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gainingfiction · 2 years

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Go Big, Go Home

Summary: Finn is a slacker with a fondness for milking the system. When he learns that employees of a certain size can apply to work from home, he hatches a plan to get fat enough to qualify. Finn likes his food, and he’s already a bit chubby, but he soon unleashes the inner hog buried deep within him, and a gluttony that won’t let him stop gaining—even when he’s hit his target. This story was inspired by a prompt from a follower based on “King-Size Homer” from The Simpsons.

Finn always preferred the easy way out. Why study when you could copy your friend’s test? Why cook if you can afford takeout? Why do more when you can do less?

Sure, maybe it wasn’t the best attitude, but it had served Finn just fine. At 22, he had a decent job and an equally decent apartment. And even if he did care more about his own orgasms than pleasing his partners, he still did well enough on his preferred hookup apps. For Finn, life was going pretty well.

That is, until he learned he was doing more than the bare minimum. That was something Finn couldn’t accept.

He was pouring himself a cup of coffee when he figured out a new way to game the system, eavesdropping on a pair of receptionists as they swapped some particularly juicy office gossip.

Finn’s ears perked up when he heard that Tony from IT wouldn’t have to come into the office anymore. The story was that he’d gained so much weight on the job that human resources and the union rep had agreed that he could work from home. Phrases like “mobility issues” and “occupational hazard” were thrown around. Apparently, employees who reached a certain BMI could qualify for that sort of program.

Finn wasn’t even aware that his employer let anyone work from home, although he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like Finn needed to be at his desk: he worked in customer service. His job consisted mostly of fielding calls and sending emails… all things he could do from his couch—if he was allowed.

The wheels in Finn’s head were already turning as he left the kitchen. He deposited his coffee on his desk and went straight to the bathroom, where he took a good look at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t bad looking—green eyes with a mischief he couldn’t hide, some light stubble, and a crop of floppy, light brown hair.

His figure was masked by a loose-fitting button-down and dress pants. It was hardly the body of a god. His softness stemmed from an extreme distaste for physical exertion, which was part of his natural laziness. This aversion to exercise was no problem when he was in high school—it was easy enough to stay thin with his genetics and a teenage metabolism. But as he coasted through his bachelor’s degree, the Freshman 15 blossomed into a forty-pound weight gain: he weighed in at a spritely 154 pounds the first time he walked onto campus, and by the time he left, he was up to 196. The numbers bounced around Finn’s head as he returned to his desk.

Finn didn’t mind being a little chubby. He certainly didn’t care enough to diet or work out. If anything, the idea of getting to stay home every day, sitting around in his underwear with the TV playing in the background, never having to sit in traffic or make awkward small talk again, seemed like a great reason to expand his extremely average build.

It took a bit of searching, but he found a PDF of the employee handbook and searched it for “BMI”. It didn’t take long to find a very interesting section.

Employees who struggle with significant weight gain as a result of their work-related sedentary lifestyle may benefit from a range of modifications. These include, but are not limited to, a modified workspace (e.g. a standing desk or other modified equipment), accessibility aids, and, in certain circumstances, a voluntary work from home program.

Bingo. Finn read on:

While there is no “one-size-fits-all” solution, employees with a BMI of 60 or greater will generally qualify for the voluntary work from home program, particularly where this is medically recommended.

Jackpot. So Gina the receptionist was right. If he got fat enough, Finn would never have to go into the office again. He opened a new tab and found an online BMI calculator.

Finn’s eyes widened as he plugged in the numbers. He was 5’10”, and weighed around 205 pounds these days. That put his BMI at just shy of 30—already embarrassingly close to the “obese” range, although he didn’t think he looked that big. But to get to a BMI of 60, he’d need to soar up to 418 pounds….

Finn exhaled. His weight had been steadily increasing for years without him even trying, so it wasn’t like he’d be fighting nature. But to gain over 200 pounds? That wouldn’t be easy. It would take time, money, and, worst of all, effort.

He got back to work, but the thought stuck in his brain for the rest of the day. He sat in his uncomfortable office chair, in a small cubicle he shared with another customer service rep named Ron. Ron was a couple of years older than Finn, with a slim build, a plain face, and thinning hair. He often talked to himself, hummed out of tune, clicked his pen constantly, and never turned off his phone notifications. Their workspace was small and slightly messy, with files scattered around and stacked on top of a metal filing cabinet that hadn’t been replaced in decades. The only “decoration” was a potted plant, half-dead from a lack of natural light.

Finn made his decision by lunchtime. If it meant putting office life behind him, he was going to go for it. He was going to get fat. Really, really fat.

He felt an unfamiliar sensation as he stepped out of the elevator onto the building’s main floor: determination. The lobby included a small food court, with a selection of fast food restaurants to choose from. He ate lunch there most days, but today, he was going to truly feast.

The cashier at the burger place was a middle-aged woman who seemed unfazed by Finn’s massive order: three burgers, two large fries, a large Coke, a large chocolate milkshake, and an apple flip. His tray heavy with food, he walked towards an empty table.

Slumping into a chair, Finn stared at the mountain of fast food in front of him. It was as much as two of his regular meals, maybe more. Was he really going to do this? Was it worth it? But the idea of working from home, of never again having to get dressed up to go into the office, beckoned him onward like an irresistible siren call. Sure, he’d be huge—but he’d be free.

So he unwrapped the first burger and dove in. He ate like a starving man, taking huge bites of burger, stuffing his face with a handful of fries, and washing it down with a gulp of thick, chocolatey shake. It all tasted amazing, the sugar and grease flooding his brain with pleasure. He’d already finished two of the burgers and half the fries before his stomach clued into how full he was.

But he couldn’t stop. He had a goal to achieve. So he unwrapped the last burger and took a bite, absentmindedly rubbing his small starter belly as he ate. With mechanical motions, he loaded his mouth with fries, forcing the food down with long slurps of his soft drink. By the time he pushed the last bite of pastry through his lips, he was uncomfortably bloated, his stomach looking larger than usual. He leaned back in his chair—he felt sick, but he also felt good. Like he’d accomplished something.

His stomach ached and gurgled as he rode the elevator back up to the third floor, ignoring the signs that recommended taking the stairs. Lethargy set in by the time he reached his desk, and he spent the whole afternoon stifling burps, covertly massaging his overfull stomach, and wishing he could take a nap.

His appetite picked up again a few hours after he got off work. He’d been watching TV on the couch since returning home, picking away at a bag of chips. By 8 o’clock, he felt ready for a proper dinner. He was craving pizza, so he picked up his cellphone and plugged his choice into his favourite app. Seeing a 2-for-1 special in the discount section, Finn knew what he had to do.

He went to bed that night with a painfully full stomach, a feeling that would become increasingly familiar in the days that followed. For the rest of the week, he picked up a large fast food breakfast before settling in at his desk, and followed it up with lunches that were as vast as they were greasy. Then, he dragged himself back to his office for a series of semi-comatose afternoons. At home, he would order as much as he wanted from his preferred takeout spots, washed down with soda or beer, sometimes both. At night, as he lay in bed cradling his bloated gut, it was like he could feel his stomach stretching, expanding to accommodate his escalating portion sizes, his body and brain working to adapt to whatever he was doing to himself.

The first comment about his developing gluttony came that weekend. It was subtle, but enough to let Finn know that people had noticed him making a pig of himself.

Finn’s best friend, Damian, wore a look of concern mixed with curiosity as he looked over from across the table. Their families had lived next door since before either was born, and they had been friends for as long as Finn could remember. Unlike Finn, Damian was high-strung, always striving to be the best. It was Damian’s tests Finn had always copied from in school. And while Finn did the bare minimum to get his degree, Damian made the dean’s list every year, graduating with highest honours and a job offer from a prestigious engineering firm.

Damian had a slender build, toned during his years as a swimmer and track and field champion and maintained by a rigorous diet and daily workout regimen. His straight, dark hair was always tightly coiffed and gelled, his narrow face clean-shaven, his dark eyes probing and analytical. His eight-part beauty regimen overwhelmed Finn, who got by with some cold water splashed on his face.

Finn couldn’t deny some attraction to Damian, but they’d never hooked up, except for one drunken teenage makeout session that neither ever mentioned again. Finn was more interested in hookups and flings, while Damian always claimed to be looking for The One. That was too much pressure for Finn, who wanted to be “the one” who fucked around and had a good time.

They were still best friends, though, and they met up for drinks every weekend. This week, however, Finn suggested they meet earlier and get dinner instead, an offer Damian accepted. When their meals arrived, Damian was still nursing his first vodka soda of the night, while Finn was already on his third pint of beer.

“You, uh, hungry?” Damian asked, sizing up the huge pile of food in front of his friend.

Finn felt Damian’s eyes linger on his already-enlarged gut, before snapping back up to his face. “I must be,” Finn lied, resting a hand on his belly. “I skipped lunch,” he lied again. He’d actually eaten two lunches—a burger combo, and then a heaping plate of Chinese food. Then, he’d spent the afternoon snacking on the bags of chips and chocolate covered peanuts he now kept in his desk drawer.

“Right,” Damian said, rolling a cherry tomato around his bowl of garden salad. “Oh, I have to tell you about this guy I met at the gym today. Major daddy bear energy. He gave me a ton of tips about weight training. I’m like, 90% sure he wants to take me out.”

Finn chuckled, rolling his eyes. When it came to men, Damian was fairly predictable—they were all burly, dominant, and (most importantly of all) emotionally unavailable. It dawned on Finn years ago that Damian was looking for some version of his father, a stern, plump Catholic with a well-groomed beard and impossible expectations. Damian’s endless string of brief, ill-fated relationships made for some interesting stories, at least.

Finn was in good spirits (and a little drunk) by the time they left the bar. After Damian caught his bus, Finn groaned and rubbed his overfull stomach. As usual, he’d overdone it; the two-block walk to his apartment was torture. That night, he leapt into bed, holding his packed, round stomach like he was posing for a pregnancy photoshoot. He was asleep a few moments later.

And so, Finn settled into a routine. On weekdays, he’d eat a few pieces of toast at home, before grabbing breakfast sandwiches and hashbrowns at the food court in the lobby of his office building. Then, by lunchtime, his appetite would have recovered enough for another feast. He rotated through the various options over the course of the week, sometimes eating a second lunch, often picking up donuts or other pastries to snack on during the afternoon. He’d even struck up a rapport with the 20-something cashier at the donut shop and the young hunk at the Chinese takeout counter. Then, after work, he would drive home and collapse onto the couch to watch TV or play video games until he decided where to get dinner. After ordering yet another ridiculous spread, he’d eat it on the couch, washed down with a beer or five. Then, he grazed on his favourite snacks until it was time to roll into bed, thoroughly and completely stuffed. And on Saturday, he would shock Damian by polishing off massive servings of pub grub and an ocean of cheap, high calorie beer.

As the days turned to weeks, the effects were getting harder to ignore. The consequences of eating thousands of extra calories a day started to pile up on Finn’s frame, and they piled up fast and furious.

He noticed it everywhere. His work shirts, once loose, grew tighter, until they started to cling to his distended belly and puffy chest; on cold days, when his office was chilly, his nipples poked obscenely against the cotton. His love handles swelled and expanded, deposits of side fat that enfolded his torso and merged into widening back rolls. His hips widened, too, thickening with fat as it settled around his thighs and ass. Big hips ran in Finn’s family, especially the women, but Finn was starting to put some of them to shame. Packing his growing thighs into his dress pants had been getting more difficult lately, and they swaddled his porky butt like plastic wrap, accentuating every curve. The outline of his boxer-briefs (which were also tight) was clearly visible, cutting into his ass fat. He was definitely developing a bit of a pear shape. Standing in front of his hallway mirror before work, he made a mental note to upgrade his wardrobe before he popped a button or busted a seam.

He was starting to raise some eyebrows at the office, too: it seemed that every day Finn managed to come to work fatter, wearing worse-fitting clothes, and eating more at his desk than he had the day before. Ron, his office mate, never mentioned it, but Finn caught him staring once as he leaned over to pick up a bag of chips he’d dropped, his thick rump aimed in Ron’s direction. He looked away quickly, but Finn was pretty sure Ron spent the rest of the afternoon humming “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen.

Eating the way he did was fun, but it was also a challenge. Finn imagined himself as a pro-athlete, always trying to beat his personal best and take his game to the next level. How many burgers could he eat without making himself nauseated? How many milkshakes could he drink? How many calories could he stuff into his face during the afternoon without making himself too full to enjoy a Chinese feast or a family-size portion of Mexican food for dinner? Sometimes as he pushed his bloated stomach beyond all limits, he thought of Rocky and his “Eye of the Tiger” training montage. Rising up straight to the top… Had the guts, got the glory.

So his weight climbed. He checked the scales periodically, feeling a perverse sense of accomplishment as he ticked past 250, 260… When he saw 282 flash across the scale, he felt almost giddy. He was really doing it. His life of leisure was getting closer by the day.

Six months into his journey, he did discover one downside.

He’d been so focused on turning himself into a fat boy that he’d mostly put his social life on the back burner, except for his weekly gossip sessions with Damian. So when he got a message on a hookup app from an old fling looking to reconnect, Finn jumped at the opportunity. He invited the guy—James—over to his place for “drinks” that Friday night.

Finn wasn’t much of a cleaner, but he did manage to throw out the mountains of empty food containers and bottles of beer and soda that cluttered his apartment. Satisfied that the place looked at least decent, he focused on making himself look decent.

