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a-b-riddle · 25 days

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A Simple (Mis) Understanding Chapter Two: Numbness & Pain

Daisy

I always used to think it was an exaggeration of how pregnancy is a constant state of exhaustion. But it was a lot of work growing a tiny human. Add in the fact that I'm still working 40 + hours a week and, of course, something is always causing some sort of discomfort or pain.

Swollen feet, back pain, nausea; I can't even find any solace in sleep. The 32 week mark felt so close, yet still so far. Another eight or so weeks of this seems like a drop in the bucket compared to how far along I am, but still. That still another two months. So far away when you want to be done, but still too short compared to everything I still have yet to do.

Another two months to set up a crib and wash her new clothes. Another two months to figure out a name and make decisions that I always envisioned making with a partner. Another two months of struggling to do things like picking up shit off the floor or staying on my feet long enough to make a decent meal.

But right now, I wasn't worried about the two months ahead of me and all the things I still have to do. Right now, I was looking forward to a three day undisturbed weekend. The pain in my feet and sciatica was becoming so bad, I had taken Friday off to see a doctor and spend the rest of the weekend doing nothing, but sitting in my modest little house and watching mind rotting television. I might even indulge in some spicy reading. Heaven knows its been too long.

Or at least, it hasn't been since them. That day in the office, but... that really didn't count. I often wrestled with myself about it. That one time erased any feelings I had for any of them. But I felt a bit pathetic how it now tainted every good memory I had with them. Kyle bringing me something to snack on when he realized I hadn't gone to the mess hall. Price always having a cup of earl grey tea cooling for me first thing in the morning. Two packs of zero calorie sweetner and a bit of honey.

Sweet like you.

I couldn't stand the smell of it now. I blamed it on the hormones. A lot of things made me queasy, but something about the smell of the bergamot, made me sick in a completely different way. A feeling not of nausea, but of... fear. Like the same way a pentagram could summon demons, earl grey could summon mine. As if John Price was somehow there any time the scent lingered in the air.

But he wasn't. None of them were. Fuck. Why did my thoughts always go back to them at some point? No. This was going to be a relaxing weekend god dammit. Fuck them.

Almost angrily, I hit the garage key fob, shutting the door and engulfing me into darkness; a thin line of light leaking through the bottom of the garage door. When I had opened my door, I could at least see a path to my mudroom. I grabbed my purse, ready to go in, when I felt it.

Hundreds of needles. Stabbing and digging into my feet. Not just the soles, but the entire fucking foot the moment I bared any weight on them. I pulled off my flats and it was then I noticed how angry they looked. Red and swollen and all but screaming at me to sit my fat ass back down. I wiggled my toes, trying to get some blood flow. Fuck. Why didn't they hurt while I was driving?

I manage to get onto my feet, using the car door as support. Steading myself until I was ready to take the first step. By the time I had managed to all but crawl inside, ten minutes had passed since my initial arrival time. I got off at 5:00, but usually didn't log off until almost 6:00. Granted, I work from home, but I had run out of a few essentials. Essentials now that were in the boot of my car.

Fuck.

10 minutes won't hurt. Not like there is any thing frozen. Speaking of which, I forgot my ice cream... dammit. I really need to start keeping a list on the fridge. It's hard to remember when pregnancy brain (or stomach) takes over and I slam a container in a single sitting.

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, I went to the kitchen. Which considering the town house, or terraced housing I suppose now, was perfect for a single and expecting Omega it was cozy. Not like the base where going from the common area to the chow hall was about a three minute stroll.

I get down and lay on my back. Carefully maneuvering so my ass rests against the cabinets before I hook the back of my heels unto the counter top so I could rest my feet a bit. Not the most sanitary, but it wasn't like I had guests. It was just me. For now.

It took a few moments to adjust. My back ached against the hardwood, but I could already feel the relief from my feet and legs. It wasn't all that shocking that I was having a hard time with them. I had gained a considerable amount of weight during my pregnancy. When I had brought it up to the OBGYN about possibly cutting back on food, her suggestion was to simply not weigh myself at home. Now when I went in for a visit they made me turn around before taking my weight.

It was hard. I've always had a problem with how I looked and now adding pregnancy then taking away the option to diet and exercise didn't exactly help.

I pulled out my phone and was preparing to open my kindle app when I saw a tiny red bar in the top right corner of my phone. Of course. I get nice and settled and my phone is on 2 fucking percent. Whatever. I tell Alexa to set an a timer for fifteen minutes and take a little nap. Maybe meditate.

A knock on the door quickly brings any possibility of relaxation to a pause. Margaret next door was dropping off Winnie off early to go to her book club. Margaret was a widow and a recent empty nester. She had spent her life as a mother and a homemaker. When I got custody of Winnie two months ago, she had quickly stepped up in helping me with everything from child rearing to managing my pregnancy.

