We are not meant to be
Hypnotic alien tentacles transform some thylacine guy who was just trying to clean up his house. Explicit.
Jay was happy enough that even with his hands covered in dirt and his fur damp with sweat, he was still smiling. A month ago, he'd gotten fed up with the mess in his small flat. Two weeks ago, a slow-burning desire to clean up had sprouted into a white-hot flame. And now things were great. He'd even put plants in his house. On purpose. And he was watering them. It was amazing.
He pushed his hands beneath the water of the sink. He was using the sink and not navigating around dishes. Then, he picked up the colorful potted flowers and set them on top of an end table next to the dining room window. There wouldn't have been space for it three weeks ago.
His new life wasn't just free of clutter. With the house more opened up, he felt like getting outside more. With more energy, he'd even joined a gym and hadn't yet started neglecting to go there. He was getting dressed every day, and not just the days that he had to go outside. And, speaking of cleanliness, he was also bathing every day now too, which averted the gross, tired, 'I don't want to get up and do anything' feeling he got when he didn't.
With the last plant he'd bought from the home improvement store's garden section now in its place, he was feeling hungry. Jay popped open the fridge and pulled out lettuce, a pack of deli-style chicken, and sliced cheese, then pulled down the bread from the cabinet. The brand for all of these was something that the supermarket he went to had apparently just picked up, but it had the benefit of being quite delicious while not too far off from the prices of other similar products. Maybe it was the store-brand stuff with a new branding for it. He didn't know if that was the case but it seemed likely. His meals had certainly taken a step up from take-out and delivery, and this was no exception.
He had been trying not to spend too much time sitting around recently, in case he'd start feeling too lazy or tired to get up, but he did realize that he didn't want to spend all of his time doing things without any time to just relax. And luckily for him, he'd figured out a nice little cluster of shows during the day that he liked watching. They could really draw him in and keep him coming back for more, and they were new so he figured it would be good to give them a chance. Sitting back on the sofa in front of the TV, he let himself relax for an hour or two.
The afternoon of continuing the clean-up of his garage passed by easily, as did dinner and a small bit of exercise during the evening, so he'd be tired and ready for bed shortly. The only thing that remained was a shower. He was glad to feel the cool water hitting his back and washing away his sweat. He still turned the hot water up once he'd cooled down. He wasn't being that hard on himself. He hadn't been aware of these brands of fur care products, but they had a nice, confident, 'manly' sort of smell that he thought appealing. He stepped out of the shower, dried himself off, then folded himself into bed, content with another active day.
we hear. we hear and we reach and we feel. he is there he is there he is he is he is we will take him. he is ours. we reach and feel and take and he is there and he is ours because we take him. he is imperfect is unformed is prototype-form needs us. we take and craft and shape the weave of cell and cell.
Jay pushed his feet underneath him and pulled himself into his bathroom, where he turned on the light. He stood looking at himself in the mirror. 'You're special. Not a lot of people are like you.' He had the benefit of being a Tasmanian tiger; they were rare even close to home, and doubly so in America. 'But that means you shouldn't waste it. Do you want to be the sort of pudgy, gangly, weird striped dog, or do you want to be a good-looking thylacine?' Giving himself a chance to psyche himself up each morning had helped keep him going on an upward trend. He still wasn't thrilled about how he looked but he was routing that into determination instead of being glum and moping.
Breakfast was going to be pancakes. The griddle was already warming up when his search for batter made him realize he didn't have any in the kitchen. No big deal, he'd just go get some from the pantry. It was attached to the back of the garage, and so he had to go down a few steps from the door. He reached up to tug on the cord for the light. He pulled, but it didn't come on. Ugh, damn it, now he had to grope around in the dark to try and get it to work. The pantry had always given him the―there! All the bulb had needed was a little twist. He grabbed the batter mix and brought it back up to the kitchen.
Jay cooked up the batter quickly, adding in that new-brand milk, while on the stovetop he cooked bacon from the same brand, and got a glass of orange juice ready in between all of that. When they were grazed with brown, he slipped the pancakes onto his plate and brushed butter across them, then scooped the bacon onto the side. With knife and fork, he sat down at the table in the connected dining room. He'd gotten a few big and fairly hungry bites into his breakfast when he looked up an
he knows but we reach and we pull and take and his mind flees in fear. his is prototype-form we must make him correct. the world bends and we curl around it. the space whispers in stone song and we cry out. a place a cool a dark a space for us. they will build our joy.
A soft snort left Jay's nose and his mouth clicked shut. He lapped up a drop of drool that had been teetering on his lip. He had been daydreaming, and...aw, his bacon had gotten cold. Oh well, it was still a delicious breakfast, even if it wasn't piping hot. He finished off what was left, downed the orange juice to wet his parched mouth, then rose from his seat to attend to the dishes.
His mildly rounded belly was shrinking away. And not as a result of good eating and exercise; it was getting smaller from minute to minute. At the same time, a light dusting of muscle tone was being sprinkled sparingly over his body. The softness was growing tighter. The signs of neglecting his body were being washed away. He stood with more natural straightness. The developing muscles tugged at him, altering his composure and drawing his back up straighter.
