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not-another-robin · 2 years

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THE URGE TO DRAW JUSTICE LEAGUE MET GALA OUTFITS..............

#/thinks about formalware #/froths at the mouth #if you want to steal this idea please please please please please GOD do #narspeaking

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petpluto · 1 year

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I hate the Xander-Willow cheating plot line in season 3 as much as anyone, but I can’t help but feel like it also makes complete sense.

Xander and Willow (and Jesse, forever ignored by the narrative) were friends long before Buffy showed up in Sunnydale. Willow talks about how they haven’t always been as close in The Pack, but they have been a distinct and present part of each other’s lives since close to when they began forming memories they would take to adulthood. Xander stole Willow’s Barbie when they were five. Xander thought Willow set a fire to get him fire trucks when he turned seven. These are people who were as enmeshed in each other’s lives as people can be. And they both feel it slipping away. I think Xander is conscious of it in a way Willow isn’t, what with his “who am I going to call every night, and talk about what we did all day” revelation in Becoming. Willow, his Willow, wakes up and calls for Oz.

And Willow? She gets mad Xander is with Cordelia, and a large part of it is her crush and a part of it is their We Hate Cordelia Club. But part of it is, I think, the fact that they are no longer the people who call each other every night to talk about what they did all day. They used to be the kind of inseparable friends who had (almost) no secrets between them, crushes and abuse not withstanding. And now, there is a space between them. And that space comes from growing up, but I can see where growing up in this way, for these two characters in particular, is painful. And that particular pain of this particular loss can be interpreted by teenagers as romantic affection.

I ache for you now that you’re not around - it must be love. I see you in formalware, and I remember you’re going to be with someone who isn’t me. The space that used to be mine now belongs to that someone else. And instead of recognizing it as the normal pangs when your relationship is no longer the *most* important, Xander and Willow assume it’s attraction.

It also explains how (and why) their dalliance disappears the second they’re caught. Because they love each other, and they want that closeness back; but the loss of their partners - the people they actually romantically love - throws those feelings into sharp relief. They know they don’t love each other in the way they assumed, but only when it’s too late (for Xander, anyway).

And I hate to bring it back to their families, but I do think a huge part of what makes Willow “Willow”, and Xander “Xander”, and Willow and Xander a “Willow and Xander” is the fact that Willow is neglected by her parents and Xander is abused by his. It must be that much more frightening to feel like you’re losing the person who loves you unconditionally, who pays attention to you, who stands up for you and checks on you and constantly makes space for you in their life. Xander depends on Willow’s care, and Willow depends on Xander’s attention and protection. Losing that, for these potentially ephemeral high school relationships, would be it’s own kind of horror.

Like I said, I do hate this development, and I do think there are more reasons than just the above (Willow has wanted Xander for so long; Willow has felt overlooked for the Cordelias (and Buffys) of the world and now she is being chosen; Xander is jealous of Oz and possessive of Willow). But the above makes sense to me, character-wise. It’s not what I would have done to make room for Cordelia to leave, but it’s not outside the bounds of who Xander and Willow are, in these moments.

#buffy the vampire slayer #willow rosenberg #xander harris #btvs meta #I’ve seen this critiqued since it aired but it has always angered and made sense to me in equal measure

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mallsthemyth · 5 months

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thinking about how cheated i feel that we got stuck with the stupid winter palace uniform instead of having separate formalware for each character

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #too sleepy to explain rn so trust

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swashbucklery · 1 year

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I have been thinking about the costuming in Willow a lot, and yes this is for fanfiction reasons but it's also just for fun. As background, my non-fandom hobbies are mostly textile based: I sew garments and teach sewing classes, I'm an experienced knitter and handspinner and I've started to dabble in wool processing from fleece and four-shaft weaving.

So once I get into a Textile Puzzle Hole I can go pretty deep, and this is a fun and important part of understanding the worldbuilding for me.

Because they're doing a thing with Willow that - I actually really enjoy. It's not "classic fantasy" in the sense that it's not period-appropriate or of a specific era that we'd recognize. They're also clearly trying to call back to the 80s roots of the original film with some of the design choices; mostly the elements of armor and clothing that they're pulling from traditional martial arts clothing and the existence of Fun Fantasy Denim.

A lot of my thoughts aren't necessarily about critique, but more about trying to put together a cohesive rubric for myself as to what the costuming aesthetic is. Because it's not "anything goes," it's got a specific vibe and a clear voice and I want to "get it" more for my own writing and for my own understanding.

I think the two rules that I've drilled down so far are:

Textiles As Artisan Material (all-handmade, no fantasy spandex)

Function Over Form

1. Textiles As Artisan Material So to get into this a little, I want to get into the idea of how textiles are made because for me I'm In Deep and know a lot about the raw material to cloth to garment process but the average person does not. (I will say, I'm excepting the Cuirass from all of this - we know metatextually that it's a 3d printed stretch fabric bodysuit; it's also magic so it doesn't count.)