"Hello, Maggie!" I greeted from the floor. "Hello, Winnie Darling." Winnie had the same sand colored hair as me and bright green eyes. Her face was a shade of red and I could smell her from the entryway. Someone would need a bath today. Fantastic.

"Oh, Dear!" Maggie fussed, setting Winnie down on her feet before coming over to me. "Are you alright?" Winnie didn't bother stopping to hug me like she normally would before making a beeline toward the potty. She usually was a creature of habit, but nature calls I suppose.

"Feet are a bit swollen." I waved off. "Just resting them a bit."

"I don't have to go tonight." She set her bag down. A deep green corduroy shoulder bag that always had just what you needed in it. A wet wipe, hand sanitizer, a spare tissue and even a stain pen when a spill happened at the most inconvenient time. "I'll stay and-"

"Maggie." I said, trying my best to sound at firm, but it was hard with her. No one told Maggie 'no'. "It's alright. Just a bit of water retention. Nothing to fret over." And it wasn't. I could already feel the pain from earlier subside.

"Really, it's no bother." She argued, bending over to unstrap one of her shoes. "It's a bloody stupid book anyway. I just go for the gossip really."

"Maggie." I tried again. "Really." "It's getting close to the due date and I don't want to burn out on me just yet." It was a lie. Even with her greying hair, a deepened laugh line, Maggie didn't burn out. She was one of the few Omegas I had met in my life and she could run circles around any of them, myself included.

The sound of flushing sounded from the bathroom followed by the faucet. She huffed before slipping her shoe back on. "If you insist."

"I do." I encouraged. As much as I loved having Maggie's help, I hated feeling like a burden. She had raised her children. It was time for her to do things for herself. "Besides, we'll see you tomorrow after my appointment tomorrow." The bathroom door clicked open, revealing my little Win with the front of her smock covered in water. Fantastic.

"Hi, Mommy." Winnie finally greeted. Her freshly washed hands dripping water droplets onto the hardwood. "What are you doing?"

"My feet hurt so I'm just letting them rest." I explained, looking up at her. Winnie was rambunctious as most four-year-olds without a sense of self preservation are, but when I explained to her how careful she had to be now that I had her sister in my belly, her nature had become more gentle.

It worried me as much as it warmed my heart.

"Why don't you sit on the couch?" She asked. Her head tilting to the side, face etched as if she were trying to figure out my reasoning.

"Because it helps when you lift your feet up high in the sky, Winnie Pooh." Maggie explained before looking back at me. "Well if you're sure-"

"I am. Go." I urged. "We'll see you tomorrow. Lunch around noon?" Spending time with Maggie didn't make me feel like such a parasite when I knew she enjoyed the company. Her children had all moved away, only one staying in the UK. She wasn't so alone, but neither was I.

"Wouldn't miss it." She gave a soft smile. The laugh lines around her face deepening. "See you tomorrow, Dearies." She said, retreating back outside. The soft sound of the door clicking behind her.

Winnie had laid down beside me. Yep. Definitely going to need a bath tonight. "How was school today?" Winnie went to a pre-school that was luckily covered under my insurance. Perks of being an Omega. I'll take it where and when I can.

She talked about going to the playground and painting. All the usual bits. Who she played with and new things she learned. Then came the question. A question she had asked before in passing. A subject I changed with ease before. 'Have you brushed your teeth? How about another episode of Bluey? Put on your trainers (because we can't just say tennis shoes anymore) and we'll go for a walk to the park. I had skirted around the question with ease.

"Why don't you have a mate if you have a baby?" Winnie was too young to get the answers to a lot of life's difficult questions. Why did Tiffany not like us? Why didn't she get to see her daddy anymore? Why did that man look at you weird on the train, mommy? I wish she would just stay this little. That she never needed or want to know the harsh truths about me, us.

"I..." I wracked my brain for an answer and just came up short. I couldn't think of a way to sugarcoat it. We almost had a mate. Mates. We almost had a pack that would have walked you to school on the mornings my feet were too sore or I was already running late. They would have loved you. "It... it's complicated, Darling." Is what I chose instead. The other worrisome fact is that Winnie was too young to understand the concept about mates. I had never broached the subject which only means she probably heard it from some little shithead at school.

Wonderful.

"I'll explain it when you're older." I promise, closing my eyes and letting her snuggle into the crook of my arm. "Do you wanna rest your eyes with me?"

"Like when I'm five?" She asks putting one of her hands underneath my shirt onto my belly. It had become a thing she had started since I told her about the baby.

"Maybe six." I said, looking down at her. She gave a yawn before closing her eyes.

"I think five is better."