In his clean-up, he rinsed the skillet and frying pan, gave them a quick scrub with soap, and then set them into the dishwasher. The plate and silverware got a quick wash before being tossed in, too. The packet of bacon went back into the fridge. So did the milk. And the box of biscuit mix went back into the pantry. He got as far as reaching for the door. He didn't go into the pantry and he never went in there and the mix was supposed to go in one of the cabinets in the kitchen anyway. He shook his head and chuckled lightly. Then he popped the box back where he had got it, in the cabinet. The shoulder of his shirt felt tighter than it should have as he reached up high.
In fact, most of his clothes were feeling tighter than they should have, and it was making him feel just a bit odd. But he wasn't feeling odd, it was just that his work out clothes were a bit tight. Because he had been planning to go to the gym. He really had to get going, he couldn't wait around. He was going to the gym so he didn't want to stay and wait to go to the gym. Jay slipped on some socks and shoes. He climbed into his car. And he went to the gym. Good, he had been waiting to go to gym and he didn't want to wait to go to the gym.
He felt hazy, perhaps not in the best state to be driving. He managed to get to the gym without incident. When he was able to work away at the machines, he felt some measure of clarity return to him, which let him set his mind at ease while faintly straining the stitches of his tee shirt. With inspirational rock blasting into his ears from his MP3 player, Jay gritted his teeth and pushed against the weights harder.
"Jay, I heard you in here," Will called out.
There was no response from anywhere in the house.
"Are you trying to avoid me or something? Look, I just wanted to hang out a bit. You don't have to hide."
The ferret slowly stepped into his friend's kitchen. He had thought he'd heard the moving around coming from back here. Maybe he was in the pantry and couldn't hear him. Will reached out and opened up the pantry door.
With a few stitches popped around his collar and along his sleeves, the thylacine's smile at the front desk clerk at the gym was greeted with a smile back―now that was an improvement; usually it was a dull glance at best. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt this good about himself. He assumed some of the snug clinging of his clothes to his body was from all the water that he'd drank. He'd been quite thirsty.
A short ride home later, he was relaxing back onto his bed. He had to squeeze out of his clothes, freeing the gently detailed form of an athletic Tasmanian tiger, with firm, sleek muscles and a few patches of sickly greenish fur which had escaped his notice. His hand slid down to wrap around his shaft which was noticeably bigger the exact same size it had always been but quite tender.
moving and feeling and thinking he must stop he is ours. we reach and we hold him and we fill him with food of light. we will join and join and join until all can build the ladder to our freedom. slide into him spread outward reach to his mind it is all ours we will take it.
One of the fence posts was edged to the side. The young feline squeezed his way through. The ball should have landed over in his neighbor's lawn.
"Looking for your ball? I have it in here," a voice he didn't recognize said from behind the back door.
"Um. I'm really sorry! Can I get my ball back now?" he asked.
He walked up to the screen door and pulled it open. No one was in the kitchen, though.
"Sorry, I'm just over here," the voice said.
It was coming from the pantry. He has always thought his neighbor was a bit weird, but this was beyond funny-species pudgy-loner weird. He did want his ball, though. He headed for the pantry, and reached out to open it.
Jay's stripes were slowly rippling as he came back to his senses. He sucked up the drool from off his lower lip as he sat up, one hand rubbing his head lightly. He felt weird, like his brain had just been he felt completely fine. He pushed himself up on top of his slowly thickening thighs and calves. His shoulders and biceps bulged. He gave his shaft a few more strokes just for good measure. Mmm. That was good.
Sunbathing was also good. He wanted to go sunbathe because it was good. The sun felt nice and so he was going to bathe in the sun so that he could feel even better. Sunbathing was so good. He was going to sunbathe.
The mostly green-furred Tasmanian tiger climbed his way through his small attic, emerging up on top of his roof. Ahh, the sun. So he could sunbathe in the sun. Sun...bathing... He laid out spread-eagle on the roof, thick arms tensing reflexively every so often, mouth hanging open slightly, barrel-thick chest rising and falling slowly. While he soaked up the sun, the definition of his muscles were growing―especially along his sides, which were tightening and growing rippled, and his neck, becoming appropriately thick and weighty.
He wanted to keep sunbathing. He wanted to keep bathing in the sun. He wanted to keep lying out here and taking in the sun's light. But he was getting thirsty, nearly dehydrated, and his fur was growing warmer and warmer. He needed water. He needed to shower! He pushed himself up from the tiles. His dark green stripes bulged as he stretched for a few moments. He had to squeeze back down into the attic and back to the floor of his house.