So, the average person is used to textile production that is predicated on post-industrial-revolution technology. Meaning:

power-driven machines for weaving and spinning

computer technology available in spinning and weaving machinery to allow for easy production of highly complex cloth structures and patterning

overabundance and artificially low costs of raw materials

When you are thinking of fabric (and I'd include cloth and leather here but not metal armor) as a skilled artisan material, understanding the reasoning for, for instance, Jade having one shirt for the entire series involves understanding what steps are involved. Then, we can understand how many human beings are involved in fabric and therefore garment production and also how many people need to get paid along the way. A piece of cloth entirely handmade for a garment would involve:

a producer to grow the textile fiber (cotton, flax, wool, hide for leather)

skilled artisans to process the fiber (washing, preparing for spinning which could include combing/carding wool, retting flax, etc, leather tanning)

skilled artisans to add dye. This can be done at the stage of prepared fiber, finished thread/yarn, or finished cloth. In a real-world/modern context, this would have significant impact on the cost of cloth. Certain colours (reds, purples) are much harder to dye true than others or require more expensive dyestuff.

skilled spinners to turn the fiber into fine threads for weaving - depending on the fineness needed for the specific weave of the cloth this could be weeks to months of work. Thinner threads will take more time but have more drape and be less stiff as a cloth, so you'd need thin threads for next-to-skin garments like undershirts, and for fine fabrics in things like dresses or fancy formalware

weavers to weave the threads into cloth. Again, the timing here would depend on the type of thread being used but it would also depend on whether or not there are any woven-in embellishments as components of the cloth. Basic cloth in plain weave would take time but not a lot of extra skill; twills or patterning require more time and weaving skill.

embroiderers to add any embellishments either to the base cloth or to the finished garment

tailors and seamstresses to make garments to measure, which would involve cutting any pieces out of the finished cloth and turning it into a garment the correct size for the wearer. If we are assuming that the mechanical sewing machine has not been invented, then garments would be sewn by hand.

handsewing a correctly finished garment involves more than just tacking the pieces together; seam finishes so that the cloth doesn't unravel often require going over the same seam line one or more times. The labour hours in this step cannot be overstated.

metalworkers or other craftspeople to make fastenings and finishings: buttons, toggles, grommets on lacing that weren't handsewn, etc.

leather garments would be made by a separate type of textile worker, since leatherwork requires different tools and a different skillset to successfully construct garments.

So for a basic garment we're looking at needing to pay six separate types of skilled artisans for their work, up to six or seven if it's a garment with elaborate fittings and/or finishing such as buttons or metal fasteners.

The textile economy is relevant here because it is going to translate directly into style. Cutting fabric into patterned shapes leaves waste; this is fine if you're using mass-produced fabric that you can easily afford to replace but if cloth is the 10/10 most precious thing in your garment, you're going to try to cut it into as low-waste a design as possible. It might also lead to less fussy fitting, so that garments are adjustable and can be used by a person for much longer.

It also translates into textile types. Prior to the advent of mechanical knitting machines, any knit (stretch) fabrics would be hand knit. If you have ever tried knitting yourself, you understand that knitting with thin thread takes more time, and therefore more labour hours.

What this means for clothing in-universe on Willow is:

almost entirely woven fabrics, with the exception of handknitting (see: Elora’s scarf-shawl)

this likely does translate into undergarments; I've been looking at regency and late-Victorian era examples to get my head around. The modern bra and panty set is heavily heavily dependent on not just machine knit fabric but also a TON of petroleum-based synthetic textiles that cannot be produced without modern post-industrial means.

fastened using items that can be handmade! Buttons, toggles, clasps, ties or belts for the most part, with the occasional Fantasy Rivet or Fantasy Grommet.

precious! so precious! Expensive to produce and also worth caring for; we see some examples of visible mending in-show and that would have been the standard for everyone with the exception of Kit and Airk.

2. Function Over Form So this is maybe something that I only think about because I sew, but the modern eye is really used to equating and understanding "woven" fabrics and "stretch woven" fabrics as equivalent. Jeans are the easiest example to think about: they're made with denim, but in things like skinny jeans that denim is usually blended with some kind of spandex. Typical woven fabric doesn't stretch in either direction in a meaningful way; stretch-woven fabrics do so because of the synthetic textile content.

So a lot of the design choices that we see in the show really have to take into account that those textiles won't stretch with movement, and that the wearers need to be able to swordfight:

larger, baggier shirts with cuffs or vests rather than more fitted shirts, to allow for full movement at the elbow and shoulder

trousers that have a bit of extra wearing ease at the hip and thigh, so that when the wearer sits or squats there is room for the change in their body shape with these positions

there are a couple of GREAT leather jackets (Kit's in the early season especially), but if you look closely there's actually a grommet-and-lacing system to attach the sleeve head to the body, so that the shoulder still moves. So clever!

Anyway I have been having a lot of fun thinking about this and deconstructing the garments further. Thinking more about the costuming helps me find the worldbuilding details that make it easy for me to write, and I’d love to chat about this lots and lots! I do have some screenshot receipts for this; I didn’t include them because I mostly just wanted to write and not do ~graphic design today.

#grouchy aunt j's fantasy textile opinions #willow: medium powerful magic once adjusted for inflation #willow 2022 #fibre arts are the best arts

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nagilicioussodelicious · 11 months

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Final Japan Shugo Chara Haul!!!