"Okay, Win." I said. "When you're five we'll talk about it." It was a promise I hoped she would forget. But I didn't want to negotiate with a four-year-old about something future me could deal with. I wanted just 15 minutes of this. I order Alexa to set a timer to make sure we haven't dozed too far off. Winnie still needed to shower and eat. I still needed to get the groceries out of the car. But I could spare another 15 minutes.

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emeraldborealis · 3 months

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I Will

Pairing: Captain John 'Soap' MacTavish x GN!reader

TW//CW: Mention of torture, hurt/comfort, non sexual bathing, nudity, depictions of PTSD and panic, probably inaccuracies when it comes to recovery, but it's not something easily researched, so I used personal experience and knowledge. No use of y/n, my attempts of writing a Scottish accent.

A/N: This is part two to this fic, because I'm a whore for domesticity and hurt/comfort, also being taken care of because someone loves you and not because it's a chore <33

Words: 3,108

Recovery started slowly, a new strict diet with a high calorie count to help build back the strength lost from malnourishment, physical therapy as well as actual therapy.

Drugs, mostly antibiotics to help with different infections, the worst being a UTI from having no sanitary way to use the bathroom. As well as some anxiety meds and some things to help with the hallucinations, though hydration and food mostly took care of that.

It was overwhelming the pace they expected you to recover at. It all felt like getting hit with a train then being expected to be able to walk it off.

You were told you had to stay at the hospital for a while, that was perhaps the hardest part. You didn't want to be poked and prodded after finally getting out of hell, and you understood the good intentions behind it. But all you wanted was to go home and never see anyone ever again.

The only thing that made the whole ordeal even manageable was John, his constant presence by your side. His refusal to leave you.

So though you couldn't go home yet, he brought the feeling of home to you. Like a dutiful watch dog refusing to leave their post.

"Ye're looking a lot better." Johnny praised you, handing you a mandatory snack in your 'recovery plan', at least that's what everyone was calling it. Real recovery didn't feel possible, even if you got back to your healthy size and physique.

Even if you somehow got to the point where you felt like you could breathe and think again.

A piece of you would always be back in the Tomb, delirious and rotting.

You felt a lot of shame from being there, the condition you came back in was not you, didn't even feel like a husk of you. It was beyond humiliating to think of how your captain had found you, the filth and disease you'd become. The thought of him touching you like that made you feel the burning feeling of bile rise in your throat.

Maybe it was the decaying remains of your pride that made you feel this way. Though you were sure anyone found the way you were would feel just as mortified when given a moment to recover and think.

Filth. You were filth and he'd carried you on his shoulders like something to be worshiped.

"Think ye're up fur a shower t'day?" You hadn't showered since being rescued, you'd been cleaned, but not had a proper shower. It was something the doctors were struggling to get you to agree to, there was a requirement for a certain amount of vulnerability and trust that you just couldn't meet with the doctors or nurses.

"No." Gently you took another piece of the snack from him, he liked to break them up for you into smaller pieces, he'd noticed you'd been having a hard time swallowing things since your rescue.

"Ye sure? I promise it's no' as bad as ye think it'll be." The thought of being seen so vulnerable was too much for you. Vulnerability was something you struggled with even before, but now, now it felt impossible. "I'll help ye, it'll be me, no' a doctor. Jus' me. Please."

His rough calloused hand slipped into yours, squeezing it gently. He needed to see a spark of something alive inside of you, to know he'd brought back more than just an empty cage, one that would be in eternal search for the bird that once lived and loved there.

A soft shake of your head made him sigh, you knew all he wanted was to take care of you. The thought of disappointing him hurt. Bad. Maybe he was upset with your refusal, Maybe he was upset with your reluctance to trust him, or maybe with how slowly you were going on your 'recovery plan'.

As if it was as simple as checking off every mark on a list.

"Another day then." He leaned in, placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

The day you were given the greenlight to go home felt unreal, two weeks of recovery and now you got to go home. Three months of hell and two weeks was all the hospital deemed necessary for you to be able to go home.

John helped you out of the hospital, taking the role of caretaker for as long as you needed him to be there.

Stepping out of the hospital into the sunlight and fresh air of freedom felt so foreign now, you'd been outside many times while in the hospital. But this was different. You were going home now. You were going home with the person who made it feel that way.

The sun seemed to soak into your skin, seeping in through all your cracks to bring light to your soul. It never felt this way before, maybe it was the added damage that better let the light in.

"Th' car is over here." Johnny's rich Scottish voice sunk in too, filling more pieces of you than you thought possible now. Maybe recovery was achievable.

"Right." He led you with a gentle hand, helping support you, he helped you into the car, and settled himself in the driver seat, starting the engine and starting to drive you home.

Crossing the property line of the hospital felt beyond good. Leaving as much of the damage and hell behind you as you could, it wouldn't help to hold onto all that pain and carry it with you. A lot of it remained even still, festering in your mind and carving out room to live in your bones, making several pieces of you feel hollow.

