor," they say, setting down a chisel. "What brings you here?"

"Mervyn's garden," you reply, glancing around at the half-finished sculptures lining the walls. "An earthquake destroyed several statues. We need replacements."

The sculptor nods thoughtfully, wiping their hands on a rag. "I heard about the quake. Nasty business." They move to a shelf filled with various tools and materials. "Which statues need replacing?"

You describe the shattered pieces—marble fauns, granite nymphs, and an intricate sundial that once stood at the garden's center. The sculptor listens intently, occasionally jotting down notes on a piece of parchment.

"I can recreate those," they say finally, rolling up their sleeves. "It will take some time, though."

"How long?" you ask.

"A few days for each piece," they reply. "Quality work can't be rushed."

You nod in agreement. "We appreciate your help."

The sculptor smiles faintly. "I'll get started right away." They gesture toward a corner where several finished sculptures stand waiting for delivery. "Feel free to take one of those as a temporary replacement."

You examine the offered pieces—a delicate stone birdbath, an elegant marble bench, and a whimsical fairy statue—and choose the bench. It feels solid under your touch, its surface smooth and cool.

"Thank you," you say as you lift it carefully, it's light weight surprising you.

"You're welcome," the sculptor replies, already turning back to their workbench.

You carry the bench back through the shifting landscape of the Dreaming. By the time you return to Mervyn’s garden, he has made significant progress in cleaning up the debris.

"Got us something to tide us over," you say, setting down the bench.

Mervyn inspects it with a critical eye but nods approvingly. "Not bad."

You both place it in a shady spot near a cluster of flowering bushes.

"It'll do for now," Mervyn says as he wipes his hands on his overalls again.

You find yourself in the palace kitchens, the warm air filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting meats. The staff dreams bustle about, their laughter and chatter creating a comforting hum. You lean against a worn wooden counter, taking a moment to catch your breath after the trek back from the sculptor’s workshop.

A plump dream with rosy cheeks and flour-dusted hands sidles up to you, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Heard you’ve been out and about," she says, her voice low.

You nod, glancing around to make sure no one else is listening. "Yeah, a bunch of the statues broke in Mervyn's garden."

The dream leans in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Speaking of gardens, did you hear about Lily and Jasper? They’ve been seen sneaking off together at night."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really? I thought Lily was still with Rowan."

The dream shakes her head vigorously. "Oh no, that ended weeks ago. Rowan’s been moping around the village ever since."

Another staff dream joins the conversation, carrying a tray of freshly peeled potatoes. "Lily and Jasper, huh? Makes sense. They always had a thing for each other. Dreams and Nightmares go hand in hand I suppose…"

"Well," you say, leaning in as well with a cheeky smile on your face, "I heard that Ivy's been spending a lot of time with the blacksmith."

The first dream gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. "No! Ivy and the blacksmith? That’s scandalous!"

You nod solemnly, enjoying the teenage like gossip. "Saw them myself near the forge last night. They looked pretty cozy."

The second dream laughs softly, setting down the tray of potatoes. "Guess everyone’s pairing up these days."

"Seems like it," you agree. "Great timing and all that with the realm newly restored."

A tall dream with a chef's hat approaches, wiping his hands on his apron. "What are you all whispering about?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Just catching up on village news," you reply casually.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Gossiping again? You lot never change." He heads back to his station but throws a wink over his shoulder.

You hear a soft clatter as the tall dream with the chef’s hat returns to his station, leaving you and the two staff dreams to continue your conversation. The warmth of the kitchen envelops you, the comforting smells mingling with the chatter.

"So, what are you going to do about the garden?" asks the first dream, her curiosity evident.

You shrug, leaning back against the counter. "We’ll get those new statues in a few days. Until then, it’s just a matter of keeping things tidy and hoping no more earthquakes hit."

The second dream nods thoughtfully, her eyes drifting toward a window where the golden light of the Dreaming filters through. "Strange how those quakes keep happening," she muses. "Almost like something’s trying to break through."