I got so much more stuff than I ever expected! Sadly I didn’t find the maid set from the graffart cafe collab, nor the beautiful formalware amuto from the pop up shop this winter. But I got the Alice in wonderland Tadahiko merch, the ones i wanted the most!!

Below are some close up pics of what I got!

#shugo chara #merch haul #I bought basically everything I found #except I didn’t buy things that were 2000yen plus unless I really wanted them #so I passed on a few large stands

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bearsinpotatosacks · 7 months

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Can't You Come Home? - Whumptober2023

I'll take one final step, all you have to do is make me - Can't you see you're lost without me

It's Carole's funeral and Bradley misses her more than anything.

For day 19 (and 10) of @whumptober . Also on AO3.

Words: 650

Birds tweeted in the background. The sky was an endless blue and summer was setting in. Texas summers were always hotter than hell, humid and sticky. His collar was glued to his neck, his shirt was wet against his skin. He’d been wanting to rip it off for hours but now he was alone in the graveyard, he didn’t know what to do.

This suit felt too big on him, yet also too small. He kept thinking the ground was going to swallow him, like he was slipping under just a little. His head was going, distance spreading between him and the world around him. What he needed right now was a hug from his mum. Too bad she was six feet under.

The flowers by her gravestone spelt out ‘Mom’ in her favourite flowers. At his feet was compact dirt from where they’d buried her. It was still fresh. The grave, the flowers, her death.

He’d cried so much over the past fews weeks that he didn’t think he had any left. Something within him was on the verge, he’d cried the tears and now the ground was cracking from drought. He wanted to destroy those flowers, the bouquets back in the church, wanted to rip it all apart because it wasn’t fair. He’d lost his dad, now his mum and all he wanted was for things to stop, for everyone to go away so he could possibly hear them talking to him.

“Why did you have to go?” He said, his voice raw. “You said you’d never leave.”

That broke him. He thought the tears had stopped but the thick feeling in his throat couldn’t be denied. A sharp feeling shot throigh his nostrils as tears welled up and overflowed. They began to cover his face, making it slimy and wet as he wiped them away with the cuff of his blazer. His tie was undone around his neck, he hated formalware like this, you only ever wore it at uncomfortable situations.

“I need you here, I need my mom,”

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as snot flowed out of his nose. He hiccuped as he couldn’t hold back the tears he didn’t know he had. An urge to crawl into the ground, to curl around her like he had done the past few months every night, like he still did despite her not being in that bed anymore. He was cradling her blanket every chance he could get.

“I miss you.”

If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear her talking. He knew it was just in his head but maybe if he really really tried, closed his eyes and screwed them really tight, he could hear her, feel her next to him like she’d been on his dad’s funeral.

“I’m right here,” she whispered on the wind. “Just listen.”

It didn’t make him stop crying, in fact it made the tears flow harder. But he needed to hear her, needed something to stop the anger that was flowing out even if it was all in his head. She was always good at that, not stifling his emotions but chanelling them, helping him make sense of them.

Rain began to fall. The wind picked up, wiping the tears off his face, driving the stickiness off him as his mother’s words rippled around him. The petals of the flowers picked up around him, swirling and if he squinted he could almost see her, almost picture the way she’d smile and hold him so close that it made everything feel better.

As the first few drops fell on his head, he didn’t smile but he felt the anger soothe and lower. She wasn’t here, not really, but if he breathed in the scent of the rain and listened to the wind. She almost was. It was as close as he was going to get.

----

Poor baby :( Just needs a hug from his mum :( This adds to my idea that even if icemav got to raise Bradley for a bit (a headcanon that isn't my favourite as I don't generally ship Icemav that much) then it wouldn't be a great fun time, they'd get an angry, hurt kid who just misses his parents in a way that probably only Mav would relate to. Also this could be interpreted as Bradley seeing ghosts, which is a fic I really want to write someday. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

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skinnydpn · 11 months

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Pier 1 Ceramic Coffee Mug 2 Set Black Dress Pearls-Black White Tuxedo Mug.

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gabrielzeros · 5 years

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I had a epic time with @pdarren7 while exploring the city together! #newyorker #cityadventures #formalware (at New York, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/Byt1IW1ABPA/?igshid=lexfn40xb4dl

#newyorker #cityadventures #formalware

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xavierknightsbridge · 2 years

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The Dinner-Date’s Belly

Scott was getting hungry. He'd dressed for dinner but his date – Mark – seemed to be putting everything possible in the way of Scott filling his belly.

It had started out so promisingly. They'd met on tinder, Mark's profile was good: athletic build, nice muscles, pecs popping beneath tight button up shirts. He was some kind of instagram sensation and to be honest, seemed more vain than Scott usually went for – but they'd hit it off and now here they were, on a dinner date.