The problem was, he’d only upgraded his work clothes. When he was at home, he mostly lounged around in his boxers, and if his sweats and t-shirt were too small, no one was around to see. But with James on the way, he had to at least find something to wear; even for Finn, answering the door in nothing but his undies was a little too forward.

He fished a pair of jeans out of the closet, realizing how much smaller they looked than his work pants. He looked at the tag: 36”, the size he’d worn before he started his daily pig-outs. He frowned. His dress pants were 44”, roomy when he bought them but increasingly fitted. Even allowing for the difference in fabric, 36” would be a very tight squeeze.

Still, he gave it a shot. They were supposed to be a loose fit, so even if they were too tight, maybe he could still get them on.

His thunder thighs completely shattered that illusion. Getting them up to his knees had been okay, but then the resistance started to increase. His legs were just too big; there wasn’t near enough denim to get the waistband up over his massive buttocks. His blubber butt was an unconquerable challenge that those poor jeans had no hope of surmounting. They were half way over his booty when he gave up, his thighs crammed in like sausage casings, putting the seams to the test.

It would have to be sweatpants. Those were tight, too, wrapping every inch of added flesh without a stitch to spare. And his stomach… that was its own problem. He tugged at his shirt, desperately trying to get it down past his deepening navel, but his gut put up fierce resistance. Inches of chub sprung out under the hem, bulging over the waistband of his sweats.

Finn felt a surge of panic as he looked in the mirror. A fat man stared back at him, completely overflowing his clothes. He thought about changing into some dressier work clothes, but the doorbell rang before he had the chance.

He would just have to roll the dice. His rolls jiggled as he made his way to the door, forcing his shirt even further up his exposed gut, and his sweatpants further down over his behind, a swathe of plumber’s crack on full display.

He tried to play it cool when he opened the door, smiling at the twink in front of him. “Hey, James,” he said, realizing that the combination of stuffing himself into undersized clothes and rushing to the door had left him breathless. He tried to slow his panting as he leaned against the doorframe.

A look of shock and disgust crossed James’s slim face. The svelte young man stared back at him, mouth agape, eyes roaming up and down Finn’s heavily fattened body. “Uh, what the hell, Finn? You never told me you got so fucking fat.”

“I thought you liked dadbods. And anyway, it’s just a couple pounds,” he said, tugging fruitlessly at the hem of his t-shirt. He knew that was a lie.

“Yeah, a couple dozen. Look, I’m not into chubs. Call me when you lose some weight,” he said. “And update your damn photo, I feel like I just got catfished.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked down the hall, tiny hips swinging. Finn stood in the doorway. He was humiliated, but he felt something else, too. His dick was starting to get hard, tenting the front of his overloaded sweats. He tried not to overthink it, assuming it was just the expectation of sex. He shook his head and closed the door. At least there was a carton of ice cream in the freezer with his name on it. Ice cream never criticized his weight. Ice cream was the best boyfriend a guy could ask for.

He told Damian about his failed hookup when they went out to dinner that weekend, portraying himself as the innocent victim of a shallow tease. “Can you believe that?” he said, through a mouthful of cheeseburger. He took a swig of beer. “He literally said I catfished him. Over a couple pounds.”

Damian frowned, fiddling with his glasses. Finn couldn’t help but notice how powerful Damian’s biceps looked, the way his pecs stretched his t-shirt. While Finn had been packing on fat, Damian was layering rock-hard muscle onto his narrow frame, building his body from slim and twinkish to something approaching Achilles or Adonis.

“Right. Listen, I don’t want to be rude, but…” Damian glanced away, rubbing his sharp jaw. He wouldn’t meet Finn’s gaze. “Is everything okay? Y’know, you kind of have been gaining a lot of weight recently.”

Finn’s stomach fluttered. For some reason, getting called out like that by muscular Damian, athletic Damian, perfect Damian, made Finn feel… well, a little turned-on. He couldn’t figure it out—it was embarrassing, but it was the sort of embarrassment that started in his crotch and radiated outwards, sitting like a lustful pit in his stomach. Why did this keep happening? He decided to explore a little further. “Really? Is it super noticeable?”

Damian still couldn’t look Finn in the eyes. He pushed some wild rice around his plate, before spluttering: “It’s—well, I don’t know, that’s… I just wanted to make sure nothing was going on with you.”

Unlike Finn, Damian was a terrible liar. That’s why Finn always did the talking when they were up to no good as kids. Damian hadn’t even answered his question, which made the answer obvious: it was extremely noticeable. Eighty pounds on a 5’10” frame would be noticeable to anyone with eyes.

“Too many good meals, I guess,” Finn said, dragging a hand along the outline of his gut, framed by a too-small button-down, and letting it rest on the underside of his expansive belly. “You must think I’m turning into a real pig, huh?”

Damian reddened slightly, and ran a hand through his thick hair. He kept fiddling with his glasses, eyes flicking from Finn’s belly to finally meet his gaze. “No, of course not. I was just checking in. And I wanted to offer to train you if you wanted any help losing weight. At the gym.”

Finn cracked a smirk. “Actually, can I let you in on a little secret?” he asked, his voice low.

Damian nodded, leaning forward slightly. His expression was intense, the sort of look Finn recognized as deep interest. He rested his hand on his chin, slender fingers covering his pink lips.

“I’m doing it on purpose. I figured out that I get to work from home if I get fat enough. So I’m trying to gain even more. I've packed on eighty already.”

Damian’s jaw dropped, but he closed it again, quickly. “Wait, really?” he asked, arching his brows. “Finn, don’t you think that’s a little… reckless? Dangerous, even?”

Finn took a long slurp of his soda; he liked to have something to wash down the beer. His smirk widened. “Well, you know I live for a little danger.”

Damian’s mouth opened slightly, and he closed it again, his eyes searching his plate. He seemed to be trying to comprehend the information that had just been dropped on him. He gave a slow nod as Finn shovelled a mouthful of nachos into his eager maw.

“Do you think that’s stupid?” Finn asked, after the silence had gone on for a little too long.

“No,” Damian said, quickly. He sighed, looking down at his own plate. “I mean, it’s the sort of stunt that only you’d come up with. But it kind of reminds me of myself, in a way. Setting a goal and pushing yourself until you get there, no matter the cost… It’s just… Well, I don’t want you to get hurt, Finn. Don’t want anything to happen to you.” His chocolatey brown eyes searched Finn’s face. “I care about you.”

Finn’s smirk turned into a genuine smile, at that, a big, toothy grin. “Aw, shucks, you’re gonna make me blush.” He gave his friend a playful punch in the arm. “Anyway, I’ll be fine. As soon as I get permission to work from home, I’ll drop it all. I’ll look like you in no time.”

Damian nodded again. He looked away from Finn, back to the steamed vegetables and wild rice on his plate. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sure you will.”

Finn frowned. Damian really was a terrible liar.

After that night, something in Finn changed. It wasn’t just about the job anymore. Now, there was something inside of him that wanted to get fatter, a part of his libido that pushed him to expand his stomach and add even more fat to his obese body.

Finn had always been lazy, but the added pounds made him even lazier. Even the most basic tasks started to seem like a chore, if not a workout. He loathed standing in front of the sink to wash dishes, or picking up the garbage that accumulated around his apartment. Hauling a load of laundry down the stairs might as well have been a marathon. He didn’t mind showers, since they gave him a chance to size up his expanding body, but the amount of time it took to wash all that added flesh was getting to be a headache.

And he abandoned any pretense of keeping his office clean. Was he supposed to get up and walk over to the recycling bin, like some sort of olympic athlete? Not fucking likely. Ron glared at him, staring at the empty soda bottles and takeout boxes that littered his desk. Finn knew that Ron was the one who ended up disposing of the absurd amount of waste he produced in the run of a day. His disgust was like an aphrodisiac to Finn, who relished the judgmental stares of skinny people, the way they watched, uncomprehendingly, as he treated his ballooning body like a dumpster for a repulsive array of junk food.

Other than Damian. His reaction had been a complete shock to Finn. Damian didn’t judge him, or push him to work out. In a strange way, Damian seemed to appreciate the effort that he was putting into his body, to admire his dedication to this new lifestyle of laziness and voracious greed. Damian sometimes showed up at Finn’s door with a heavy bag of takeout, tidying up Finn’s living room as he devoured whatever offerings his friend delivered. And it wasn’t just takeout: sometimes Damian brought a six pack of beer, a pan of homemade brownies, or a freshly-baked cheesecake. Finn hadn’t realized his friend was such a talented baker until he tasted his delicious food.

Finn was becoming a lazy, slovenly eating machine, a paragon of ever-expanding gluttony. Hardly a moment passed when he wasn’t stuffing his face with something. There was no denying that he was getting seriously fat: he had gotten into a rhythm, a routine of pushing himself and then pushing himself further. Being full just didn’t cut it anymore; he had to be stuffed. Once, eating 5,000 calories in a day was exceptional; now, it was the norm. He was downright cranky when he didn’t have something to snack on, his mood brightening as soon as he got his pudgy fingers on a bar of chocolate or a greasy slice of pizza.

Blake, his friend at the donut shop, seemed astonished at how much food Finn consumed, even as Finn noticed the cashier’s polo shirt fitting tighter around his growing beer belly and love handles. And he loved teasing Sam, the skinny cashier at Imperial Wok. He’d sidle up to the counter, letting his belly lead the way. “You know the drill,” he’d say, with a wry smile, the slight cashier’s dark eyes boggling at the massive slab of all-American beef parked in front of him. He always made eyes at the dark-haired cutie as he loaded up boxes with a banquet’s worth of egg rolls, fried rice, noodles and sweet-and-sour pork. Sam really did know the drill: dish out enough food to fill Finn’s monstrous belly.

He ballooned up to 300 pounds, and rocketed past 310, more than twice what he weighed six years ago as a trim 18-year-old, and a hundred pounds fatter than the chubby guy he’d been less than a year before. 310 gave way to 320, and then 330. He realized with glee that he was closer to his target than his starting weight.

His new lifestyle was putting a strain on his savings. In addition to blowing money on groceries and takeout, keeping himself clothed was starting to cost a fortune. He tried to plan ahead, but it was only a matter of time before 48” pants went from roomy to cozy to uncomfortable, and then they stopped buttoning altogether, his widening waist overwhelming them, his fat butt consuming every scrap of material.

The contrast between his body and Damian’s was marked as they sat at their usual bar. They had given up on booths, which were starting to become a bit of a squeeze for Finn. Damian looked totally built in a Sun’s Out, Guns Out tank top. And boy were his guns out.

“I deadlifted 350 today,” Damian said, as he speared a piece of lettuce with his fork. His tone was totally casual, like it was the sort of thing he talked about all the time.

Finn didn’t really know what he was talking about. “Huh,” he said, through a mouthful of pizza. “Is that good?” It certainly sounded like a big number.

Damian shrugged. “New personal best. I’m pretty happy about it. I’m almost as strong as Richard now.”

Finn nodded. Richard was the “daddy bear” that had inspired Damian’s ongoing transformation into a muscular jock. Finn didn’t have the heart to tell Damian that no amount of muscle gains would convince Richard to leave his wife, so he just nodded along.

“So you could still lift me,” Finn said, as he grabbed a handful of fries. He grinned. “For now.”

Damian chuckled. “Seriously? How big are you gonna get?” He was trying to sound casual, but there was an edge in his voice. Was it… eagerness?

“420’s the goal,” Finn said, feeling his cock start to stiffen at the thought. “I’ll have to get high to celebrate.”

Damian whistled. “That is… wow, that’s big,” he said, brows arching as he surveyed Finn’s gigantic form.

“Only 75 pounds to go,” he said, slapping his hand against the side of his belly and making it jiggle. “So close I can almost taste it. It kinda tastes like butter.”

Damian laughed. After that, he seemed to show up at Finn’s house practically every day, carrying boxes of snacks and plates loaded down with homemade goodies. Finn always accepted them appreciatively, happy to fill his gut for free—Damian had that engineer money, anyway. And he wouldn’t admit it to his oldest friend, but there was something a little erotic about lazing around on the couch, greedily stuffing his gut, as a muscly hunk picked up his trash and cleaned up his apartment. He’d popped a boner more than a few times watching Damian wash the dishes, firm glutes shifting back and forth as he scrubbed pots and pans.

God, I’m weird, Finn thought to himself. But if it was wrong to get aroused by a gorgeous guy playing housemaid while he gorged himself, Finn didn’t want to be right. Even if that guy was just a friend.

Finn didn’t realize just how many extra calories Damian had been pumping into him until a few weeks later, when he was getting dressed for work. He was used to a bit of a struggle, but this was worse than usual. His pants were skin-tight against his tree trunk thighs, booty fat spilling out over the top like bread dough overfilling its pan. He gave another tug and managed to get his ass covered, but getting them buttoned was an entirely different matter. He pulled as hard as he could, to no avail. He inhaled—still nothing.

He fell backwards onto his bed and sucked in with all his might—a pointless exercise for a man of his impressive size. His stomach was so huge, so laden with fat, that it barely made a difference at this point. But with a little wriggling, he managed to get them to button. His shirt was untucked, but there was no way in hell he was going to try to fix that. With the way his waistband dug into his blubber, he had no prayer of stuffing anything else in there.

He spent the morning in his usual way—feasting on donuts from the shop downstairs. Blake was looking very overfed himself, but his obvious weight gain didn’t even come close to Finn’s astronomical expansion. Finn was annoyed when he had to retrieve something from the printer, but he still hauled himself out of his creaking desk chair and walked over to get it.