You glance at her, but she’s already moved on, picking up another tray and heading toward a bubbling pot. The first dream turns back to you, her expression more serious now.

"Do you think it has anything to do with Lord Morpheus?"

The mention of Morpheus sends a ripple through your thoughts. You’ve wondered about that yourself. But before you can respond, another figure enters the kitchen—Lucienne. Her presence commands an air of calm and authority.

"Hello everyone," she greets with a nod, her eyes scanning the room before settling on you. "I heard about the damage in Mervyn's garden. Are things under control?"

You nod, straightening up from your relaxed position. "Yes, we’ve got temporary replacements for some of the statues, and we’re working on getting new ones made."

Lucienne’s expression softens slightly. "Good to hear. We must maintain order in the Dreaming, especially now."

You sense an unspoken concern in her words but choose not to press further. Instead, you offer a reassuring smile. "We’re doing our best. But Luce? I think you might be trying to take on too much work, the library is already a massive job on its own now that its back to its former glory."

Lucienne’s lips twitch into a small smile, a rare sight that softens her usually serious demeanor. "Thank you for your concern. I'll manage, as always. In the mean time… Matthew, it is time you meet our resident dreamer."

A raven pops up from behind Lucienne, fluttering over to a chair back to perch. Your eyebrows rise when the bird gives you a wave with its wing.

"Hi, I'm Matthew," The bird says, making you blink repeatedly. Talking animals were not the strangest creatures you cross paths with but a talk bird was new to you.

You take a moment to absorb the introduction. The raven, perched comfortably on the back of a chair, regards you with keen, intelligent eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Matthew," you say, unsure of the protocol for greeting a talking bird.

"Same here," Matthew replies, his voice surprisingly warm. "Lucienne tells me you've been dealing with some garden troubles."

You nod, glancing at Lucienne. She watches the interaction with a pleased expression. "Yes, the earthquakes have been causing quite a mess."

Matthew ruffles his feathers slightly. "Yeah, those quakes are something else. They’ve got everyone on edge."

Lucienne steps forward, her demeanor shifting to one of quiet authority. "Matthew is Morpheus' new raven and companion. He assists our lord and can act as his eyes."

"Ah, great, so we've got the raven version of the palantíri?" You say dryly. Mattherw hops excitedly.

"Oh my god you've watched the Lord of the Rings!?" The bird cries in excitement. "None of the dreams or nightmares here have any clue about human sculpture.

"So uncivilized," You fake tut, much to the raven's chagrin as he nearly cackles himself to the floor. Matthew hops from the chair to your shoulder, his weight surprisingly light.

"So, what's the plan now?" he asks, peering at you with keen eyes."The boss told me to scram, not exact words but close enough, and I have no idea what to do so I think I'll hang with you."

"Come on, I'll show you what's going on and I'll tell you the plan," You say, departing the kitchen and heading for Mervyn's beloved garden. You reach the crumbling green space and the raven whistles in shock.

"We're just keeping things tidy until the new statues arrive," you reply. "Hopefully, no more earthquakes hit." As you finish explaining the plan to Matthew, the air around you shifts. A palpable stillness descends, and you know who it is even before you turn. Morpheus stands there, his presence dark and enigmatic as ever. His eyes, endless pools of night, lock onto yours.

Who had shit in his Wheaties this morning? You were half convinced the Endless has more mood swings than a human toddler.

You don't air out those thoughts. Obviously.

"I... require a word with you," he says, his voice like distant thunder. It's not a request. You nod, motioning for Matthew to stay put. The raven gives a low whistle but remains perched on your shoulder.

Morpheus glances at the garden, the chaos left in the wake of the earthquakes. "I have been... remiss in my duties as your lord," he begins, each word carefully chosen. "My recent behavior has been... less than considerate."

You study him, noting the slight tension in his jaw, the way his hands remain still by his sides as if he's holding something back. "It's fine," you reply, waving off his attempt at an apology. "More importantly, how are you holding up? I know things have been rough since—"

He cuts you off with a sharp look but softens almost immediately. "Your concern is misplaced," he says stiffly. "I am as I have always been."