Scott liked to dress up for dinner. Button down shirt, pressed collar, waistcoat, the works. He was reasonably toned and the slim fit formalware accenutated his ripped physique, flattering the round, full curves of his pecs and the slimness of his hips. He'd bothered to comb his unruly red hair which tumbled down to the bottom of his neck in long, lush waves. He'd been compared to a Disney prince on occasion – a compliment that had encouraged him to cultivate a physique to match. So he'd arrived to the date looking killer, belly growling with hunger (he thought showing off one's appetite an attractive quality on a first date) and with high expectations.

Expectations that had been quickly shattered. Though in person Mark was every bit as delicious as his profile pics – tousled brown hair, lantern jaw, polo shirt sexily unbuttoned to reveal the firm line of his pecs (his big nipples showing through the thin fabric, hard, like an invitation for later). But he was underdressed – and worse, had already eaten – evidenced by the big round belly that protruded from under his polo shirt, appearing whenever he stretched as his big belly pushed his shirt up, deep belly-button emerging in an orb of wobbling flesh like it was winking at Scott.

Still, Scott liked meat on a man, and the date could be saved – if it wasn't for Mark's horrible personality. The date had gone from bad to worse – Mark hadn't liked Scott's long hair (girly, apparently, which was rich from a man who had clearly spent a lot of money having his pecs enhanced to perfection), his clothes (pretentious – from an instagram influencer) and his obviously hungry belly (Scott's belly had growled when Mark's big belly had first made a surprise appearance, popping out of the bottom of his polo shirt when they'd sat to order drinks at the bar.) Apparently Scott's tummy-noises were 'low-class.'

Mark, not being hungry, had lingered at the bar and drunk too much – making him even more intolerable and torturing Scott's poor ravenous belly. Mark had insulted the bar-staff – and word had obviously filtered through to the wait staff cause it had been an age of enduring terrible conversation until someone came to take their order, and then another hour before starters arrived. Mark had wolfed his – causing a reappearance of his big, bloated belly – which frankly Scott preferred as a dining companion to its owner – and then ordered a bottle of wine from the only sympathetic waiter, a dishy Italian-American called Antonio, who filled out his tight waiter's uniform very well and had olive skin and dark, curly hair. He gave Scott a smile as he filled their glasses – but his attention was diverted by an obnoxious customer with a big belly demanding his food be reheated. So Scott still went hungry and there was no sign of his main course arriving any time soon.

The final straw came when Mark, who had been guzzling the wine by himself, knocked over his glass and spilled red wine all over Scott's shirt. Furious – and not being offered any help by Mark who said it served him right for dressing too nice for dinner – Scott had gone to the bathroom to clean up. His belly was like a ball of hunger and groaning need – and his shirt was completely ruined. The red stains were damp against his bare skin, so he stripped to just his waistcoat, exposing his lower belly, belly button gaping below the final button on the slim waistcoat (which he'd chosen because it was a bit too tight – his pecs spilled out on either side, rosy, full nipples barely concealed by the fabric). He wanted nothing more than to go home – but he was so hungry he didn't think he'd make it without passing out. So, annoyed, half-naked, belly-button on display, Scott returned to his terrible date, belly rumbling with hunger.

And then, as he sat down, Mark had made a face at his state of undress – and his noisy stomach. “Dude, you need to chill your belly out – that noise is too much.”

Furious, and hungry beyond belief – Scott realised it was time to take matters into his own hands. “Guess I'd better eat something then,” he'd said, reaching across the table.

Normally, Scott wouldn't indulge his predatory appetites in public – but his belly had needs and he'd learnt to obey his belly when it made its demands. The wait staff had placed them in a shady corner, way out of the line of sight of themselves – right by the back-door to the parking lot. The only nearby table was the one with the obnoxious customer, who was still arguing with the hot waiter over the quality of food at the restaurant – an argument that didn't look like it was going to be finished anytime soon. And Mark clearly had very few uses – lovely big belly aside – so really Scott was doing everyone a favor if his belly had managed to find a way to make use of Mark.

Mark struggled as Scott ripped his polo shirt in half, letting that big, full belly spill out over his waistband and jiggle invitingly in the air, sweating from the alcohol. He struggled even more as Scott opened his mouth as wide as he knew how and with one hand shoved Mark's head into his waiting maw, and with the other began to strip Mark so his shorts slid down his toned, plump buttocks, cock and big balls popping out at the same time (it seemed Mark had managed to do Scott a favor in going commando – though no doubt he'd imagined his cock entering Mark's mouth in a less final fashion).

Mark struggled – but his steroid enhanced muscles, impressively big as they were, were no match for Scott's hard-earned physique. Pecs straining against his waistcoat front – and biceps visibly bulging (like his belly was about to), Scott quickly overpowered Mark/his dinner and began to consume him – a reward for his voracious belly's long wait. He had to work quickly to avoid being seen but he still savoured every mouthful (and with Mark, they were big mouthfuls) of struggling young man he forced into himself. The sweat and the struggle in his mouth flavoured his meat/Mark wonderfully and Scott quickly devoured him up to his chest, exulting in the warm, satisfied (but eager for more) sensation as he felt live meat entering his stomach (and could already see his flat stomach swelling into a round, protruding ball of a belly, bare beneath his waistcoat, belly-button deeper than before in the newly expanded flesh of his gut).