He turned the water on nice and cool. He always liked cold showers. The heat of hot water was too hot. Stepping into the spray he let out a thick groan. It felt good. He turned himself around, letting the water hit his chest and cascade down his front. Really good. But that was only one bit of goodness. He popped open the body wash and inhaled deeply. That was good. It smelled good. He wanted to smell good. He wanted to put it on so he could smell good. He squirted a bit dollop of it onto his hands and began to scrub it into his fur.
we dream. we dream and wish and want to sing through notes as points of shining light. we must reach and find and take and make and discard the rest. he is special he is not like these he is different more compatible. these will take time be weaker. he is our vessel.
The house was silent. Rory could have sworn he'd heard a kid crying out just a minute ago. Even if he was off duty, he felt obligated to see what was going on. He was about to turn down toward the bedroom and bathroom when he heard a cry for help. It was coming from the pantry.
Rory pushed himself up against the wall beside the pantry, taking a few breaths. He needed to make sure he was ready. He kicked open the door and oh fu
Jay snorted softly, then pushed his thick, glistening lip underneath the falling water, letting it wash away the drool. His head ached lightly, and with the way that his shoulders were thickening he wouldn't fit in the shower stall before long. He stepped out, then grabbed a towel that seemed closer in size to a washcloth now. He rubbed it over thick, heavy abs and around swelling, thickening arms, until his rich green fur was dry.
He was tired, but he couldn't explain why. He really just wanted to sit down and relax for a bit. As he stepped into the kitchen to get a drink, he noticed the door to the pantry was ajar. That was funny. But then the door to the pantry looked fine and he wasn't going to go over to look at it. He just pushed his mouth around the sink faucet, turning on the water and taking a couple of big gulps.
The couch creaked loudly as the thylacine rolled onto it. He laid back, legs tossed over the arm of the couch and dragging on the floor, his arms hanging off the cushions. It was time for those shows anyway. He planted his head against an extra cushion and let the TV soothe his feelings of strangeness.
we will not wait we will not wait longer we will take now.
Shattering his illusion of things being normal, Jay noticed that there were thick green tentacles working their way across the floor toward him.
"Wh...what?" he gasped.
He sat up immediately, rose to his feet, and stopped. Not that he wanted to stop, but his feet merely refused to move any more.
The tentacles that wound around his legs weren't there to hold him against struggling, but to keep him steady. Without much warning at all, one thick, slime-coated tentacle worked its way up into his tailhole. Jay cried out and began to thrash. His cry was strangled to a stop by another lubricated tentacle forcing its way down his throat, big enough to make his throat bulge visibly.
A coiled tentacle took up his shaft, tugging on it viciously while its tip was wrapped around Jay's thick balls. The tips of the tentacles began to sink into his skin, letting him fill with a thick fluid.
Two translucent, bulbous tentacle tips slid up in front of his eyes and began to flash colors that filled up his vision. Jay's struggles ended. He did little more than take the rough 'pleasure' and let out soft snorts. Within the flashes, disembodied ideas were forced into his mind.
he will bring himself to us. he will want it. he will join.
The tentacle in his ass pushed further and deeper, slamming into him with force that might have broken a smaller man. The tentacle in his mouth squirmed around in his stomach and the one around his cock tried to milk him dry. It all came together in one climax, sucking hard on the mouth-tentacle, muscles tensing around the ass-tentacle, and spurting out thick globs of greenish cum that the cock-tentacle absorbed. The lights continued flashing in his eyes as the tentacles retreated, and kept flashing until they all had disappeared.
Jay grunted thickly, letting the drool drip off his glossy, thick lip, protruding thanks to the thickness of his jaw. As he lumbered over to the door, his muscles were pushing together in their size, and his thick, heavy cock was growing stiff. He fell to his knees and the floor shook. He reached down to grip his shaft and let out a rumbling moan. As he stroked it, it was quickly stiffening. As his free hand slid down to cup his balls, he felt something else. A third thing. Too stiff and firm to be natural.
He needed to stop. Something was wrong and he could tell that now. It was cutting through the haze and thickness that was clouding his head. The stripes on the tentacles were the same as on the stem of the flower he'd bought. He had to stop. But his hand just wouldn't. It felt so good that it would hurt to pull away. He tried sliding his right off the end of his shaft, or using his other hand to pry it off. Nothing. His claws were curling and his tail was whipping through the air, and he couldn't do anything.
"N-no, don't," he said quietly.
His other hand was pulled down to his cock too. He tightened his grip, drawing out each stroke, his claws grazing along the tender skin. His tongue was bulging inside his mouth, the tapering tip starting to force its way out past his lip. In the back of his mind, bright, stinging explosions were popping off in a concert of destruction. The heat was rising through his legs, twisting his stomach, making his chest stiff. No no he could still if he― A thick blast of green seed sprayed from the tip of his shaft, consuming the foreign object between his balls.
He had to hold on. He had to. He was going to make it. He is going. he is complete and perfect and beautiful. thick tongue swings down feeding on fluids along shaft. he rises and walks and opens the door and we are there. we welcome him and our tendrils twine and he is us. we stroke and hold and love the soon-to-be of us. we will climb the ladder. we will sing endless light among numberless points.
we will build and make and craft for us the vessel. far and wide and deep and high we reach until the vessel finds completion. we are not meant to be here.