But as he lowered his behind back into the chair, he heard a rip. His heart sank: his pants had breathed their last. He peered down at his side, pushing his love handle out of the way so he could size up the damage. He examined the popped seam, realizing that his colossal thighs had completely wrecked his dress pants.

And worst of all, it turned him on. Ron was looking over at him; the ripping sound was loud enough to carry through their narrow office. “Uh, wardrobe malfunction?” he asked.

Finn flushed. “Little bit,” he said. He rested a hand on his oversized gut, giving it a little rub. “Hitting the snacks a little hard I guess.”

Ron raised an eyebrow, and then turned back to his computer without comment. Finn’s boner strained against the front of his ruined pants, and he grabbed a handful of chips from the bag on his desk.

Eating five large meals a day used to be a struggle. Then it became the norm. Now, if Finn didn’t load up on lunch from at least two places, he was left crabby, his vastly overstretched stomach howling for more. But today, he used his lunch hour to waddle over to the mall next door, where he crammed himself into a pair of dress pants from a big and tall store. Seeing the way they cradled every bulge and roll, he faced facts and went a full two sizes up, hoping to accommodate his sprawling lower half for at least a little longer.

He only had time to grab a tray of burgers and fries from the mall food court, and he spent the rest of the afternoon feeling cranky and ill-at-ease, trying to get full from the horde of snacks he kept in his desk drawer. His constant chewing and burping clearly drove Ron insane, but Finn didn’t care—he was fucking hungry.

Finn’s expansion continued at its usual breakneck speed. Egged on by Damian, he packed more and more junk food into his gut, which turned into more and more lard padding his frame. He was blowing up like a balloon, and it drove him crazy with lust.

He’d invested in a scale that read the number out loud, since seeing past his voluminous gut had become impossible. It wasn’t like he missed looking at his chubby feet, and as long as he could still reach his cock, he was happy. When he heaved himself onto the scale and heard that he’d crossed the 400-pound mark, his heart soared. He was so tantalizingly close, now. At this rate, he was only a couple of months away from his target.

He stepped off the scale and ordered three pizzas to celebrate, washed down with a whole case of lager.

The looks he was getting at work ranged from curious to hostile to simply awestruck. His colleagues must have remembered just a few years earlier when his build had been fairly average; now, he was morbidly obese, left red-faced and sweating from the constant exertion of moving so much lard around. He took up so much space, stuffed his face constantly, chairs creaked and bowed under his heft—even his reinforced desk chair, a relatively recent addition to his office, was starting to show signs of wear. Hearing the indiscreet whispers as he left the breakroom carrying a handful of donuts made him insanely horny—what’s going on with him? He used to be kind of cute, now look at him! He’s as fat as a house!

Finn booked a doctor’s appointment, knowing that was the next step to make his dreams a reality. As soon as the date was set, he upped his intake even more, devouring thousands upon thousands of calories a day. Damian never seemed uncomfortable with the uneasy looks on the server’s faces when Finn ordered multiple appetizers and entrees at their weekly bar night; if anything, he encouraged Finn to order even more.

He got his bloodwork done in preparation for his doctor’s appointment, noting the shocked look on the nurse’s face when he showed up in a shirt that clung to his gut and moobs, framing it like the world’s fattest painting.

Finally, the day arrived. That morning, he realized he’d actually overshot the mark when he weighed in at 428 pounds. His thighs rubbed together as he waddled down the driveway, and he squeezed himself into the driver’s seat of his car, which dipped to the side under his bulk. He stopped for a bag of burgers on the way to the clinic.

Sitting under the fluorescent lights of the doctor’s office, Finn shifted his giant bulk, which ballooned over the sides of the chair like an avalanche of flab. He squirmed uncomfortably as Dr. Hendricks looked over a piece of paper, his handsome face grim. The fact that he was something of a silver fox—with an athletic build, chiselled features, salt-and-pepper hair, and short stubble—deepened Finn’s embarrassment about the whole situation, as well as his arousal. The doctor looked up, removing his glasses.

“Well, it’s not good, Finn,” he said, finally. “Your thyroid levels are normal, so it’s not hormonal. But your cholesterol is high, blood pressure is high, blood sugar is almost dangerous… young man, this is serious. You’ve gained over 230 pounds since our last appointment two years ago. If 230 pounds was your entire body weight, it would still be about 50 pounds too high.”

Finn nodded along. Hearing it put in those terms made his cheeks flush. He shifted again, aware of the way his giant ass bulged and spilled over his seat, the chair’s arms cutting into his expansive love handles. He was grateful for the way his gut monopolized his lap, disguising his boner.

“So, what’s going on with you, Finn?” Dr. Hendricks asked. “In my whole career, I’ve never seen anything like this. Not so much weight, so quickly, in a patient so young, without a hormonal component. Has there been… some trauma, maybe, that’s made you turn to food as a coping mechanism?” The doctor was clearly looking for some explanation that didn’t involve Finn using his body as a garbage can for every type of fast food that had the misfortune of crossing his ever-widening path.

Finn shook his head. He rubbed the rolls on the back of his neck with his pudgy fingers, a move which caused his undersized t-shirt to ride up, exposing a thick expanse of belly fat. Dr. Hendricks glanced at it, wide-eyed. Finn tugged it down, but the hem still couldn’t contain it all. “It’s—it’s nothing like that, doctor. Honestly. I guess I just like my food a little too much.”

Dr. Hendricks frowned, and made a note in Finn’s chart. He wondered what the doctor was writing. Fat fuck, maybe? Giant pig? Finn inhaled: it was showtime.

“But… I think I have one idea, at least about part of the problem,” he said. “At my job, I’m just sitting around on my computer all day…. When I was in school I used to bike to campus sometimes, but now I sit in my car, ride the elevator to my office, and then I just sit and snack all day….”

The doctor nodded along, jotting down a quick note. “Remind me what you do, Finn?”

“Customer service. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a decent job, but I share an office with, well, a pretty big guy,” Finn lied. “He’s always bringing in unhealthy snacks, and I guess it’s rubbed off on me. It’s like, when I’m at my desk, I’m always eating. And there’s a food court on the ground floor of our building, it’s so tempting that I end up eating three meals a day there, sometimes. Sometimes more. Big meals.”

The truth was the opposite: Finn was the big guy in the office, and Ron was the one who was picking up his bad habits. And he didn’t just eat three meals a day in the food court; it was almost always more.

Dr. Hendricks nodded. “And you haven’t had success with portion control, or exercise?”

Finn reached across his blubbery breasts, running a hand along his flabby upper arm. “I keep trying to cut back, but I’m just too tempted. And in terms of exercise, I feel so tired by the time I get home from work that I just can’t make myself go to the gym.”

That part was mostly true, at least. Except for attempting to cut back.

“Have you considered seeing a therapist?” Dr. Hendricks’ voice was gentle. “What you’re describing sounds like it could be food addiction.”

Finn swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He was fully clothed, but sitting under the fluorescent lights, he felt exposed—an enormous, naked blob of a man. A small part of his brain knew that maybe the doctor was right, maybe he was getting hooked on the high of fat, salt, and sugar… assuming he wasn’t hooked already. It was more than a little erotic. But he pushed those thoughts aside and pressed ahead with his performance. “Maybe I should see someone, yeah. But I really think the biggest problem is my job.”

Ten minutes later, Finn left Dr. Hendricks’ office with a note recommending that work from home would be helpful to Finn’s weight loss plan. He’d also sworn up and down that he would change his diet, start exercising, and see a therapist—promises he had no intention of keeping. He’d gotten what he wanted, and he didn’t plan on going back to see his doctor anytime soon.

Finn was glowing as he made his way home. The next day, he handed the doctor’s note to his boss, who looked it over. The slim man’s exasperation was obvious, but he managed to keep it contained, no doubt conscious of the union rep staring at him with a serious look on her face.

And then, it was done. His plan was complete. He boxed up his office at the end of the day, and headed home, hoping never to return. Except, perhaps, to flirt with Sam and keep tabs on Blake’s steady and seemingly inexorable transformation from cub to chub.

Okay, now that I’ve got what I want, I can start to shift some of this weight, Finn thought when he woke up the next morning. He’d celebrated pretty hard the night before—pizzas, fried chicken, cake, pie, with beer and soda to drink… a true feast. It was supposed to be a last hurrah. But now, he had to start cutting back. Time to put Damian to shame, he thought, grinning.

His diet plans didn’t exactly pan out.

Before settling into his couch to work, Finn had two pieces of toast with peanut butter for breakfast. In the old days, that would have been enough to carry him through the whole morning. But he was hungry again within a half hour, distractingly hungry. He kept zoning out when he was supposed to be answering emails, conscious of how empty his stomach felt.

Well, I can’t exactly change overnight, Finn thought, as he punched in a mobile order for a couple of breakfast sandwiches and a few hasbrowns. Not realizing what he was doing, he finished off a box of cookies before they even arrived.

The rest of the day went similarly: he thought about cutting back, and then his stomach and his brain conspired against any attempt to actually do it. By the end of his workday, his stomach was achingly full, packed with more donuts, pizza, and Chinese food than he ever ate at the office.

Okay, I’m really gonna do it today, Finn would think each morning. I’m actually going to lose some weight now. But after years of stuffing and overstuffing his gut, stretching it to new and obscene proportions, it took a lot to make him feel full. If anything, any attempts to cut back left him feeling so miserable and hungry that he invariably ended up overdoing it, eating more than he needed to compensate for his few hours of attempted restraint. So he kept eating, and his portions kept escalating, and he didn’t lose any weight.

In fact, as he tried to button up his shirt before a video call one morning, he came to the uncomfortable conclusion that he’d piled on even more. The shirt wouldn’t even button over his fat gut. He managed to close it over his tits, though, and got away with it by keeping the camera pointed at his chubby face and soft shoulders.

He confessed his struggles to Damian one night, when his muscular friend showed up with a bag brimming with takeout. Finn had told him to stop bringing snacks, and then immediately changed his mind, telling Damian to keep that good food coming. Damian was a little reluctant, at first, but it didn’t take him long until he was back to his old habits: filling his car with family-sized meals and bulging bags of snack foods to ply on his ever-greedier, continuously-expanding best friend.

“I don’t think I’ve lost any weight,” Finn said, frowning as he took another heaping forkful of fried rice.

Damian looked him up and down, seeming to take in the sheer vastness of Finn’s enormous body as it dominated the couch. “Well, have you tried cutting out snacks?”

Finn frowned. “Not exactly.”

“What about exercise? You could come to the gym with me.”

“Definitely not,” Finn said. The idea of stuffing his hundreds of pounds of blubber into workout clothes and putting on a humiliating show for the muscle-heads at Damian’s gym sounded like an exercise in humiliation, besides being utterly exhausting.

Damian sighed. “I was kind of hoping you’d say yes. I need a new workout buddy.”

“What about Richard?” Finn asked, through a mouthful of General’s chicken. “You were just saying last week that you finally benched more than him.”

Damian looked like he was about to cry. He bit his lower lip and looked away. “Richard told his wife about us. He confessed everything and begged her to forgive him. He told me he joined another gym, so I doubt I’ll be seeing him again.”

Finn frowned, and rested a hand on Damian’s steely shoulder. He knew this was coming, even if Damian was blindsided. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Sounds like you need a drink.”

Damian hesitated. He was always going on about liquid calories, but Finn watched him leap off the couch and stride into the kitchen, where he pulled out a couple of beers.

A few hours later, Finn was buzzed and Damian was plastered. He’d spent the evening pouring his heart out about how he’d never find love, how he’d never heard a guy say “I love you”, how there must have been something wrong with him.

Finn swallowed a mouthful of cheesecake. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Finn said. He meant it. In Finn’s eyes, Damian was totally perfect. Hardworking, honest, funny, kind… not to mention stunningly attractive and with a great job. “You’re the whole package.”

Damian scoffed. “You’re just saying that. You have to say that, you’re my best friend.”

Finn looked him in the eyes. “No, I really mean that. I think any guy would be lucky to have you.”

“Not any guy,” Damian mumbled. His voice was bitter. He took another sip of beer.

“What do you mean?”

Damian’s eyes searched Finn’s round face. “Well, the only guy I’ve ever wanted sees me as a friend. No matter how hard I throw myself at him, he never makes a move.”

Finn was floored. “You mean…”

Damian nodded. An embarrassed look crossed his handsome face. “Yeah. You. I still think about that night we kissed, how much I wanted it. How much I want to do it again.”

“I think about it, too,” Finn admitted. He’d never stopped thinking about the feeling of Damian’s soft lips against his, their slender bodies pressed together. “All the time.”

“I’ve loved you since we were 12 years old, Finn. Looking at you through our bedroom windows, across our yards… God, I would have done anything for you. Why do you think I let you copy my homework, my tests? Or took the fall for you when your parents found that weed in your backpack, even though I got grounded for a month? Because I’ve always been fucking crazy about you.”

Finn’s heart was pounding in his chest, and not only from the mountain of dessert he’d just devoured. “What, even now? Now that I look like this?”

“Especially now,” Damian answered. His expression was so serious, his eyes so honest… “God, it’s like… the bigger you get, the crazier you drive me.”

Finn smiled. “What, you mean you’ve liked blowing me up like a balloon?”

Damian grinned shyly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever done. Some days after I bring you snacks, I have to rush home to, uh, relieve myself.”

Finn laughed at that. “Wow. And here I thought you were just being friendly.”

Damian looked across the room, not meeting Finn’s gaze. He took another swig of beer. “A real friend would’ve told you what a blimp you were turning into. A real friend wouldn’t get off on seeing how many calories he could pile into your gut in a single sitting.”