You shake your head, stepping closer. "I don't believe that for a second. You were treated terribly, Morpheus. It would break anyone. Especially 106 years stuck in a cage." You don't have the heart to mention Jessamy. You also don't feel like incurring the Endless' wrath either.

For a moment, he seems taken aback, as if no one has dared speak to him like this in centuries. His expression shifts from one of stoic detachment to something more open, vulnerable even.

"You are... different," he murmurs almost to himself. "Few would concern themselves with my well-being."

"Well," you say with a shrug, trying to keep it light despite the gravity of the moment, "someone's got to look out for you too."

He is too hot and stupid to be left to his own devices in your opinion. Kind of like a pouting puppy even.

His gaze softens further, and something akin to warmth flickers in those dark eyes. He studies you intently as if seeing you for the first time.

"Thank you," he says finally, his voice low but sincere.

You offer a small smile in return. "Anytime."

Morpheus stands there for a moment longer before inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. As he turns to leave, Matthew flutters from your shoulder to Morpheus' side.

The lord of dreams looks back at you one last time before they both disappear into the shifting landscape of the Dreaming. You take a deep breath and get back to work in the garden feeling oddly lighter despite everything that still needs fixing.

Date Published: 7/31/24

Last Edit: 7/31/24

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[transgenderer]

A jitsuin (実印) is an officially registered seal. A registered seal is needed to conduct business and other important or legally binding events. A jitsuin is used when purchasing a vehicle, marrying, or purchasing land, for example.

The size, shape, material, decoration, and lettering style of jitsuin are closely regulated by law. For example, in Hiroshima, a jitsuin is expected to be roughly 1⁄2 to 1 inch (1.3 to 2.5 cm), usually square or (rarely) rectangular but never round, irregular, or oval. It must contain the individual's full family and given name, without abbreviation. The lettering must be red with a white background (shubun), with roughly equal width lines used throughout the name. The font must be one of several based on ancient historical lettering styles found in metal, woodcarving, and so on. Ancient forms of ideographs are commonplace. A red perimeter must entirely surround the name, and there should be no other decoration on the underside (working surface) of the seal. The top and sides (handle) of the seal may be decorated in any fashion from completely undecorated to historical animal motifs, dates, names, and inscriptions.

Throughout Japan, rules governing jitsuin design are very stringent and each design is unique, so the vast majority of people entrust the creation of their jitsuin to a professional, paying upward of US$20 and more often closer to US$100, and using it for decades. People desirous of opening a new chapter in their lives—say, following a divorce, death of a spouse, a long streak of bad luck, or a change in career—will often have a new jitsuin made.

The material is usually a high quality hard stone or, far less frequently, deerhorn, soapstone, or jade. It is sometimes carved by machine. When carved by hand, an intō ("seal-engraving blade"), a mirror, and a small specialized wooden vice are used. An intō is a flat-bladed pencil-sized chisel, usually round or octagonal in cross-section and sometimes wrapped in string to give a better grip. The intō is held vertically in one hand, with the point projecting from the carver's fist on the side opposite the thumb. New, modern intō range in price from less than US$1 to US$100.

The jitsuin are kept in secure places such as bank vaults. or hidden in a home. They are usually stored in thumb-sized rectangular boxes made of cardboard covered with embroidered green fabric outside and red silk or red velvet inside, held closed by a white plastic or deerhorn splinter tied to the lid and passed through a fabric loop attached to the lower half of the box. Because of the superficial resemblance to coffins, they are often called "coffins" in Japanese by enthusiasts and hanko boutiques. The paste is usually stored separately.

A ginkō-in (銀行印) is used specifically for banking; ginkō means "bank". A person's savings account passbook contains an original impression of the ginkō-in alongside a bank employee's seal. Rules for the size and design vary somewhat from bank to bank; generally, they contain a Japanese person's full name. A Westerner may be permitted to use a full family name with or without an abbreviated given name, such as "Smith", "Bill Smith", "W Smith" or "Wm Smith" in place of "William Smith". The lettering can be red or white, in any font, and with artistic decoration.