Mark's big, broad pecs were an especial treat, his nipples hard and perky as Scott teased them with his long tounge, savouring the sweat pooling down the broad, full planes of Mark's pectorals as he nibbled on them, enjoying the feel of Mark's heartbeat in his mouth and then his throat as he gobbled up his date's chest. Scott loved eating another man's pecs, feeling their fullness with his tongue and his mouth, nibbling on the hard swell of muscle and arousing the nipples with his tongue before sending both wobbling, muscle-swollen pecs down to his stomach to become his – part of him – for good.

Scott's cock stiffened in his lap, tentpoling his tight suit trousers as he felt the incredible fullness of Mark's chest entering the ever voracious tank of his stomach. Looking down, below Marc's wobbling belly now hanging from Scott's full lips, Scott could see his belly swell out even further, round, smooth flesh (aside from his ginger treasure trail, plunging into the deep well of his growing belly-button) sitting in his lap like he'd eaten a basket-ball, swelling out his stomach in a perfect sphere of naked gut. But of course, Scott thought excitedly, cock twitching in his trousers, he hadn't eaten a basket-ball. He was eating Mark – and there was still more to stuff into his demanding belly.

In the mirror opposite their booth (well his only now, Mark being well on his way to being turned into Scott's belly – where Scott had no doubt he was better suited as food for his growing gut than as a person) Scott could see his meal of Mark was having a pronounced effect on his waistcoat. His new Mark-belly was swelling out below the tightly buttoned waistcoat, though the waistcoat was digging into the the flesh of his vore-belly as it expanded, just above his increasingly large belly-button which yawned just below the last button his waistcoat (though his belly-button was now at least four times as large as his coat buttons). The waistcoat was being visibly pushed outwards by the emerging swollen sphere of belly – its upper curve still contained, though only barely – and the five lower waistcoat buttons were visible straining to accommodate his growing vore-belly. Only those across his chest seemed secure – and even then the size and heft of Scott's plumply muscular pectorals put some pressure on the upper buttons too. The growing hardness of his cock was also fighting with the button on his trousers, which seemed ready to pop trying to contain the massive tentpole his fat vorny cock was making.

At this point, Scott was ready to take on his date's stuffed, fat gut, hanging from his mouth like a balloon of lovely meat. Scott slathered it with his long, pink tongue before slowly pulling the upper curve of Mark's big, round belly into his mouth, trying to guess what was inside it that had filled his date out so much. Steak? Mark tasted like a steak man. A big juicy steak in a big juicy belly – cum dribbled out of Scott's engorged cock as he began to eat Mark's engorged tummy. His cheeks swelled out like a hamster's as greedily he sucked in more and more of Mark's quivering belly. He nibbled on it as it entered, stroking Mark's cock with his free hand, enjoying how obviously aroused Mark was getting by the feel of Scott nuzzling and gently chewing his expanse of belly flesh. Then, slowly, sucking every bit of flavour he could get out of the belly-meat as it passed through his mouth, Scott began to swallow down the belly until the huge, yawning belly-button was just in front of him, and he could stick his tongue in it and twirl the button of flesh at its base, teasing his food/Mark as he ate him, reminding him that he was just meat to be enjoyed, to be played with before he entered Scott's belly – and became Scott's belly.

At last, he removed his tongue from Mark's now saliva-slathered belly-button with a pop, and sucked Mark's navel down his gullet, pulling in the delicious, wobbling lower shelf of belly-fat with it – and sending the whole enormously stuffed belly down into his waiting, growing tank. As he felt his dinner-date's stomach enter his own, and was overcome with the delicious feelings of conquest and orgasm and fullness that came from a completely full vore-belly, Scott's cock sprang free of his trousers, balls pumping jet after jet of cum through his impressively girthy shaft and out of his weeping cock-head. His trousers would be ruined – but at least for a good reason Scott thought. At the same time, he could see in the mirror that his straining waist-coat buttons were about to blow as his belly swelled to twice its previous size as it filled up – and out – with Mark's stuffed gut (Scott's now, or more accurately his belly's). With a series of pops, Scott watched (cock stiffening again, feeling his balls churn and fill with more cum) as his his waistcoat strained over his swelling planet of gut and one by one, the buttons popped off – first the one just below his big pecs, then the next, and the next, all along the great upper swell of his Marc-filled gut – running down the expansive upper curve of his vore-belly until at last the final button, just about holding his belly-button in check, right above his middle, stretched and pinged off his waistcoat to ricochet around the booth.

Immediately, the waistcoat fell open, unable to hold back the great swollen tide of belly any longer, and Scott saw in the mirror his enormous man-filled, meat-stuffed vore gut spill out and onto his lap, bouncing and wobbling in the air with the squirms of its struggling filling and the force with which it had popped open his waistcoat. Scott placed one hand on the moving, warm upper expanse of his now bare dome of belly, and began to rub and tend his bloated, predatory gut as it devoured its prey. And there was still more of Mark to stuff inside himself Scott thought happily.