Finn shook his head. His cock ached at the thought of Damian feeding him, getting off on his fattening body. “Well I guess I don’t want a ‘real’ friend. I want a friend like you.”

Damian blushed. Finn leaned forward, straining to reach over his beach ball-sized gut, and set his beer on the table. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Damian’s face.

“So many times when I’ve been with Richard, I’ve been thinking about you. Thinking about how big your butt is, how badly I want to grab it and squeeze it and make your whole body shake. Thinking about how you used to be even smaller than me when we were younger, and how now you could bury me under all your weight and still have plenty to spare. Thinking about—”

Finn leaned in and pressed his lips against Damian’s, shutting him up. Damian melted into the kiss immediately, his body slackening as he collapsed into Finn’s bulk.

And suddenly, they were 18 again, drunk on fireball shots and lying on Damian’s bed after Lindsay Decker’s house party, giggling like fools until their lips met and the whole world disappeared around them. It was just the two of them, just Finn and Damian, their shared past and future collapsing into one breathless kiss.

Damian exhaled, and then kissed Finn even more forcefully, his arm draping around Finn’s neck, his free hand reaching out to cup one of his soft, bulging breasts, nipple poking against his slender fingers. Finn kissed him back, one hand on Damian’s narrow waist, the other cupping his angular face, the tips of his fingers brushing through Damian’s soft hair. He’d been waiting so long for this moment, always afraid that he’d misread some signal or that he couldn’t be the man his best friend deserved. But he’d waited long enough. They both had. He was ready.

They laughed when their lips pulled apart, the tension vanishing behind them. “Are you gonna regret this in the morning?” Finn asked.

Damian’s expression turned serious, almost defiant. “The only thing I regret is taking so long.”

Finn couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

“So…” Damian said. He fixed Finn with a lusty gaze, eyes lidded with pleasure, and licked his lips. “How about we take the rest of this cheesecake and head to the bedroom?”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’re not just saying that because you’re drunk?”

Damian shook his head. “I’m not that drunk,” he said. He trailed his fingers along the endless curve of Finn’s palatial belly, caressing the naked flesh that erupted out from under the hem of his shirt. “I’ve just spent so long fantasizing about feeding you properly, and… well, why settle for off-brand diet cola when you can have classic Coke?”

Now Damian was speaking his language.

Finn’s ears perked up at the sound of the key turning in the front door. He shifted in the love seat, briefly considering getting up to greet Damian at the door, but decided against it. It would take a couple of minutes to build up enough momentum to haul himself to a stand.

“I’m home!” Damian called from the kitchen.

“Perfect timing,” Finn called back. “I’m so frickin’ hungry. Starving, even.”

“Hold your horses, big fella, let me get my coat off first.”

“Hurry,” Finn whined, trailing his hand across his gut to soothe it. He’d polished off two pizzas for lunch, followed by two family-size bags of chips and a package of twinkies, but he hadn’t eaten in almost an hour. He knew he wasn’t actually hungry, but when he wasn’t eating, he started to get antsy. He chugged some soda, squirming in anticipation.

A moment later, Damian appeared in the living room doorway, muscular arms flexing as he carried two heaping grocery bags. Damian had to make grocery runs on a daily basis to keep up with the demands of Finn’s relentless appetite.

He must have encountered quite a scene in the living room: just like he always wanted, Finn was seated on the couch in his underwear, TV playing in the background. Except, he’d never imagined just how truly, colossally, unbelievably fat he would be. He was so wide that his bulging flanks brushed against the sides of the loveseat, which bowed in the middle under his immense, crushing weight. His laptop balanced on top of his belly, which was more a table than a shelf, which plowed outwards in front of him as far as his knees. His thighs were like industrial drainage tubes, his melon-sized manboobs pouring off his chest and sticking out to the sides. When he leaned back, the combined weight of his breasts and mountain of belly fat compressed his lungs.

“So, how are those weight loss plans coming along?” Damian asked, with a wry smirk.

“Very funny,” Finn said. He still maintained that he would lose some weight, but that was starting to seem more like fantasy than an actual, tangible possibility. Just halting his astronomical weight gain would be a challenge at this point, given how hopelessly addicted he was to stuffing his face. He had an appointment with Dr. Hendricks in a few weeks, and he could only imagine the look of horror on the gorgeous doctor’s face when he showed up so fat that he could barely fit through the doorway, not to say into an office chair. “Are you just gonna stand there and watch me slowly starve to death, or are you gonna bring those snacks over?”

Damian rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Yeah, I can tell you’re really famished. My first clue was all the garbage scattered around.” He did as he was told, bringing the grocery bags over to Damian, who immediately tore open a package of donuts. Relief flooded across his brain as soon as the taste of powdered sugar touched his tongue.

Damian had a point: there was garbage everywhere. In addition to Finn’s gluttonous afternoon, there were also pastry boxes and fast food wrappers scattered around from his two breakfasts and morning snacks. He’d asked Damian to start leaving the door unlocked so delivery drivers could let themselves in and bring the food straight to the couch; getting up was too much effort. Finn enjoyed watching them squirm uncomfortably at the sight of such an enormously obese blob of man sprawled out across an entire sofa, too fat and lazy to even reach his front door; he wondered if they ever felt morally conflicted about their role in his escalating obesity. He hoped they didn’t, given how much he was enjoying it. Sam and Blake certainly didn’t seem to mind, when he’d made his way to the office to get a new work computer a few weeks earlier. Blake had to have crossed the 300 pound mark—big enough to catch Sam’s attention, judging by the looks they were swapping across the food court.

“How was work?” Finn asked, through a mouthful of donuts. “And the gym?”

“Work was lame, gym was good,” Damian said. He reached for a donut but Finn slapped his hand away.

“It’s not—braaaaawp—cheat day,” he said; a window-rattling burp interrupted him mid-sentence.

Damian sighed, “You’re right.”

“Can’t—urp—have you getting chubby on me,” Finn joked. He honestly didn’t care how much Damian weighed; if his boyfriend thickened up a little, he wouldn’t mind one bit. But there was something deeply erotic about being so incredibly fat and still forcing a complete beefcake like Damian to submit and obey. It wasn’t about food or weight—it was about power.

“No, we can’t have that. Nothing but whitefish and flaxseed and creatine for your live-in manservant,” Damian joked back. Finn made it clear early on that he loved Damian’s body no matter what; his jockish boyfriend knew that any teasing was all in good fun. He clearly liked his submissive role in their flirty back-and-forth. “How was your day?”

Finn belched again; that second bottle of soda was really wreaking some havoc. “Good. I had to put a shirt on for a Zoom meeting, so I guess it was a gym day for me, too. Oh, Tony from IT is back in the office, apparently. Lost a bunch of weight. So I’m officially the fattest guy at work by a long shot.”

“Congratulations,” Damian said. The fact that Finn considered putting on a shirt to be a workout clearly had him hot and bothered, judging by the bulge in his pants; he hooked his thumbs into his waistband, sliding them down a little to reveal his Adonis belt. “How do you wanna celebrate?”

“With cake,” Finn said. When he saw Damian’s frown, he smiled: “Only kidding. Well, half kidding. Cake, but also a nice game of ‘find my dick’, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, I’m always up for it,” Damian said, smiling devilishly as he ran a hand through his hair.

“But, uh, wanna grab me some ice cream first? To go with the donuts?”

Damian nodded, “Of course, big boy,” he said. He disappeared into the kitchen, the picture of obedience.

Finn smiled as Damian returned, cartons of ice cream clutched in each hand. Finn had found the ultimate life hack: as long as Damian was around, he could get away with doing absolutely nothing.

#wg #male wg #gaining fiction #wg story #realistic gain #gay

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in1-nutshell · 5 months

Text

Bot Buddy being Rattrap's younger sibling

SFW, familial, platonic, Cybertronian/ bot reader

Beast wars

Buddy is a calm and sensitive soul. Their beast mode is an armadillo. They tend to be a bit more open minded to some things than Rattrap is.

Rattrap loves his younger sibling to bits… that being said, he has a peculiar way of showing it.

Their dynamic gives off.

No-one-can-hurt-them-but-me vibes.

“Hey Rattrap look at this picture I drew of the flowers this morning!”--Buddy

“I’ve seen prettier flowers than those.”--Rattrap

“Yeah, those are kind of ugly.”--Cheetor

“Take that back! Those are the most beautiful flower in the world!”--Rattrap

“Aww thanks Rattrap.”--Buddy

“Get lost you bumpy bowling ball.”—Rattrap

Rattrap being the older sibling is protective of his younger sibling. He doesn't like it when they have to go out on a solo patrols. Not that he would ever admit it. Buddy knows this, of course.

“All righty then. See you in a bit Rattrap.”--Buddy

“Now at this time, at night, all by yourself. Yeah, fat chance bumpy.”--Rattrap

“Woah. Woah. Woah. Where do you think you’re going hot shot?”--Rattrap

“I’m going on patrol.”--Buddy

“Do you want to come then?”--Buddy

“Now why would I want to go on patrol with you? I got stuff to do here in the ship where its safe and warm.”--Rattrap

“Oh, okay then, I guess I can get Cheetor to come.”--Buddy

“Yeah right. And have him reveal your location in 5 seconds. Nope, give me a second to look for my blaster.”--Rattrap

“Thanks, I guess?”--Buddy

“Yeah, don’t mention it. Really don’t mention it.”--Rattrap

Buddy is extremely protective of Rattrap. As much as they don't like or understand much of his way with words, they do not tolerate anyone talking bad about him. Especially the jab is without reasoning. They have been known to defend Rattrap more times than they can count.

“Back off Dinobot!”--Buddy

“What?!”--Dinobot

“He didn’t mean it and that was uncalled for!”--Buddy

“…”--Dinobot

“… Okay maybe he did mean it but still uncalled for!”--Buddy

Unlike Rattrap, buddy will trust almost anyone/ anything. This puts Rattrap in edge every time. He has lost the number of times Buddy has tried to befriend or trust something the Predacons have said. He swears that they will be the death of him one of these days.

“Hey Rattrap! Theres a note from the Predacon’s ‘You can have some Energon goodies if you just come over the ridge. Enjoy!’ Wow, that’s nice of them.”--Buddy

“Buddy, I swear—THE ROPE IS RIGHT THERE HOW—and now your stuck upside down. Again.”--Rattrap

“Help?”--Buddy

“Yeah. Yeah. I got you kid. Primus this has been the 10th time this week.”—Rattrap

The other Maximals find it a bit hard to see Buddy even being remotely related to Rattrap. If anything, Buddy might have been related more to Rhinox than Rattrap. Rattrap knows this an is a bit self-conscious on the topic, not that he talks about it anyways.

“Maybe it’s like how he said that he is related to Arcee?”--Cheetor

“He’s related to who?!”--Dinobot

Optimus appreciates the way Buddy can reign in Rattraps attitude a bit when they are around. Optimus knows that those two have a good bond, a rare one that hasn’t been seen in a while. It’s nice though. Primal has learned not to question the loyalty between the siblings. He once went out on patrol with Buddy and Rattrap where they were ambushed by Waspinator and Terrosaur. Buddy insisted Optimus throw them up to help with the attack. He did it and it sent Rattrap into a small frenzy. When Buddy had gotten back down safely, Rattrap was trying to tear a new one in the leader before rushing over to see if Buddy was okay.

“Throw me!”—Buddy

“Are you sure?”--Optimus

“Absolutely Optimus!”--Buddy

“Wait what?”--Rattrap

“Okay Buddy, get ready!”--Optimus

“Wait what!”--Rattrap

“Weeeeee!!”--Buddy

“Buddy!”--Rattrap

“They’re fine Rattrap.”--Optimus

“You’re the one who isn’t going to be fine if they get so much as a dent Banana breath!”--Rattrap

“Rattrap—”--Optimus

“I swear if they don’t—”--Rattrap

“Hi guys.”--Buddy

“Buddy! Are you hurt? Are there any dents? What were you thinking? Did Primal hurt you?”--Rattrap

*Confused but happy Gorilla noises.*

Rhinox knows about the little talks here and there about Buddy being his long-lost sibling instead of Rattraps. He did humor it a bit at first thinking it wasn’t going to be too bad. Buddy had joined in just for good humor too.

But after a bit he doesn’t react too much.

Then he notices how Rattrap acts when the joke is brought up. He does his best to try and make his friend feel better after that. He does like Buddy’s nature and enjoys their little talks when they have the ship to themselves.

“You know Rattrap, Buddy and I’ve been talking.”--Rhinox

“Oh yeah? What about?”--Rattrap

“Buddy was telling me how they were worried about you when you came back late from patrol the other day. They seemed to miss their brother.”--Rhinox

“Oh okay…”--Rattrap

*Content rat noises.*

Cheetor doesn’t believe that sweet sensitive Buddy is related to dirty mouth Rattrap. The difference is night and day between those two. How is this possible? Buddy, due to them being younger is probably the closest age to Cheetor. Automatically making the two best friends. They have their own mini adventures from time to time. But no one knows about that. Most of the talking ends up being inside jokes that no one understands.

“Cheetor this isn’t like the Riverbed incident that thing will explode. Don’t use the blow torch this time.”--Buddy

“Oh, okay then. Thanks for the heads up!”--Cheetor

“Riverbed?”--Optimus

“Inccident?”--Rhinox

“Explode?!”—Rattrap

Dinobot wants a DNA test done immediately. He firmly believes that this is some trick that everyone is on. He does respect Buddy, however. Buddy was the first Maximal to greet him with open arms with kindness that he almost forgot existed. Then there’s their brother, Rattrap. The very bane of his existence. The thorn in his side. He can’t connect the dots at all.