Since mass-produced ginkō-in offer no security, most people either have them custom-made by professionals or make their own by hand. They were traditionally made of wood or stone; more recently of ivory, plastic or metal, and carried in a variety of thumb-shape and -size cases resembling cloth purses or plastic pencil cases. They are usually hidden carefully in the owner's home.

A mitome-in (認印) is a moderately formal seal typically used for signing for postal deliveries, signing utility bill payments, signing internal company memos, confirming receipt of internal company mail, and other low-security everyday functions.

Mitome-in are commonly stored in low-security, high-utility places such as office desk drawers and in the anteroom (genkan) of a residence.

A mitome-in's form is governed by fewer customs than jitsuin and ginkō-in. However, mitome-in adhere to a handful of strongly observed customs. The size is the attribute most strongly governed by social custom. It is usually not more than 20 millimetres (0.79 in) in size. A man's is usually slightly larger than a woman's, and a junior employee's is always smaller than his bosses' and his senior co-workers', in keeping with office social hierarchy. The mitome-in always has the person's family name and usually does not have the person's given name (shita no namae). Mitome-ins are often round or oval, but square ones are not uncommon, and rectangular ones are not unheard-of; irregular shapes are not used. They can produce red lettering on a blank field (shubun) or the opposite (hakubun). Borderlines around their edges are optional.

Plastic mitome-in in popular Japanese names can be obtained from stationery stores for less than US$1, though ones made from inexpensive stone are also very popular. Inexpensive prefabricated seals are called sanmonban (三文判). Rubber stamps are unacceptable for business purposes.

[go6jo]

personally suguru is very no shirt + plaid pajama pants to me idk. when hes out of the shower and his towel is around his neck and his hair is damp and spilling down his shoulders and back, still a little clumpy when he squeezes it with his towel, his pajama pants low on his hips... then he gives u a little smile like ":) fancy seeing you here" when he runs into u post-shower at the common area by the dorms (he forgot his claw clip there) (but not really bc satoru told him you'd be studying late there so he came anyway)

( — soda bottle anon )

and he'd look so good, too. suguru is confident in his body, all sharp edges and well defined lines as if he were carved directly from stone, a statue of mars, the god of war himself, owning the scars on his chest and showing his chiseled muscles from years spent practicing and, consequently, exceeding at the martial arts, a self-made master of combat. the water droplets get caught in every crevice of his body, lingering on the dip of his collarbones then tracing a path down to his toned abdomen, slowing down as they outline every curve of his abs, down his v-line and hipbones.

anyone who looked at him right now, leaning against the doorway would've been enthralled by the sight, a godlike figure standing upright in all of his glory - mars, the god of war but also virility and sex. anyone would've readily fallen at his knees, eager to worship him but you barely even spare him a glance as you mumble a quiet hello with your nose still stuck in between the pages of your textbook.

suguru is hardly upset by your distractedness, or the lack thereof, he hadn't expected you to fall for such a cheap trick, he knows you, knows you're better than to care for such superficialities. you barely so much as bat an eye when you're both sat on the couch on movie night and he lifts his shirt over his head to tug it off of him when he mumbles something about how you're room feels like a furnace in the summer. and you show absolutely no inhibitions when the shirt he's wearing during practice is doing an awful job at concealing his body underneath it as it clings to his sweaty torso like a second skin, he tells you to not hold back and you don't. he thinks you always look entirely too tempting, chest heaving in the aftermath of your little rendezvouz, beads of sweat falling down your body and little pants escaping your parted lips. and it's all his doing. he does, however, feel your damp skin grow hotter when he slings an innocent arm over your shoulder, singing words of praise about how proud he is of you. and he means it. everytime. he thinks it's alluring really, how much more confident you've grown with each practice. you're strong and stubborn and there's always a smug smile that forces it's way to his face when you've got him with his back against the ground, looking down at him with a glare akin to that of a predator, as if you're about to devour him. he wouldn't mind it if you did. he feels you shiver under his touch when he brings your feet to rest over his lap, your body splayed out on the couch as he kneads on the sore muscles of your legs, soothing any pains you might've had, lifting both of your legs up to his lips, one at a time, to press a feather-light kiss to your slightly scraped knees. he knows what gets you going, knows the way to your heart is though lingering touches and attentive gestures, quiet words who are meant just for you whispered to your ear.