Next up was his date's cock and big, round balls – perfectly spherical (the mirror of his distended vore-belly, Scott thought sucking on his date's obviously cum-filled loins). He gave Mark a blowjob, forcing his pleasingly fat cock in and out of his full lips until he blew all over Scott's tongue and lips (and he could hear his date moan inside his massive gut as he climaxed, even as he was being eaten up by Scott's big hungry belly). Scott figured someone may as well get some action since this was supposed to be a date (though now one very much between Mark and Scott's belly) and besides, he loved it when his food flavoured itself. Patting his belly in thanks for the cum, Scott swallowed down his food's still-twitching cum-slicked cock and fat, full balls, slurping them down and sending them straight to his still growing tank.

After that, the rest of Mark went down pretty smoothly – though his legs kicked, thick thighs tensing as Scott chewed and nibbled on the muscles. He didn't mind – he liked a struggle and a nice active belly afterwards. He horfed more of his dinner-date into his swelling gut, cock orgasming uncontrollably in his lap (and balls then immediately fattening with fresh cum) as he filled up and out with ever more of Mark in his tank. Looking down (mark now being all belly but for his feet kicking futilely from where they hung out of Scott's maw), Scott was impressed with the size and heft of his swollen mound of belly, belly-button a deep, dark crater in the center of the wobbling planet of satisfied, squirming gut. The sides of his waistcoat were hanging at either side of his enormous, bloated stomach, fabric pressed against the heaving sweating sides of his awe-inspiring sphere of belly – and the material across his thick, heaving, round pecs was stretched so far that there was a huge gap revealing the firm line of his pectorals, buttons a thin string of thread stretched taut above his half-naked chest.

His predatory belly gave a great groan, demanding Scott send the rest of its dinner down into his engorged tank. Never wanting to deny his belly anything, Scott slurped the struggling feet of his former date (now belly) into his mouth and swallowed them down. As he felt all of Marc enter his belly, feeling the rush of power and fullness and orgasmic feeling of superiority over his meal that came from having a newly filled vore gut, Scott watched as the final buttons across his pecs gave out, pining across the booth, freeing his full, hard-nippled pecs, now bared to the room, heaving and dripping with sweat (sweat that rolled down to his gently moving sphere of Marc-belly, dripping into his chasm of gaping belly-button, a bottomless hole in the center of his shifting, distended mound of pred-belly, or mingling with the sweat clinging to the hairs of his ginger treasure trail before it plunged into the great dark depressing of his enormous belly-button). His belly pushed outwards another several inches, achieving its desired size and shape (that is filled up to complete fullness with Marc wriggling and squirming inside it), causing the fabric of his open waist-coat to tear as it was forced further outwards.

At the same time as his bloated tank expanded further outward (swelling in size like a pumped up balloon – except the pumping was a young man being eaten up and put in his belly where he belonged) – Scott's cock pumped out great wads of cum, coating the lower swell of his sweat-drenched vore-belly in sticky seed (mingling with the red hair that formed a kind of mountain trail down the vast lower slope of his predatory gut). Some shot into his belly-button, filling it to over-flowing so hot pulses of his seed dripped out of that great well in the midst of his vore-gut to run in slow, sticky rivers down the stretched skin of his squirming gut. Scott could hear screams accompanying the wonderful wriggling going on in his tank – so he gave the upper swell of his vore-tum a chastising slap (producing a wonderful thick, meaty noise – and caused his great predatory belly to wobble uncontrollably).

Grinning to himself, Scott leaned back in his seat, belly spilling out over his lap like a massive beach-ball of satiated flesh and settled in to digest his date, rubbing the bloated flesh of his belly-drum that had been the handsome, muscular Marc – now destined to be Scott's belly-fat. His belly looked incredible – smooth swollen ball of gut, framed by his ruined waistcoat, dripping with cum, belly button a massive dark hole in its middle, tufted with red hair that ran down the lower curve of his expanded belly to his twitching, cum-producing loins, emphasising the sheer size of his gut – and visibly squirming in his lap as his belly began to gurgle.

“Well Marc,” he said, addressing his squirming naked sphere of belly, belching and relishing the aftertaste of the guy digesting within his enormous bare dome of gut, “Looks like dinner's on you.”

Scott stayed in the booth for a while longer, belly-out and heaving. Lovingly, Scott caressed his distended vore gut, arms unable to close around the great expanse of his middle, below which gaped his deep belly-button (from which Marc's moans and shouts occasionally emanated). Ruined waistcoat hanging open over his pecs, massive prey-filled gut sitting smug and swollen and enormous beneath the fabric, visibly moving as its contents (Marc who was now belly-food) struggled and squirmed inside. Scott's loins twitched and moved of their own accord in their nest of ginger hair (hair which continued up in a furry red trail up the steep curving climb of his lower belly before plunging into the gaping maw of his belly-button), while Scott, lost in belly-making ecstasy felt long spools of saliva drool from his mouth and onto the massive curve of his upper belly. He prodded and slapped Mark/his belly, triumphing in the sensations his date/dinner produced within him.

So lost was he, that he didn't notice the shadow approaching the table. (The shadow being large enough to eclipse the table altogether). It was only when a smooth voice asked “And how was the food, sir?” that Scott realised he wasn't alone.