“Hi Dinobot!”--Buddy

“Greetings…”--Dinobot

“How’s your day been?”--Buddy

“It’s been well.”--Dinobot

A little later

Rattrap tripping Dinobot with his tail

“Eat floor Chomperface.”--Rattrap

*Confused and angry Dinobot noises*

Tigatron and Airazor like their teammate. Like many other the others, they don’t quite understand the siblings. But they are more understanding of their dynamics. Due to them being out of the base so much any time with Buddy is cherished. Sometimes they will ‘kidnap’ Buddy from the base to catch up on the latest things with the crew or the ship.

“And what did Dinobot do after that?”--Airazor

“Well Rattrap said he started making frustrated noises after he tripped him.”--Buddy

“I’m sensing something else to the story.”--Tigatron

“Don’t know really, you guys got me out before he told me the rest.”--Buddy

Silverbolt loves Buddy. They are his platonic soulmate. They are his number one in his book of friends because Black arachnia is his number one true love. Its common occurrence to see Buddy with him if they aren’t with Rhinox, Rattrap or Cheetor. Silverbolt asks love advice from Buddy all the time. Whether Buddy is in a relationship or not, they try their best to help their friend.

Buddy is his wingman for life.

And helps decorate places he wants to bring his love to

“Buddy! My platonic soulmate!”--Silverbolt

“Silverbolt! My bestie in love!”--Buddy

*Offended and confused Cheetah and Spider noises.*

Blackarachnia in the beginning was confused by Buddy’s entire existence. Time and time again when she was with the Predacon’s Buddy would offer her a place within the Maximal ranks. Not matter what she threw verbally or physically, Buddy was stubborn in getting her to join. When she did join, thanks to Silverbolt, she was quite jealous of Buddy’s relationship with the Maximal.

She would never admit it though.

It would be until Silverbolt mentioned how Buddy helped pick the venue and some decorations for their definitely not date, that she would ease up on the Maximal.

“You really care about him don’t you.”--Buddy

“…Yeah, I guess I do.”—Black arachnia

“Good! Now remember, no one will find you if you hurt him.”--Buddy

“What?!”—Black arachnia

“I have some energon goodies, you want some?”--Buddy

“… Yes?...”—Black arachnia

Primus help the poor soul that makes Buddy cry.

Get prepared for the Maximal beating of a lifetime. No amount of time travel will help fix the damage that will come upon that body after they are even remotely done with it.

#transformers x reader #transformers #beast wars #bw rattrap #bw optimus primal #bw dinobot #rhinox #silverbolt #tigatron #black arachnia #airazor #cheetor #maccadam #bot buddy

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thehollowwriter · 12 days

Text

Blaze has it out for Finn not just because he feels stronger and braver by targeting Finn, but also because he's extremely jealous.

Finn's dad sounds awful on paper, at least to Blaze and others:

•Butcher

•Hunter

•Fom the Abyss

•Very shady

•Never went to any school of any kind

•Extremely powerful

•Was married to another extremely powerful mer

•Is greatly feared and disliked by a lot of the community

•Lacks in expressiveness and emotion

•Was apparently very murderous and violent when he was younger

•Has business with the Leeches, has probably killed people

•Literally wears bones as a necklace

Surely, someone like that would be a terrible parent?

Nope. Silas is a great dad. He shows up to school events and parent-teacher meetings, tries to make as many of Finn's music recitals as possible, he showers Finn with endless compliments (to the point were Finn is able to be very happy being plus sized, to Blaze's shock), is insistent that Finn makes friends, is very supportive of his desires, attentive his needs, etc.

Meanwhile, Blaze's own mom was born in Atlanta, went to school, was popular, graduated top of her class, became a popular actress, is well liked by the locals, is not in fact murderous, is very expressive and emotional etc.

Someone like that would be considered a good parent a child can rely on. And yet... she's an alcoholic, she's violent and aggressive and hurts him frequently, she's fake at work and on camera, never shows up to anything school related Blaze has going on, she doesn't care about anything Blaze does or has to say unless it disrespects her or makes her look bad, wants Blaze to follow in her own... tail? Steps? and dismisses other career interests he may have.

How does someone like Silas, who, for all intents and purposes, might as well be described as a monster manage to be a better, more desirable parent than his own mother, a respectable, beautiful woman with very human features and a great job? How?

And on top of that, Finn, this fat ugly creepy shark, is now close with the octotrio in some way Blaze can't pinpoint, and has made a number of friends in NRC while Blaze has... no one.

It's just not fair.

#sorry for the essay lol #quinn quips #blaze dugal #finn clearcove #octavinelle #silas clearcove #twisted wonderland #twst oc #tw fatphobia #tw alchoholism #tw abuse

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aftonsparv-bugzz · 1 month

Text

H O N K H O N K !! :o)

ladies and gentlemen, prepare to knock your fat craniums to this brand fabulous new BLOG !! 🃏 𖤐⊹₊ 🎪⋆

⬛🟥⬛🟧⬛🟨⬛🟩⬛🟦⬛🟪⬛

🌈👾✧˖°(≧ヮ≦) 💕ִ ࣪𖤐₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

___ ★₊˚﹟🪐'

:33 < welclawme nyall !! ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა rawr !!

:33 < this is a re-entry/re-introduction/blah blah blah whatever to my blog xoP 🩻

:33 < (heres a supurr cool link to my introduction :o00 https://www.tumblr.com/aftonsparv-bugzz/743871612061990913/tag-guide )٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

𖦹🌈🎸⁉️-⃝⃤

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

:33 < heres some info on what i'll be doing on this blog !1!1! ⋆˚🐾˖°

:33 < youcan request many things !! such as:

sprite/character edits !!

pannel edits !!

dni banners/just any banners in general !! (re opened !!)

emojis !! (for discord n stuff :3 )

non scibal emojis and agere/petre things !!

flag requests !! (though im not great at them)

user boxes !! (re opened !!)

ship edits !! (any ship, so long as it dosent go against the dni (dni is in pinned intro post))

stimboards/fashionboards !! (if you have certain wants/prices, please tell me !! also these might take a little slower (fashionboards now closed !!)) (can do, but it'll be like this !!)

moodboards/playlists !! (certain songs/themes wanted, please do tell me !! these also might take a little longer !!) (playlists closed !!)

source calls/kinfeshions !! (please be nice and not rude though !!)

making icons !! (lgbtqia2s+ + character icons, fictive icons, therian/kin/alterhuman in general icons, ect)

:33 < ect ect !! (≧ᗜ≦)

⭒˚.⋆𖦹°‧⭒⋆.˚⭒˚.⋆𖦹°‧⭒⋆.˚⭒˚.⋆𖦹°‧⭒⋆.˚⭒˚.⋆𖦹°‧

☆ ⭒ ⋆ ⭒ ☆ ⭒ ⋆ ⭒ ☆ ☆ ⭒ ⋆ ⭒ ☆ ⭒ ⋆ ⭒ ☆

B33 < please do be respectful and specific when requesting things though !! ¯\(º_o)/¯ please do not harass anyone who requests things if they arent using anon !! iwill not stand for it on my page. ido not tolerate it. please just block them and move on if they make you uncomfortable.

B33 < also, keep in mind this blog only has 1 mod !! requests may take longer to complete ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) (╥﹏╥)

:33 < ido prefer getting requests related to my interests/things iknow well (see pinned post) but idont generally mind !! ^_^ 🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ (also, even though this is a pretty homestuck based blog, you can request non homestuck related things and non homestucks can interact !! it isnt only a homestuck blog, its just mainly homestuck because im currently obsessed with it :33)

:33 < this is a pretty messy blog so you'll be seeing things of everything everywhere on this blog but yea !!1! :33

★🎸🎧⋆｡°⋆ ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

⋆⭒˚｡⋆✮⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆✮⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆✮⋆⭒˚｡⋆⋆⭒˚｡⋆✮

𖦹⭒°｡⋆🪐.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆⭒˚｡⋆𖦹⭒°｡⋆𖦹⭒°｡⋆🪐.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆⭒˚｡⋆𖦹⭒°｡⋆

:33 < on that note, here are some things iwont do :o[

pendulum swings. no clue how to do them

recipies (no idea how to make one)

skincare/selfcare (again, no idea how to make them

and anything not mentioned

(also anything involving discourse !! ido not want to be invol with it !! (<_<") and anything agaisnt my dni/anyone who goes against my dni iwill not do things for :o( and by the way, if youdont want me to tag something as something, please tell me !! otherwise i'll probably tag it wrong (<_<"))

B33 < this might change in the future, but for now, iwont do them :o(( ☆⌒(ゝ。∂)

★⋆.˚⋆⭒˚｡⋆★⋆.˚⋆⭒˚｡⋆★⋆.˚⋆⭒˚｡⋆★⋆.˚⋆⭒˚｡⋆

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ

:33 < thankziez furr reading all of this !1!! :o3

B33 < oh yea also i take art requests ^_^

:33 < byebye !! ^_^ 🌊✮ ⋆ 🦈｡ * ⋆｡

*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆

✮₊ ⊹✮₊ ⊹✮₊ ⊹✮₊ ⊹✮₊ ⊹✮₊ ⊹✮₊ ⊹✮₊ ⊹✮₊ ⊹✮₊

⋅⋆ ☼ ☆ 𖤓 ☆ ☼ ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ☼ ☆ 𖤓 ☆ ☼ ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ☼ ☆ 𖤓 ☆ ☼ ⋆⋅

B33 < (purromo purrlease anytroll ? would be quite helpfurrl x33 /nf ⭒-.⋆🪼⋆.-⭒)

☆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

» [wHeN iM cLoWnInG - icp :o))] «

0:37 ─〇───── 3:30

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

dividers: first, second, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 (sorta messed up the numbers but yea) tumblr is being annoying and not letting me add alt text im sorry (if the description is bad, ido apologise

21 notes · View notes

cowboyjen68 · 2 years

Note

Hi Jen. I’m in need of some encouragement. I love the idea of butchness. It just feels right. But when I look at myself it’s hard to see a butch in the mirror. I’m skinny and weak and recently disabled (bad back and knees… at age 19!), and I don’t have any strength or know-how (making/fixing things around the house for my girl) to offer a potential partner. I can’t even drive a car, much less fix one!

I want to be butch. I want to take care of my community and my girl. But I don’t feel like I can measure up. I look at other butches in my life and they have some sort of magical butch swagger that I don’t see in myself. How can I look, feel, act, and be butch… to myself, and to those around me?

I don't reallly like to be the judge and jurer of "butch" per se. I know another when I see her and to most people it is obvious. In my experience and opinion, you either are butch or you are not. It is easy because it is natural.

There are no body types, skills, hobbies, strengths or talents that all butches possess. We are as varied as any populationg. I know buthes who are fat, down right scrawy, work in offices, are afraid to get tattoos, build houses, babysit cats. I know butches with large breasts and some very small ones. My butch friends include jersey wearing sport lovers and those who work in the garden with wide brim hats and flowered garden gloves. Some drive old on the column shift square body Chevys and many more drive Priuses or modern crossovers. A few have wheelchairs and others use a cane or other walking aids.

Our body types and personalities do not define out butchness, however butchness may help for our likes and dislikes, we are not bound to rolls or rules. Butch is very much how we carry ourselves and that affects how others perceive us. We are often seen as "different" or "not good at being a woman" or "not like other girls". Sometimes we are seen as manly or non feminine or any number of words meant to pigeon hole women into a societal standard.

It does seem a often shared butch trait to feel especially protecting of the women in our lives, even those who are simply in our space temporarily and while not all of us are big courageous heros many of us feel good when we can be the safe person for other women.

I am 5′3, and 145 lb, by no means a large woman.I am not getting younger and with my shitty knees I have less of a swagger and more of an old lady hobble some days. Even with a pony tail and muscle shirt on (re no bra because I don’t wanna) I get clocked as something other than a woman when people have to make a snap decision and don’t really look. I can only describe it as our energy or the space we take up , or more way we exist in a space because there is not another word for it.

My suggestion is you don’t have to be sure. You need to get around other butches. Make friends with them and get an understanding of their experiences and see if you relate. If butch works for you there is no butch police (that I know of) to tell you you are wrong. And if it doesn’t fit, eventually you will understand why or why not.

At the end of the day you can be protective and loving, have a quiet power and learn anything you want from driving a big truck to building a bird house if that is what you want to do. One need not be butch to do any of that.

#butch #lesbian

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gods-silliest-little-clown · 2 years

Note

Hi there! I saw you requests open and I wanted to request.

Obey me brothers with a fat mc that sometimes has low self-esteem and in the past used to suffer a lot of bully from others. And how would they comfort the MC if someone made unfunny jokes about their appearance etc

(I hope this is understandable, english isn't my first language so I'm sorry if it looks confusing.)