so, instead, suguru walks up to you, drying his hair on the towel wrapped around his neck and stopping once he finds himself standing behind the chair that you're sitting on, his body hovering over yours as he peeks above your head into the book you're reading "anything i can help with?"

you tilt your head backwards to stare up at him, eyes meeting his at last. “if anything, i think you might be more of a distraction when you’re dressed like that” and he would've thought that he might've had some effect on you if it weren't for the chaste smile that you cast him, not a hint of provocation in your voice either, just a light hearted joke.

he inches closer to you, reaching an arm over your shoulder to trace his index finger under the many words written on the page, eyes scanning over each paragraph as his other hand holds his hair up to prevent any water from getting on your book. he squints his eyes a little to focus on the tiny letters on the paper and you remain staring at him, a fond smile on your face as he looks so adamant on understanding the subject you're reading on. your cheeks grow warmer at how he's behaving so casually within such close proximity, as if being this close to you just feels right, familiar even. though you're just friends, intimacy comes so naturally to both of you, you should've been accustomed to it by now but everything always feels new with him, exciting.

and when his eyes shift to meet yours with a smile, you shouldn't feel the way you do, not towards a friend, anyway.

"have you, by any chance, seen my hair clip laying around somewhere" the pads of his thumbs sooth over the darkening skin under your eyes and you close your lids at the tenderness of his touch.

"oh-" you take a moment to think and your eyes widen in realization as you look down again to show him the claw clip that has been keeping your hair in place this entire time. "you can take it"

but he just pats your head once, beckoning you to lift it up "its alright." he retreats and the comforting smell of honey and star anise starts to fade away the further away he goes. your shoulders sulk instantly. “you can drop by my room when you no longer need it.”

and you're not immune to the way his voice deepens ever so slightly, his words strangely seductive as they leave his lips, body growing warmer at the prospect of what those words could've meant were you two in a different situation. you're also not entirely indifferent to the way the muscles of his back stretch under the layer of his pale, delicate yet tough skin as he finishes drying his air with a towel. you wonder what his muscles would feel like under your hands as you smooth them down his back, you imagine he would shiver when the tips of your finger brush against a sensitive spot then he'd let out the quietest of moans as you massage the soreness away. you want to feel him under you. feel his every dip, every ridge on his body. but you think that's too much to ask of a friend, you dwell on the thought that, if you were lucky enough, later tonight, when you meet him at least, you'll get to indulge in sight of him a little more.

[brabblesblog]

As if the gods made you to ruin me.

A little love letter for everyone who makes art for this vampire man.

Inspired by the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea. First person POV. A sculptor confronts a piece of marble, and Astarion is their masterpiece. One-shot.

The idea of statues "breaking free" from the marble is taken from Michelangelo. This can be better seen in his Prisoners.

@spacebarbarianweird mentioned Pygmalion today, and this idea came to me.

Read on AO3.

P.S. If my writing is something you're interested in, please consider my masterlist. I highly recommend beginning with the 'Whither' series. Thank you<3

The finest, purest white marble. I stare at it, unsure, trying to parse out the figure trapped in the block for me to release. An elf, I think, my hands reaching out in front of me, imagining where the curves would be. Curls, long and growing over his ears. A sharp jaw, strong and yet delicate.

I pick up my tools, and begin my work.

It’s almost as if I’m not in control of my creation. My hands work of their own accord, carving in features that genuinely surprise me and were probably not what I would have preferred, but the longer I look, the more it seems right.