Panicked, Scott looked for a way to disguise his massive sphere of pred-gut, but the only thing in reach was a napkin. His waistcoat ripped as he tried to pull the folds over his upper gut, flapping free as his briefly-constrained belly rolled out onto the table with a hefty thud (producing a disgruntled grunt from his belly-filler, Mark). The napkin was even less use, it fell from its brief perch on the upper shelf of wobbling belly-dome and slipped down the long, deep curve to hang over Scott's large, deep, dark belly-button – but the size of Scott's bare belly-button was such that the napkin hanging over it barely covered a third of it.

Suddnely, there was a pinging noise and Scott felt something small and hard fly into his belly-button, where it fell several inches before landing with a thud. Startled, Scott reached into his distended belly, fingers scrabbling in the crevice of his belly-button, to uncover a small white shirt-button. Looking up, he discovered the cause.

Antonio the hot Italian waiter was standing in front of him, or rather his belly was. Hugely swollen, pear-shaped and hanging from below a pair of dark-haired and flexing pecs with round dark nipples, hard as hell, was a massive gut that shifted with a squirming, indignant prey struggling beneath the waiter's olive skin. Antonio's shirt hung open, buttons pinging around the room. A dark line of brown hair ran from the cleft between Antonio's big, full pecs down his navel and over the massive expanse of his groaning, swollen vore-gut. Antonio's cock and big, swollen cum-making balls popped out from below his work trousers, and rubbed against the lower curve of his distended, enormous gut. The belly groaned and squirmed, its contents visibly fighting – each movement visibly arousing Antonio more, and causing his balls to swell with further cum.

Antonio belched. “Sorry, sir. A disagreement about the quality of meat served from the kitchen,” he gave his massive, squirming swell of stomach a prod. “He won't be complaining about that again.” A line of drool fell from Antonio's full lips and cascaded onto the shifting expanse of his sweaty upper gut. Antonio grabbed a piece of cloth – the complainer's ruined, torn shirt – which given the way Antonio's gut was beginning to gurgle, he wouldn't be needed again – and wiped his mouth with it, visibly enjoying tasting his meal again on the fabric. Antonio drummed both his palms against the expanded fat sides of his gastronomical (and astronomically sized) tummy and let out another belch.

“I thought it best to sample the food he was complaining about myself, and where better to eat from than the horse's mouth,” Antonio stroked his exposed, protruding vore-belly lovingly. “And I can confirm he had no cause for complaint – indeed the food tasted even better inside his belly. And I must say feels delicious too.” A hand traced the curve of his meal's gut inside the bloated sphere of Antonio's engorged stomach. Antonio licked his lips, cock-head twitching against the hefty underside of his bare belly. “But how was the food for you, sir? Was everything to your satifsfaction?”

Awed, and aroused beyond belief, Scott pushed out his own swollen dome of bare, sweating, groaning vore-gut where it sat, hefty and proud on the table (straining it visibly) and smiled. “You tell me,” he said, slapping his bloated sphere of belly triumphantly, as Marc (his food) moaned within it.

Recognising the invitation, Antonio grinned and stepped forward, belly first. With one great crash, his big gut, hanging out from his ruined waiter's shirt pushed over the table separating their bellies and with one wet, sticky meaty slap, pressed their bloated vore-guts together. “Well, sir certainly seems satisfied,” Antonio said, breathlessly as their twin guts squirmed against each other, a collision of two belly-planets sticking together with cum and sweat, hot and heaving. Their belly-buttons, yawning chasms within the expanded centers of their swollen guts, pressed against each other, rubbing against each other like they were kissing.

“No complaints here,” Scott groaned, pushing his vore-gut out further, loving the feel of Antonio's prey-filled, hot gut moving and sliding against his own, the wet slap of flesh against flesh and the pop as Antonio withdrew his gut and then pressed it back against Scott's Mark-belly all the more forcefully. “Though a few from Mark here.” Antonio grinned and bounced his great, hefty prey-filled tum against Scott causing both men and both their bellies to moan as their massive, expanded, fully-fed guts collided. They both moaned – and climaxed, balls already swelling to make more cum – seed mingling and sticking their big bare vore-bellies together. Sweat coursed down two sets of heaving pecs and onto the rolling, wobbling domes of bellies that hung beneath them, mingling and pooling into two deep dark belly-buttons.

As they continued to rub their bellies together, the pace increased – as did the pace of their digestion. Soon Antonio's olive-skinned drum of belly and Scott's ginger-tufted sphere of gut were gurgling and blorting, belly-flesh round and smooth and swollen as they belched into each other's faces, expelling the last of the air within the great caverns of their expanded stomachs. Sweat coursing down their faces, sticking red hair and black together, Antonio gave Scott a triumphant smile while Scott, sweat pouring down his face, nodded. Forcing their big, prey-filled digesting guts together so they could feel the movements within the walls of each other's stomach, gurgling and shifting as their bellies devoured and digested the guys they'd filled them out with, Antonio leaned into kiss the younger pred. They stayed locked like that for some time, rubbing their digesting guts together, delighting in the sensations of the gurgles and groans, belches, blorts and gentle movement within each other's belly pressed up against their own, knowing the other one was experiencing and enjoying the exact same process – that they were both triumphant preds, processing some guy into food for their voracious bellies – and pudge on their big bellies.