-💠

Obey Me Brothers With An Insecure MC

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphigor

Genre: Fluff, Comfort

Warning: Mentions of Self Deprication, Mentions of Bullying

Pronouns: None

A/n- Sorry this took so long and sorry it's really short, I hope you enjoy it tho

Lucifer

He honestly doesn't care about your size, you're perfect just the way you are and he wouldn't change you for the world

Is very protective when he learns you've been bullied in the past and always lingers around you to make sure no one tries to mess with you

Loves having you sit on his lap when he's working in his office and will softly rub your thigh/back as he does paperwork

Buys you lots of clothes that elegantly flaunt your figure (if your comfortable with it) and feels an overwhelming sense of pride when he sees you in the outfits he picked

Overall 6/10

Mammon

Is a simp and your number one hypeman

Really enjoys buying you clothes that he thinks respectfully shows off your body (if you're comfortable with that) and even buys you clothes that match him

Isn't very vocal about how much he loves how you look but will absolutely go off if you start bad talking yourself around him

Will beat the shit out of anyone who insults you

Holds you when you're upset and crying over what someone has said or if you're just feeling down

8/10

Leviathan

Is also insecure about almost everything about himself so he relates

Will try to compliment you but ends up a blushing mess

Listens to you talk about your insecurities and tries to give advice/comfort

Overall just not the greatest at comfort but can definitely relate

6/10

Satan

Is the perfect gentleman and so sweet when you feel bad about yourself

Will kill anyone who so much as looks at you wrong

Will read you poems about how beautiful and wonderful he thinks you are (that he's written himself)

Loves seeing you just enjoy yourself and wearing whatever you like

Is overall just amazing

9/10

Asmodeus

Is another amazing hypeman and literally is so supportive

Will go all out to make you feel good if you're sad or upset

Will shade and ostracize anyone who speaks badly about you

Shares all his skin care products and tips on how to be more confident

Is amazing at comforting (just be warned he will cry if you start crying)

10/10

Beelzebub

This sweet himbo loves you and your body is perfect to him

I feel like he's a little insecure about being bulky and tall so he tries his best to support you when you are feeling bad about yourself

Loves holding you and tries his best to compliment you

He definitely intimidates anyone who tries to snide you so much so that they don't even try when he's around

Likes working out with you (even if it's just you sitting on his back while he does pushups or watch him)

Is very emotionally intelligent and tries to make you feel better when you're sad

10/10

Belphigor

He genuinely doesn't care about what your body looks like, he loves cuddling you and thinks you make an amazing pillow and cuddle buddy

Enjoys laying his head on your stomach and lap and will tiredly rub circles into them until he falls asleep

Not the best with words but tries to comfort and reassure you when you're feeling insecure

5/10

#headcanon #obey me #obey me x gn reader #anime #obey me x male reader #trans male reader #obey me x m!reader #obey me x reader #obey me x female reader #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphegor

261 notes · View notes

impunkster-syndrome · 3 months

Note

my reply on that post was about the idea that the fandom would be unwelcoming to plural folk. i basically said that i myself am plural and that while we cannot control the actions of the fandom, we absolutely curate bad behavior in the fancord where we can catch it, and obviously do not discourage sch fictives considering *i* am a clown with fictives.

but i will add since im here that kitty blocking you is not because you Dared to criticize kit. it's because all of the dogpiling and negativity was unbelievably stressful, you all behave as if there is no person behind the screen, or that she is trying to hide behind trauma as an 'excuse.' that is Not the case. kitty blocked, and will continue to block, every single person involved with those blogs just because again, it was so stressful as a traumatized individual. so much toxicity buried any potentially Good criticisms. we Hear yall on the issues like barry not being drawn as fat as he usee to be anymore, or polly missing their cane, we Will rectify actual issues like that.

we welcome issues being brought up and have listened many times before. the fact of the matter is is that no one was going about it constructively at all.

While I do interact with some criticism blogs, I legitimately don't care for some of the criticism from blogs and approach the media as someone entirely new to it. Media analysis is my hobby, and I see so much potential in Sparklecare plus the related media like the therapy spinoff as someone who has dealt with stuff like systemic ableism and interpersonal ableism. I think some of the criticism blogs don't exactly focus on the bigger issues at hand- the lack of nuance, pacing, the high barrier of entry to being able to understand the media through expecting readers to have done hours of scrolling through social media for lore, the problems of not having page numbers on the site visible and not being able to easily skip to specific pages, etc. However, you do not help yourself here by clearly never having actually read and understood my posts. In fact, I do see some staff acting like trauma makes the media immune to criticism, when trauma can make beautiful art that can speak to people at a core level like Alice: Madness Returns. It just can't get that good without people actually being able to point out things that can be fixed and improved upon. The timing for being blocked despite never actually interacting with the main sparklecare blog plus the posts about how people shouldn't take it as anything other than vent art despite the site's about page itself claiming it is a social commentary tell me that it was about my posts and critique of the media as what it claims itself to be. I had never seen anyone else talk about it in that way in the tags, which was astounding to me as someone that reads social commentary like Discworld and is currently working through Lolita so I can write about the objectification of CSA survivors and erasure of our stories and identities by abusers. If it was never meant to be seen as social commentary, that needs to be removed from the site.

I approach it less like a disappointed fan and more like a creative because I've been in Kittycorn's position at about the same age- 15. I wanted to make a twine game about my trauma and abuse I was still undergoing because I wanted to know why I was being abused and it was a cry for someone to help me. There were also many other projects, and some that I have refined over time. I have OCs I talk about and I use them to explore parts of myself. This is my disability blog too, and I'm going to have opinions on disability-related media and representation in it.

I honestly suggest you read over the posts I have written about Sparklecare and then reevaluate if you think I am coming from a malicious place like you seem to think I am.

As for the alterhuman thing, I will say that it was from publicly available information at the time. I'm not going to be in a fandom discord when I have stuff like a job to worry about and the whole media is a migraine risk to me.

Also- I've seen some staff literally tokenize Kittycorn and act like kits schizophrenia is what makes kit excused from all critique. The holding up of kit as a bully victim and not a 23 year old person able to handle kits own issues is infantilizing to disabled people. We can handle our own shit. You personally need to learn the line between bullying and publicly discussing media that was made public, as someone who got extensively bullied in school for years. It's not the same thing here. Kittycorn is a person behind the screen- but so are the people you proclaim as bullies and dehumanize by acting like all criticism is unfounded or coming from "bad people."

#the blackbox askbox #sparklecare critical #sparklecare hospital #sparklecare

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namboobieslover · 11 months

Text

Kintsugi: the beauty of broken things || MYG

Chapter 2

Summary: Yoongi and Minnie have been friends for quite some time now, almost... 15 years? 15 years since they ran into each other in that music classroom by an unlucky (or not) mistake. They've grown close, but both of them have strong characters and insecurities that will have to be put aside when Minnie falls into her own lie, risking her job in the process. They have 3 days to feel comfortable and make everyone believe their role as the young engaged couple or she is fucked :[

Pairing: musical producer! Yoongi x lab tech/science nerdy! f reader au; non-idol! BTS members make a brief appearance

Genre: fluff, angst, kinda slow burn (?), best friends to fake couple au, constant unresolved sexual tension, two idiots too proud to openly speak but pinning each other

Warnings: use of bad language, mentions of insecurities/low self-esteem, anxiety, trauma; light use of weed, little smut if you scrutinize, SFW

Masterlist: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // ...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 2: We are boyfriend and girlfriend, dude

Word count: 3373

Yoongi has never been the kind of person to be openly warm with other people; he feels a lot more comfortable by subtly taking care. Something like sitting with a drink and listening, cooking if anyone has an upset stomach or picking you up if your car is in the shop. Small things that speak volumes.

He also isn’t very vocal about his needs or likings, but neither fears being bold about things he doesn't like. He thinks that's one of his best features: his honesty. Maybe his words sound dry, but they never come from bad intentions because Yoongi is not cruel; he just wants the best for his friends. If that implies hard love, he'll do it.

Whoever knows him a little bit knows that. He also does. Unknown people, on the other hand... usually take him for a bitchy personality and a big mouth that is only open to hurt everyone around. It’s one thing that has marked him throughout his life and deepened his introverted nature. Some would even call him cold or heartless, so he sometimes just gives up and acts that way, thinking ''if that's how little you think of me, there you have it and make it double".

But then, there's you. His Minnie.

No one has as much permission as you to make a fool of him. Whatever wall he tries to put between you and him when he's mentally slumping, it’s not big or fat enough to avoid your powerful ability to make him speak about his concerns and feel as exposed as if he were naked.

No one can make him feel the urge to hug or give warm words to another being like you do, even when you are behaving stupidly, and all you deserve is a reality check. But he... He just can't. Of course, he would never admit it out loud, but it's not indispensable; both of you know.

Any outsider would think you hate each other, judging by your daily bickering non-stop and being brats even when one of you is struggling, but that's just how your friendship works. Under all that mockery, there is a hidden endearment, only shown by how eyes become fond when the other it's not looking.

He knows that you love him and that he loves you too, and you also know. There's no necessity to speak those words when you've felt them since your first meeting in that music classroom.

He knew he was on a ride since day one by the way your brows furrowed when he opened his mouth to say a sassy remark or by the number of times your eyes rolled at his mere presence. Befriending you was hard, but so far? Not an ounce of regret for his choices.

That's why he, once in a while, catches himself wandering in his studio with confused thoughts lingering in his mind. Lately, writing about feeling stuck and lost has been easier than ever, and he wonders if it's somehow (but probably not) related to the fact that your friendship is all he can think about.

He is preoccupied that nobody is going to understand him like you do. That perchance, once both of you find love, your friendship is destined to lose some of its strength. But would he stand that?

The light-skinned producer knows how lucky he is to have you; he is a lucky son of a bitch. He doesn't understand how you can stand him even when he can't stand himself, but there you are with a warm smile and a hug (that won't be accepted openly, you know it) plus, HE DOES understand something: he will do whatever it takes for never risk losing you. To never see you leaving his side.

That's why, when you come to his studio that evening, stomping with a hurried breath and furrowed eyebrows, he knows he’s about to have something to do for you. He was expecting something different and is a little surprised by the matter you established, but as your best friend... he’s not the one who's going to say no. Not like he could.

He wants to help you as you do daily by taking his dark thoughts out of the way, and that's why he agrees with the two-step plan, even if his social anxiety has been peaking this week. That's how much you mean to him.

Not gonna lie; he feels a little ridiculous while walking to your flat wearing all the pieces of clothes that you so meticulously described in your text. He also feels ridiculous while holding your hand because his body feels warmer than he thought, but he blames it on the alcohol, no matter how little the amount is.

But all this shameful feeling disappears when he eyes you walking back to where he is after dropping your coat in the wardrobe. Have you always looked that good in that dress? He knew that it would be the right choice because he had always seen you pretty in it, but tonight... There’s something different on your face, but he can put his finger on it.

"Once this stunt is done, I urgently need to get laid" Yoongi thinks, mindful that his penis is the one thinking instead of him. "Bad timing; tonight is not the right moment".

Perhaps, after all… that dress wasn't a good choice. He is not the strongest soldier; where he puts the eye, he puts the bullet... And you look dangerously too much like a graceful prey for your own good.

He would never admit it, but maybe… some flirting is being done. As more alcohol enters his system, less and less ability he has to restrain the playful mood and himself. At one point, his mouth speaks quicker than his mind, and that's how he ends up disclosing you the bet.

Maybe, in his twisted unconscious, he thinks that if you get angry with him, all this weird situation will stop, whatever is going on. But instead of being filled with anger, your gaze shines a bit more. He would have never guessed that being told directly that someone wants you, instead of grossing you out, would set something similar to desire in that pretty head of yours.

That ignites something inside that takes him by surprise, and when his eyes can't leave the swaying of your hips on your way to the bathroom... He knows he is in trouble.

You have talked about sex plenty of times; your friendship is quite open around that issue. You throw jokes and some bantering on this subject to the other, but never anything serious. Also, he has never dealt with a playful and drunk you all by himself while he feels a little drunk too. This is unknown territory.

When deciding if the unsettling feeling in his stomach is good or bad, a masculine voice interrupts him.

-Can I give you a recommendation? -is the bartender that has served them all the drinks tonight.

-Yeah, why not? -Yoongi shrugs.

-Grow the balls, man. It’s painfully messed up the way both of you approach each other.

-What do you mean? She...she is...my girlfriend.

-Girlfriend as in a couple or as a friend that happens to be a girl? Because of the way it looks, you don't know the difference between both things.

-What do you mean? -Yoongi has nothing to lose while waiting for you.

-It's simple -the bartender answers while shrugging and cleaning a vase- the chemistry is there, but you have to be more straightforward. She seems oblivious to subtle hints.

Is our acting so bad that even a stranger looking from afar can see it?

-I wasn't flirting with her -Yoongi jumps with both hands in a defensive stand but sits immediately- well, because, you know… we are far gone from that stage. We are engaged -he says out loud for the first time.

-Sorry then. I must have gotten the wrong impression. It’s just… the way you act seems like two recently-in-love persons. So… you just are hardly whipped by her, mh? The way you mock and smirk at her is one from the books.

-Which books?

-How to escape from the Alcatraz that friend zone seems like. You have probably already gotten farther than where your expectations laid at first, but you behave as if you are still surprised by the fact that she reciprocates your feelings. You have to get out of that mindset. Being insecure isn’t a burden for yourself but for your partner too. Insecurities make daily stuff unnecessarily complicated.

Yoongi rolls his eyes at that. He can't admit that the only thing between you two is amity because this night's main task is to look more like a couple. That prompts him (now that the situation is less stressful) to step up his acting.

-Listen, man -the barista speaks again- I'm sorry; I didn't want to bother you or get myself into what is not my thing. It’s just that girls like that -signals between the sweaty bodies dancing for Yoongi to find you dancing with eyes closed in your world, unaware of the eagle-like gazes some other men are throwing you- are hard to find. As are shooting stars on a winter night. She is a bomb. You are lucky to have her in your life. If you let this opportunity slip through your fingers, you'll always regret it. I've been there. Her name was Sophie.

-What happened between Sophie and you?