It has deep, piercing eyes, with crow’s feet. I find myself staring at it at times during breaks. It looks like it’s trying to escape its stony prison, emerging from the formless block. Its expression is poignant, as if it was lost in thought.

Smile lines? I draw backwards and away from the sculpture, frowning myself. It gave the man a look of maturity even though it was youthful. Together with the smile lines and the subtle wrinkles on its face, it seemed as if the man had lived a harrowing life before being trapped in the rock for me to uncover.

And yet, it was beautiful. There was something ethereal in the way it gazed out into space and pondered nothing.

I keep up the work. I feel myself slowly getting absorbed by it. The compulsion to keep going is overwhelming, and unlike any other. I don’t eat other than the bare minimum. I don’t leave my room unless necessary. I don’t think of much else other than what part of him to carve next.

It - no - he consumes my thoughts. In the day I carve and release him from his marble prison. At night I dream of him. Of his face, of his delicate hands, of his lithe body. I dream, I wish, and I long.

He is my finest work, the star amongst my oeuvre. My patrons are forgotten, their commissions delayed. Their ire is nothing to me. There is only him.

Astarion.

The name, his name, comes to me in a fever dream. He reaches out to me, and I ask him what he would want to be called.

A frown crosses those features, and I want more than anything to press my lips to his forehead and smooth the furrows on his brow. I watch him open his mouth, and it surprises me to see fangs.

“Astarion,” he says, and his voice catches me by surprise. There is a slight nasal timbre to it, and a drawl, almost a purr, at the end.

I snap awake, staring at the marble statue. He is looking at a spot about a meter away from where I am right now, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminating his ivory skin.

Ivory. Color. I remember now. His eyes were crimson, his hair white as snow. Features I had never imagined, the medium of my work limiting me from even considering anything regarding complexion. However, the stone was a close match to his skin in my dreams - a white so smooth it was almost pearlescent.

A vampire, I realize, as I remember one more thing: the scars on his neck. I pick up my chisel and walk over to the marble, my hands searching for the spot I remember from my dreams.

I carve, and it is perfect.

I wonder who he is, and what he’s done in his life. I am almost done freeing him, the stone block now only at his knees. I work on his genitals, shaping them as best as I can. I carve out a vein, which I would imagine to be of a bluish tint.

His body is beautiful, and I step back to admire it. Muscular, but not too large. Delicate, long limbs, the marble’s natural veins adding to the illusion of an actual circulatory system. Fingers that would make a pianist weep. Strong legs, with subtle thigh musculature.

He is full of contradictions. Masculine, and yet feminine, his hands on the delicate tilt of his hips. Youthful, and yet his face belies a strange maturity and melancholy. So real to me, and yet here he is, just the work of my hands and my overactive imagination.

I am enthralled.

I do not put him on display once he is done. I don’t sell him. He stays in my room, taking up valuable working space. I do not care.

He is my muse. I talk to him, argue with him, ask him for his thoughts. There is no response, no more dreams.

I weep. I mourn for something that never was. I seek company in lonely taverns, for warm bodies to lose myself in. It is never enough. It is not even close.

I cover him in a sheet. I don’t want to see him, to be reminded of what I so desperately need and can never have.

I try, so damn hard, to forget.

“You ruined my life!” I scream to no one in particular, to him. I am unable to work, my patrons having moved on to more productive artists. I want to throw my chisels at him, to topple him over and ruin him, as he had ruined me. But I cannot.

I rip off the sheets, staring at that face that had burrowed so deeply into my psyche, and I give in and move to press my lips against it. I close my eyes.

The lips that meet mine are cold - but not stone-cold - and soft. I feel hands move to wrap around my waist, tugging me close. I instinctively move my hands up over his head, and feel hair against my fingers - curly, fine strands that flow against my fingers like silk.

A very good illusion from my mind, I gather. As I pull away I force my eyes to open. Crimson ones meet me, and those smile lines crinkle as he grins.

“Hello, darling,” he breathes.