As Antonio's sweat-drenched, olive-skinned belly gurgled the rude customer away, which Scott could feel happening as it pressed against his own light-skinned, red-haired bare belly, currently noisily and with much movement and wobbling digested Mark away into permanent belly-fat on his tum, Antonio at last withdrew with a wet, meaty pop as their prey-filled swells of gut detached from each other. Antonio's hanging swollen belly wobbled in the air as it detached itself from Scott's digesting, massively expanded gut. Pecs heaving, belly-buttons facing each other, cocks twitching and still hard despite the amount of cum slicking both bloated bellies, the two preds regarded each other in awe and triumph.

“Will sir be leaving us a review,” Antonio asked, voice raw. Noisily belching, Scott nodded, licking his lips. “You bet.”

Slapping his belly, Antonio smiled. “Of course, if sir's belly keeps up its current pace, sir might find he has room for dessert.”

Scott regarded the bloated, heavy sphere of smooth, swollen post-vore gut protruding out from under his waistcoat thoughtfully. He gave the enormous swell of belly-pudge a smug wobble. “Well, sir's belly is always up for a challenge,” Scott said with a grin, even as his body heaved with the exertion of digesting Marc.

Antonio grinned, evidently delighted to spend more time feeding up a fellow pred. “Well, if sir sits tight and relaxes – the evening service starts in just a few hours.” He gave his hefty post-vore gut protruding over his slacks a heavy, fleshy slap. “And I'm certainly in the mood for seconds.” He gave Scott's bare swollen heavy belly a lustful glance. “Shall I bring the menu over when they're here?”

Grinning, and with one final belch bringing up a last aftertaste of his meal of Mark, Scott could only nod and lick his lips in anticipation.

Antonio gave his olive-skinned swell of post-vore belly a loving rub. “On the house, of course.”

Scott leaned back, rubbing the mound of bare pudge that was/had been Mark. He could feel a five star review coming on.

#oral vore #male vore #male prey #male pred #mlm vore #m/m vore #belly vore #vore writing #soft vore

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princess-of-the-corner · 2 years

Note

Ask hero chat: *linked video of an akuma frantically fluttering away from a teenager chasing it* teen: get back here you coward! You do not get to back out of akumatizing me because you can't handle the voices in my head either! I have to live like this you flaccid piece of formalware!

Ladybug: “I don’t know if we should be laughing or not but uh. We’ll come handle thaT!”

#hc answers

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wondertainmenttoys · 3 years

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hello doctor wondertaintment dado would like to inquire about the order of the 500 teency tiny hamster bee spoke suits, when is dado expect to arrive, robert is the very professional hamster and need his suit.

Dear dado,

We apologize for the delay! Your custom order of 500 units of Dr. Wondertainment's Teeny Tiny Bespoke Formalware(tm) is on its way!

Unfortunately, the address you provided our dutiful team of Transitory Transporters(tm) is inaccessible to Dr. Wondertainment's Transport Tubes(tm).

Un-Unfortunately (or fortunately, for short!), the issue has been recently resolved! Your beloved brother, bado, was kind enough to offer his services in helping with your delivery!

We're sure he will be sending your hamster's suits very soon!

Have a Wonderful day!

#Inquiry #we had no idea you have a brother beforehand!#but his credentials were undeniable!

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sheepydwagon · 2 years

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"#Cotton fluff shoved into Victorian formalware" so liek aziraphale? :P

Y-yeah 👉👈

#Dof post #Ask answer #He is probably my kin most actually like me

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komorebirei · 4 years

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What is clothing fashion like in the Wing AU? Shirts must be different because there is no way to put a shirt on with huge wings.

Hi! Thanks for the ask. I know nothing about fashion design, but I made some sketches for fun.

The first one is a simple t-shirt for everyday casual wear. I think in this AU, people would pay more attention to buttons and customize them to show their personality or fashion choices. They don’t have to be large like what’s in my drawing, and there could be invisible clasps too. Some people might treat them like lapel pins are used in our society and pick button styles to make a statement.

T-shirt without the wings in the way:

For winter jackets it would be a similar idea but they would have to be well insulated to avoid losing heat through the wing holes. There are many options to deal with closing the fabric above the wings but here’s one example that fastens to the hood.

And without the wings in the way (the t-shirt is visible below, though the coat holes should be as small as possible, smaller than this, to avoid losing heat):

And just because I thought it looked cute with the hood down:

And of course women’s formalware wouldn’t be much of a problem. I think the space between the wings could be seen as an elegant area to get creative with, and having delicate materials dangled there, or intricate webbing etc. would be nice alternatives to just leaving it bare. Here’s one option.

Men’s formalware is more of a challenge. I thought of an idea but it’s already one a.m. so I don’t have time to draw it now. Anyone want to rise to the challenge? I’m sure someone can come up with way better and more creative ideas than what I have here!

#ML Wing AU #Miraculous Ladybug #ML Fanart #Fashion #I know nothing about fashion sorry

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