-She just grew tired of waiting for me to make a move on her or whatever, and only when I saw her with another man I realized how much I loved her. Sadly it was late; that boy wasn't as blind as me, thus, he knew how to take care and appreciate all his good features. He kept her and the last thing I knew about, was that they were marrying. I had to block her; it hurt me a lot to see how happy she was living while I couldn't stop wondering how life would have been If I had opened my eyes earlier.

Wow, Yoongi wasn't expecting such a heart-to-heart confession by this stranger.

-Sorry to hear it -he articulates.

-Yeah. Guess time heals everything. They say that things happen for a reason. I haven't found mine, but one may be how today, I'm here to tell you all this; trying to avoid you a life-changing mistake. Whatever it turns out to be, I wish you the best of luck.

-You too -Yoongi nods as a goodbye.

This conversation has him feeling a little dizzy somehow because the bartender's words made the fear of losing the most precious thing he has in his life real but also made him confused. He knows you are a girl, but after so many years, his brain hasn't noticed ALL that implies. For him, his Minnie is his buddy, one softer than the rest, but his buddy after all.

He has never seen you in any other light than as a little sister. Yeah, you are hot all dolled up, but apart from appreciating your beauty, he never thought of you… in that way.

Funnily, he can't take the whole destiny thing out of his mind. Everything happens for a reason. He does believe it, especially because your friendship was born the day a mistake put you both in the same class. His entire life always felt like an alignment of casualties that luckily went well.

His brain cells are working at full power (too much to handle) when he is finally near you; the only thing that pulls him like a magnet between the ocean of bodies. What does this night have that seems to cast him under a spell?

Softly, his hands lay on your small back, trying not to scare you or break the entrance you are in. Still, this act makes you jump till your head is turned to him, evident fear on your face dropping once the familiarity of your best friend comes into sight.

You seem happy to see him and show by how a big smile is full on display. Suddenly touching you feels too much, so he drops his arms.

-Sorry for not coming back. Those girls -you signal behind you a little group or women around your age that wave at Yoongi- were super nice and invited me to join them on the dance floor.

Your warm breath tingles in Yoongi's ear, who shivers a little under your touch on his shoulder and closeness.

-When did you meet them? -he asks more recomposed than he feels, in the same way you did to be heard in this noise.

-On the bathroom. That place is always good to make friendships after throwing a compliment here and there.

-Did you feel the necessity to find more friends? Am I not enough?

-I wanted to dance, and last thing I knew, it’s not precisely your favourite thing in the world.

-Is not but 1: I drank enough to lose some of my dignity and 2: I guess as your "boyfriend" -he marks the world rightly- is what I should do my honey boo-boo.

He bops your nose to accentuate the joke. Expecting the typical smack on his arm, he is surprised when your face lights up with fun and a sheepish smile decorates your mouth.

-Let's see what you have in store, buddy, but don't disloque your grandpa-like hips in the process, please.

-I'm just one year older than you.

-Well, time to act like it -you add, winking.

At the start, Yoongi feels a little uncomfortable, but soon that's replaced by calm. Both of you are vibing to the rhythmic music and grinning at each other. It's been a while since the last time you were able to relax a bit and not think about anything.

Some men fight their way to you, something that seems to be making you uncomfortable, so he feels the need to put himself as a barrier. You notice that and thank him without words.

Even like that, one of them reaches you and starts to talk in your ear. Yoongi tenses at that, but not long after, you are brushing off the boy without a bat of lashes. He sometimes forgets how fierce you are.

-Everything okay, Minnie?

-Yeah, don't worry -your words say different than your face; doubting eyes and inferior lip between your teeth- I was just thinking…

-That we suck at all the couple acting?

-Exactly that -finally a smile.

-I thought the same while talking to the bartender. Maybe… if you are okay… should try to improve it?

-Yeah, that would be nice.

He is hesitant, making you take the lead. He has never danced with you like this intently. It takes a little, but the right pace comes causing your bodies to be pressed together.

You see something over his shoulder that has you sighting tiredly and tensing the muscles.

-What? -he asks, preoccupied.

-Nothing. Just that asshole again; I don't know how to make his little brain of him to understand the message.

-Guess that's my cue to throw some hands -Yoongi feels the anger flowing through his entire system.

You hug his frame to stop him, and the next thing you do, take him by surprise.

You turn in his grasp, pressing your back in his front. His hands are doubtful but embrace nicely your waist, feeling yours securing that hold tighter with a graceful touch upon his skin.

-See, sometimes things have a solution without the need for fighting. Does this feel awkward to you?

-A little, but we should come to terms with it before Friday.

-Right.

-Still… I want to punch that idiot in the face.

You laugh, making his body resonate with yours.

-Just… ignore him.

One of your arms keeps its place above his, but the other flies right to his neck, pressing your body impossibly closer. Your fingertips brush sensitive skin that hasn't been touched in a long time.

The travel they do up, till they are messily rolling the long hair of his neck, makes him senseless of the world around you two. It feels nice.

He unconsciously nears his head to yours, making you giggle with the tingling of his long hair on your skin. He giggles too.

-Your hair is longer than ever.

-Maybe, but not for long. They will make some changes on behalf of the photoshoot.

-I like it now; that length fits you well -your fingertips comb through his black mat.

The dance continues all night, awkwardness long forgotten. Before you know it, it's time to leave the disco. Walking hand in hand to get out without losing the other, cold night receives you.

-Do you wanna take a taxi?

Yoongi asks himself the same question. "Do I?".

-If you aren't tired, I would like to walk better.

A night walk seems like the best, and you nod in approval. Even if he still feels the heat of all the dancing, he has to admit that the cold is coming for him, which manifests in a shiver.

You must notice because you unconsciously move your body to come closer to his. Your gentle grip around his arm with yours feels warm, and in the weird but comfy bubble that surrounds you two tonight, he reaches for your hand without a doubt, locking them together.

The chat till your place is around the new songs in his mixtape. He doesn't want to tell you that you have inspired a crazy amount of them, but how you look interested in the whole process (even when you have listened to it thousands of times) warms his heart once again. Enough to make him absentmindedly caress your knuckles in a circular motion with the thumb, something he becomes conscious of when your door is on sight.

-You can stay if you want to. Or call a taxi and wait for it here -you offer.

-I have to get up in a couple of hours anyway, so I will go to my house to take the stink of partying out with a shower and ingest the biggest coffee cup in history. A walk to wake up should help the cause.

-As you like. Then, this is the end of step 1 in the plan. How did you feel?

-Hate to give you the ego boost, but you were right. This was useful. Now I don't feel like throwing up seeing that ugly face; just a little nauseous.

And here it is, your signature smack.

-It was better than what I anticipated -he says now on a serious note- Maybe this will go well.

-Yeah, maybe I won't be unemployed by Monday -you joke- thanks again, Yoongles.

-You are welcome -he replies with a grin that sets one similar on you.

You detach yourself from his side, leaving a cold feeling that has him shivering where your warmth was.

-Text me when you get home -you point him with the index, in a threatening stance.

-I'll do -he answers, grabbing your finger funnily and turning around.

-Oh, wait.

That stops him in his tracks while you make your way inside hurriedly. Once you come back, it’s with clothing in your hands.

-I know your pigheadedness, but I don't want you to catch a cold. Not like I care for your wellness. I am still in need of someone to play my fiancé, y'know? -you explain playfully.

-Of course, of course -Yoongi follows your stunt.

You wrap a soft black scarf and a matching beanie that smells like you around him. All Yoongi does is eying you like this was the first time he is looking at you.

-What? -your eyebrow rises in doubt.

-Your makeup looks terrible right now.

Your reaction is to simply pull the beanie over his eyes and flick your finger at his cheek.

-Remember, text me once you get home.

-Okey, mom.

-Bye -you bid him from your doorstep.

-See you tomorrow.

Yoongi walks in the cold night back home, but all he can feel is the warmth of your scarf and beanie.

Everything is fine.

A/N: I hope you are liking the story so far. As I said in the first chapter, uni is biting my ass. Literally, this has taken me 3 days, taking time from here and there, to fully review, so... sorry for taking so long.

Feel free to give some feedback whatever is good or bad, and thank you for liking or sharing, I appreciate that a lot. Have a nice day!

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rotationalsymmetry · 9 months

Text

Ways a little knowledge can be dangerous (or at least kind of misleading) with health at every size and intuitive eating, individually and/or collectively:

It’s not about new rules, or doesn’t have to be. Try things and see what works for you. keep what works and let go of what doesn’t.

sometimes people can get weirdly intense about intentional weight loss being bad. Is it counterproductive in the long run? Sure. Do people get to choose what they do with their own bodies? Yes. Is fatphobia primarily perpetuated via iwl? No. It’s primarily perpetuated in other ways: workplace discrimination, medical discrimination, media portrayals and harmful stereotypes, government anti obesity campaigns that lean hard on fat shaming, etc.

half-assing it is not necessarily going to go great, in the sense that if you decide to try this approach and then bail the moment the number on the scale goes up that’s not going to go well. Like yeah my first point still stands, but I mean working for you in a weight neutral way. Yeah your weight might go up. Either find a way to make peace with that or you are not ready for a weight neutral approach to health. Intuitive eating is not a way to trick yourself into losing more weight, it’s a way to relate to food that is not at all about trying to lose weight or avoid gaining weight. (Some people do lose weight or stay the same weight with this stuff. Lots of people don’t. It’s better to come into it without expectations/being prepared for a “worse” outcome weight wise.)

can you eat all the brownies you want? Sure. If you’ve haven’t given yourself permission to eat an entire tray of brownies recently, you might be surprised how quickly you realize you don’t want any more.

if you are the sort of person who will literally eat an entire tray of brownies, and you feel miserable and out of control the entire time, you probably want professional help through the process rather than DIY-ing it. Likewise if you already know you have an eating disorder. No shame. Some people have some stuff to work through around food, it happens.

If you are the sort of person who loses interest in the brownies before eating the entire tray, don’t sweat it if you eat more brownies than you think you should. Do you physically feel bad after? That’s useful information going forwards. Do you think you would have felt as satisfied if you’d stopped at one brownie? Try that at some point and see what happens. But part of IE is in fact you do have blanket permission to eat brownies, you don’t have to justify it.

people eat food for reasons other than hunger. This is ok and not a thing you have to overcome. If you’re stopping when you’re satisfied most of the time, it’ll work. Doesn’t need to be 100% and you don’t have to opt out of social/cultural thingeys.

However, it’s worth considering whether you want to eat for reasons other than hunger. Sometimes a thing looks like it tastes good but then kinda tastes like poster boards. Sometimes people get caught up on the idea of not wasting food, which is a good general goal but it’s worth questioning whether eating food you aren’t enjoying is in fact not wasting it. Maybe the best way to not waste food is to learn you didn’t like this food or didn’t want this much of it and modify your behaviors going forwards. Not wanting to hurt someone’s feelings by not eating a lot of their food: probably not a huge deal now and then, but it can be good to practice how to show concern for a loved one’s feelings in ways other than finishing what’s on your plate, especially if this happens a lot.

as mentioned in previous post: hunger is usually more subtle than being ravenous and fullness is generally more subtle than feeling stuffed to the gills, it’s ok/good to take a guess at whether you’re hungry/full and see what happens. Does eating one cracker make you want to eat more? Probably you were hungry. Does stopping eating now make you hungry again in two hours? Maybe you weren’t full. Try things and see what happens. (Sometimes you can be done with one particular type of food but want a different type. This is ok. Different types of foods serve different roles.)

likewise IE is perfectly compatible with regularly scheduled meal times. Chances are being a tiny bit hungry is a state you can exist in for some time before urgently needing to eat and you get to decide when in that period you’re going to eat. If you’re starving, eat, but also make a note for yourself that you probably should have had a scheduled eating time before you got to the point where you felt ravenous.

don’t eat food you don’t want to eat. Seriously. Not even if it’s vegetables. Refraining from eating healthy food that doesn’t appeal is good practice and in the long run better for you than practicing eating food that you don’t really want.

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iris-jaxx665 · 8 months

Note

Re: weight loss

At the justifiable risk of offense, because no one needs to be commenting on anyone else's body... I've been worried that including your weight and temp with your potd posts was related to weight loss.

Worried because that kind of monitoring can so very easily lead to other very destructive and maladaptive behaviors.

Your body is yours to do with what you want, but I'm hoping I can reassure you that unless there's some underlying medical condition that's making your weight dangerous, you seem absolutely fine. Even if you gain more weight, having fat on your body is not inherently unhealthy.

The whole weight loss industry... I could rant for hours. And hours more about how the medical industry supports it. How BMI is an inherently problematic metric, made worse by being decontextualized and applied in ways it was not designed for. How calory counting and the whole concept of specific calories per day is just whole cloth made up with no medical basis. I could just rant for days, but this isn't the time or place...

So if I may ask, from a genuine place of concern, does this come from a body image issue? Some sort of dysmorphia? Or maybe some outside influence leading you to believe you need to be thinner?