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire@qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld

[bettyfrommars]

Breaking the Curse

a Gargoyle Eddie story

Words: 792

This is a short smut blurb inspired by a conversation I had with @2clones-1kamino about needing some balrog/demon/gargoyle Eddie, and of course I have to make it so he's in love.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part4

gargoyle!Eddie Moodboard

It started out innocently enough. There was no way you could’ve known about the curse.

There was no way you could’ve known that the huge, 7ft stone gargoyle statue in your aunt's garden had once been a living, breathing man.

You used to visit every summer as a kid. You painted watercolor pictures of him and introduced him to your friends. You called him Goyle. He was your Goyle, and you truly believed that he looked out for you, even though he was just an inanimate statue at the time.

The years rolled on, as they do, and soon enough, you were an adult. You spent years away, having your own adventures, and making a life for yourself. Slowly but surely, you forgot about Goyle, until one summer, your aunt passed away, and you returned to pay your respects.

In the past few years away from the gargoyle, your life had taken a horrible turn. You’d lost several jobs and a relationship, and now your beloved aunt had died mysteriously. After the funeral, while still in mourning, you found your way out to the garden after nightfall, coming up behind his dark stone body hunched on a pedestal just beyond the archway hedge, near the rose bushes. The curve of his bare ass, long spade tail curled around his hip, and chiseled wings pulled down tight against his body, his big head arching down, as if in shame or penance.

You let your fingertips drag along his hip as you passed; the full moon was the only light you needed because you knew Goyle by heart. You knew that demon face with the handsome snout, full lips, two horns curled flat against his head, and wide-set eyes; he was carved from stone, but yet his expression always seemed to change for you. Tonight, you could tell he was hungry.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” you cooed, slightly buzzed on spirits, as you got on your toes to take his face in your hands and kiss his snarl of a mouth.

That was when two, big, flesh hands cupped your face in return, claws digging into your head softly, and your lips melted against his with unbridled eagerness. His tongue slipped out long enough to swipe the back of your throat; it tickled, and you pulled back to see that his eyes were a warm brown, and dark hair grew down along his demon face, making him half human.

You barely had time to whimper before you heard the stone crack as he jumped down from the pedestal with a swoop of his wings and a thud—the ground shook--- and then he took you into his arms. You clung to the rock-hard muscles of his back until he stretched you out on the grass so he could rut you with his face; smelling, licking, grunting, from your neck to your aching pussy that was now showing signs of your arousal.

You didn’t speak his ancient language, but just as his snarling mouth made claim to your swollen slit, he said, “need to taste you,” and “you’re mine,” before fucking you with his forked lizard tongue.

You grabbed onto his horns as his massive shoulders spread your legs wide, and the claws dug in, lifting your hips up so he could lick your slit front to back, making you shiver and cum; he was hungry to taste every inch of the woman he loved. The centuries he'd spent waiting for you had been long and lonely.

Mounting you from above, his demon face inches from yours, he could only get the tip in an inch before you cried out, stiffening under him, and his curious eyes found yours as he went slow, stretching you out with purpose, desperately needing to plant his seed deep inside your womb.

Your hips rose up to meet him, moaning, eyes rolling back in your head. His long hair grazed your cheeks, your hand clinging to the muscles of his thick neck. He was mumbling words to you in that old language you’d never heard before, growling at you in a way that made you say, “fuck yesyesyes,” as you came again, twitching, pussy pulsing on the biggest cock you’d ever had before as it impaled you.

He was grunting words as he shot endless pulses of cum inside, thrusting base deep, filling you to the brim until it poured out. His dragon scale wings opened up and his head tossed back in a primal howl. You wrapped your legs around him at the end, planting sweet kisses on his face, and whispered things to each other, words of affection that neither one of you understood.

The next morning, after an evening of too much alcohol and grieving, you wondered if it has all been a dream.

But your cunt bore the residual tenderness and your inner thighs were still sticky with his spend. Your fingertips feathered along the claw marks on your bare hips as you gazed out over the garden with a confused smile.

The stone pedestal was empty, and your Goyle was gone.