I've seen so many friends be devoured by weight loss. You seem like such a wonderful person and weight loss disorders cause such unnecessary pain and struggle. No one deserves to live under that kind of stress...

no offense taken, i asked for open discussion with the hope and plan to receive it.

including the weight and temp checks with my potd posts isnt weight loss related, though i understand the thought process there, its fertility related, as im cycle tracking and the basal body temp is supposed to be linked to fertility cues.

i spent a fair number of years deeply anorexic, and im always fighting not to resort to the measures i once took to take control of my body, as thats a large part of what it was for me as well as body image and dismorphia issues. ive been in remission and healing from those issues since recovering from my first pregnancy in 2015. and its been difficult.

currently this weight loss has medical impetus. i went to a cunt doctor in may for curiosity concerning my fertility, and He had me do about 20 blood tests. one of those tests showed that my cholesterol was insanely high, dangerously high. the doctors suggestion was lose some weight, be more active, cut out fats. so im trying to do so safely.

its also in part that i am unhappy with my appearance, just slightly. i know having some fat is healthy and better for my body than having none, i just feel that i have a little more than i would like. i feel lethargic about half the week, i cant walk for more than 30 minutes or so (in part because of my bad knee, which im also working on), and im unsure of what strain my weight may put on my bad lungs and my fragile heart.

i could rant just as long about the medical industry, bmi and weight, as it all concerns to women and how its fucked, but my foster father had a heart attack recently with 100% blockage (dumb bastard drove himself to the hospital) and that as well as his many cancers, my foster mothers heart/ liver/ kidney failures. its all scared me rather harshly about my own health.

thank you for your concern, currently i just want to lose a little fat and gain some muscle, so i can keep up with my Owner on long walks and hikes, so i can keep up with my future kids (if i can have them) for as long as they want me to, so i can have enough strength in my body to hold my grandkids one day. because i dont as yet feel that i could if i got the chance.

#me #thank you for your curiosity #personal rant

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strawberry-lemonade-kisses · 1 year

Text

(1)

Warnings: Su1cide Ideation, Sui1cide attempt, self harm, swearing, depression, anxiety, mentions of blood, Crying.

Minors DNI

Intro, Masterlist, Next Part

Day 1

The ceilings were so high like you were in a cathedral. You looked over the expanse of the ceiling, wondering if you may see a depiction of one of the gods, or maybe a fat little cherub causing mischief among the people. There was nothing, just skylights, and wood paneling. You squinted, catching the early morning sun in your vision.

“Y/N” you sat up straight, ignoring the kink in your neck from sitting like an idiot. Your mother watched you carefully, eyes flicking to the bandages keeping your wrist covered before looking back at your face. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?” The night before had been exhausting, your throat sore from screaming so much, berating your parents, and blaming everyone but yourself for what had transpired in the privacy of the bathroom. You ended up at the hospital until 3 AM, being questioned endlessly about the blood and the mirage of cuts along your body. People were checking in, separating you from your parents, and asking about being hurt by someone else. No, you repeated time and time again, it was you. It was all you.

“No, I’m just tired, ready to get this over with. They said I’d most likely be outpatient so we’ll do this interview and I’ll go home and take a nap” Your mom gave a pinched smile. The bags under her eyes were prevalent, the exhaustion sitting all over her face in a permanent frown. Her eyes were still bloodshot, and watery as she looked you over. Your dad sat silently on her other side staring ahead. He took the brunt of your anger the night before, after a emotional absence through your childhood you were angry, he wasn’t allowed to act like he cared now. You still hadn’t talked to him, choosing to keep a distance so you wouldn’t cause another unnecessary fight.

“the Eto family?” your mother and father stood, looking anxiously as you stood and followed the stocky woman holding a clipboard. She was an older woman, speaking so fast that your exhausted mind was barely keeping up.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Gotouge, one of the leading doctors of Haven Hill. Haven Hill is a Mental health facility, we treat many different people from different backgrounds. We offer many different accommodations and treatments, from group therapy to alcohol-related diseases. We are mainly an inpatient facility but we do outpatient for our less severe cases. If you follow me we will proceed with the examination in this room.” She held open the door of a bland office, with only a desk and 5 chairs. There were no windows, not even a skylight. “We received the paperwork from Valley Hospital, we get a number of our patients from there, they are very good.” Your mom hummed an agreement, your father still silent. You evaluated the woman as you pulled up a chair alongside your mother, away from your father, and closest to the door. In and out, that’s all this was. “Y/N?” she eyed you, examining you. “Can you explain to me what happened last night?” The older woman looked on expectantly, waiting for an elaborate lie about what you had done. But the evidence was obvious, she already knew, you just had to confirm it.

“Last night I was having a panic attack, It was a bad one where I felt like I was going to pass out, so I decided to take a shower. Usually taking really hot showers helps me calm down. It didn’t help, I was still panicking. So, um.” You hesitated, looking at your mom for help. The tears had already welled up in her eyes knowing what you were going to say next. “So in order to get it to stop I broke a razor I had and used it to cut myself. It sometimes helps me refocus. But for some reason it made it worse, so I tried to cut deeper on my stomach, maybe something bigger would help. I don’t know. I was just trying to get the panic attack to stop, I just wanted the pain to stop.” The woman slid a box of tissues across the desk, placing them in front of your mother who sniffled loudly before muttering a thank you.

“Continue please” You looked hesitantly at your mother, her nose shoved in a tissue as your father rubbed her back, soothing circles making a pattern.

“Right, so then I panicked because what did I do? I didn’t even check if I cut, I just threw clothes on and ran upstairs to my sister. There was blood running down my arm and my wrists so I showed her and asked for help. She called my parents and then after fighting with them and cooling off a bit, we went to Valley Hospital. They gave us the information for here.” The doctor was writing as you spoke, pen rushing feverously over the paper. She finally looked up as you finished.

“Y/N. How long have you been self-harming?”

“A couple weeks,” she wrote some more before turning to your parents.

“Did either of you know?” your mother finally looked up from the growing pile of tissues in front of her.

“Yes, She confessed 2 days ago at her birthday party. Before she would just tell us they were cat scratches, which is believable because her cat always scratches her.” The doctor nodded again, her pen scratching menacingly on the page. She was writing your fate on ugly beige paper without even a smile on her face.

“I have a few more questions for the two of you Mr and Mrs. Eto, if you could follow me out I would appreciate it.” She rose to her feet, guiding your parents to the hallway to talk. It seemed like they talked forever, you could watch paint dry by the time they walked back into the room. The solemn look on your parent's faces made you want to cry. This was your fault. If you had just tried a little harder to control your anxiety, tried to meditate more, and taken your medication at exactly the same time, maybe you would have been stable. Maybe you would have been normal. If you were normal and stable, then your parents wouldn’t cry and everything would be okay. But you would never be normal, you would never be okay. This was a disease, one you’ve fought since you were a child, one that has taken control of you for as long as you could remember.

“Alright, let me consult some other staff members so we can decide on a treatment plan for Y/N here. I will be back as soon as I can” Without even sitting down Dr. Gotouge took her notebook and excused herself from the room.

“I’m sorry” You blurted the words before the door had even clicked shut. Your parents both looked at you. “I’m sorry I can’t control myself. I’m sorry for blaming you guys. I’m sorry I'm not normal. I’ll do better. I’m going to try even harder” The tears were unstoppable as you watched both of your parents cry alongside you.

“You don’t- You don’t have to try harder. Your trying enough. I just, we just need you to talk to us more. If you have to spend time here to help you it's only a few days.”

“They said at the hospital I would be inpatient. It’ll be okay. I’m going to get better, I won’t let this happen again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” You couldn’t help but apologize, seeing your mother who had been by your side your entire childhood, who did everything for you and sacrificed so much for you. Seeing her break down because of you had hurt much more than you thought it would. Your father was a stoic man, someone you had seen cry less than a handful of times and you don’t think you've ever seen him cry like this. It was a lot, overwhelming. Your mother held your hand tightly as she wiped at her face with her free hand. Your father reached over her to rest a hand on your shoulder.

“I know I wasn’t always here. I know I messed up a lot. But I’m going to change, I’m going to be here for you. I will do better, just focus on yourself and work on what you have to do. Alright? I’m proud of you and all the things you’ve overcome, don’t give up now Y/N, alright? We love you so much” The small speech from your father had your head dropping in shame. You had caused so much pain, there was no choice but to get better, control your anxiety, and control your depression. You had people who cared about you, who would go to bat for you and duel in your honor. You had to do it, for them.

As everyone wiped their faces Dr. Gotouge came back, sitting elegantly in the chair across from you.

“After a long discussion about treatment, we decided that it would be best for Y/N to remain with Haven Hill in our inpatient treatment center. We have a Teen unit one that is co-ed and then gendered units. Suicide attempts are serious matters and I feel that being with others who have gone through similar or different circumstances can be not only eye-opening but also very healing. Trauma bonding is a common way of healing and helping. We have many nurses on our staff that are here to help Y/N develop better coping skills to deal with her anxiety and depression. We need to develop healthier habits to cope instead of hurting ourselves. Mental health is just as serious as physical health and we would like to assist and help heal.” Your parents nodded, your mom's grip tightening around your hand.

“yeah, we would like that. Just for a bit right?”

“at most a week but we can’t legally hold her against her will past three days.” Dr. Gotouge smiled at you. “we’ll give you a bit to say goodbye then I’ll have my head nurse of our teen unit show you around, and take you to your room during your stay with us.” Dr. Gotouge stood again, seeing herself out of the room as you turned to your parents, eyes already watering again.

“I’m going to get better, just wait” You gave them a watery smile, hugging your mom tightly.

“I love you, sweetheart, just get better” She smiled as you pulled back, moving to the side as your father stepped forwards

“Get better little girl, you can do it. I love you. Your siblings love you. Just worry about yourself now” He was sniffling as he embraced you, trying to be strong for himself and your mother.

The hallways were bland as you walked through them, with white walls and white floors. It must have been a nightmare keeping them clean.

“We're going to our teen unit which is right next to the children's unit. You may see the children but there will be little interaction with them, they do their own thing. Many patients we see here come from different backgrounds, some are here to escape a terrible home situation and others are here battling their own diseases and illnesses. Everyone should be returning from dinner right about now. Are you hungry?” You shook your head, the gurgling in your stomach wasn’t from hunger, it was anxiety. Being by yourself with a bunch of strangers. It was terrifying you didn’t even have clean clothes or pajamas to change into, having expected to be an outpatient. You finally looked at the nurse you were following, she was taller long dark braids falling just above her waistline. She had a nice smile as she led you through the winding corridors before stopping in front of a room and turning to you.

“This will be your room. In this unit, every patient has separate rooms with a bathroom. The bathroom doors get locked at lights out which is in another hour. Because it's your first day and dinner just ended there are no other activities for the day, I’ll show you the rec room where you’ll start your morning off and then I’ll let you do what you want.” Her smile never wavered as she talked before walking off, beckoning you to follow. It was just another right at the end of the hall of rooms, a large room with windows all along the wall, across from a nurse's station. They could see through the windows as much as you could see out of it. You shivered at the thought of being watched 24/7. “So this is the rec room where you’ll spend most of your time. Besides individual therapy and meals, you’ll be here. We have 8 other patients in the unit with you some have already gone to bed but you're more than welcome to relax here. Your parents will be dropping off clothes for you in the morning but we have scrubs for you to wear until then in your room.”

“Thank you, Is it okay if I go lay down? It’s been a long day” She nodded a look of sympathy overtaking her features.

“Of course, I can imagine it's been emotionally exhausting for you. The door to your room doesn’t shut we have nurses come to check on you throughout the night in case of any problems, again I’m Nurse Jina don’t hesitate to ask anyone for help if needed. Sleep well Miss Y/N we will see you in the morning.” You wandered back down the hallway to the last room on the right, your new home for the next few days. It was scarcely furnished with a wooden twin-sized bed with the thinnest mattress pad you’ve ever seen, across from a large 6-cubby shelving unit. A wooden desk sat below a frosted window, a small pile of clothes folded neatly in the middle of the desk. Looking to your right there was a typical half bathroom, A sink, and a toilet. You weren’t expecting this much, did people bring stuff with them to decorate? Maybe some knick-knacks? Something to liven it up? Could you maybe get your parents to bring your large Sherpa blanket, the one that provided comfort from anywhere. Would they let you have it? Shaking your head at the thought you moved to change into the scrubs they gave you. The fabric was scratchy, and your hand immediately dropped the clothes back onto the desk as they felt the texture. Sandpaper, they were paper clothes, like sleeping on a blanket of paper. Knocking caught your attention as you turned around.

“Hi Y/N I’m bringing your bedding, have a good night” Placing a stack of fabric on the mattress Jina disappeared out of the room as quickly as she came. You didn’t hesitate to unfold the blanket and set up the pillow. Turning off the light and settling onto the mattress you laid back, finally unraveling for the day. It was the first time you had gotten a chance to yourself. The first time all day you had gotten to think over the events within the past week. Just two days ago you were surrounded by family and friends, celebrating the day of your birth sixteen years ago. The day had gone great until your stomach started turning, surrounded by so many people. The uncomfortable clenching of your chest and the way your breath picked up weren’t hard to mistake. The excitement had thrown you into a panic attack. It was during that panic attack you confessed to your mother about the wounds on your wrist. A muddled apology came out between your tears as she rocked you back and forth, reminding you to breathe with her. Then there was last night. The panic attack wouldn’t seem to stop. You’ve had multiple that lasted hours before, the most exhausting event t live through, and having daily panic attacks had been wearing you down. You couldn’t handle it, it just wouldn’t stop. But then you told your sister, panicked and she immediately sat you down in your room and left you with her boyfriend. He had explained about his own suicide attempt while you were just trying to figure out what was happening, and why it wouldn’t stop. Your breathing was still ragged, mind fuzzy as the panic and need to go became overwhelming. Then there was the fight, you couldn’t even think about it, the words you had said in anger, the hurt both of your parents displayed before your mother told you to leave. It was an exhausting 24 hours and you were glad to finally be able to sleep in peace.

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