The trees were wonderful to see again, until you were driving under them, the sun shining through their branches blinding you, the light flickering in your eyes between blinding and shadow.

A tightness formed in your chest, suffocating and stifling. A fan spinning overhead, the smell of all types of bodily fluids burning your nose, the quiet chatter of rats. Ropes tied tightly around you, squeezing you until you felt like you were going to pop.

"Stop." Your voice was beyond shaky and distressed, catching John off guard for a moment, not sure what was wrong. "I said stop!" You yelled, pulling at your seatbelt, it felt so wrong. You couldn't even breath, or think, or feel. You found yourself waiting for a grounding pain to strike you. But nothing ever came.

John pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning to you with concern, but you were already undoing your seat belt and clawing your way out of the car, all but throwing yourself down onto the park strip.

Your feet wandered without a destination in mind, you just needed to get away, gone. Never to be seen again. If you couldn't be seen you couldn't hurt. If you were gone things would be okay.

"What's wrong?" John followed after you, softly grabbing your hand to stop you, turning you around to face him.

Your lungs burned in search of oxygen, trying to gasp anything down through the tears you hadn't registered were falling down your face. John's voice didn't reach you, your mind too preoccupied with the pain and suffering from the Tomb.

Things didn't get any clearer until you were wrapped tightly in his arms, hyperventilating down his scent, the one you'd spent so many nights secretly basking in, his natural musk so incredibly potent and distinguishable in this moment, free from his cologne he hadn't put on in more than two weeks.

This was just him, just John MacTavish, your Johnny MacTavish.

"I can't. The trees." It wasn't much of an explanation, but he understood the problem, he was in the Tomb for long enough while he rescued you to understand.

"It's okay. Ye're no' there anymore. Ye're no' there." He repeated the words until you believed him, the timber in his voice being the thing to bring you back from the ledge you'd fallen from.

He herded you back to the car, not forcing you to buckle in.

When he settled back into the driver's seat he turned to you. "Do ye trust me?" You sat silent for a moment, before nodding. "I'm no' gunna hurt ye." He reassured, carefully putting his left hand over your eyes. You startled for a moment before hearing his voice. "It's okay, just fur the trees, then ye can see again."

He waited for your consent to cover your eyes before he started driving again, constantly speaking to you to help you stay grounded, to remind your brain it was just him.

Once home he brought you inside, letting you take in the familiarity of a space that was yours, despite the dust, but even that felt like it belonged. It felt like coming home after a long deployment, you could pretend that's all this was.

You could pretend you didn't spend the last three months tied to a chair in hell. You could pretend the pain in your shoulders was from your rifle stock, not from being constrained in the same position day and night, until it felt like more than an eternity had passed.

"How aboot a bath now?" He sounded hopeful, not putting any pressure on the question.

It took a long time to consider it, weigh everything about it. But now in the fortitude of your own home it felt a little more enticing, to be able to really scrub and wash away all that had happened. Not just a spit bath, a real good warm bath.

"Alone?" You asked softly, looking down.

"If that's what ye want." John had an intense need to make sure you were taken care of, even if he needed to take a step back and let you do it yourself.

"No." The answer came quicker than he expected, catching him off guard. "Stay with me, hold my hand."

A soft smile played on his lips, stepping closer to you he took your hand, leading you through your house like he lived there. Like he was never going to leave you again.

When he reached the master bathroom he carefully picked you up by the waist, lifting you to sit on the counter. You were lighter, smaller, than the last time he'd done that. But with time he'd get you back to the way you were.

For now he'd love you just the same, put extra care into making sure you were taken care of.

"Stay here love." He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead before walking out of the bathroom, you grew anxious in his absence, waiting for him to come back. Trying to be brave.

When he came back he was carrying a few things, a bath sheet, the soft one you liked the most. Some white fairy lights you used around Christmas but typically kept in the closet, and a candle, the fancy ones that crackle when you burn them.

"Gunna take good care of ye." He promised, setting the things down on the other side of the counter to start filling the tub, checking the temperature before shutting the drain.

Then he plugged in the lights, turning off the overhead light, making it a cozy atmosphere, lighting the candle he put it on the windowsill.

You watched him with careful eyes, a pain settling in your chest from how much his actions were filled with love, doing everything he could to make you comfortable. It didn't feel deserved. Not when you'd been so badly ruined without him.

"Alright, let's get ye undressed. If ye're still okay with a bath?" He stood before you, hands resting on either side of you on the counter, a tenderness in his blue eyes.

"Okay." That was all he needed, getting to work on carefully removing your clothes, careful not to hurt you or touch any sore or healing spots. He supported your body as he helped you stand to fully remove your clothes.

His eyes didn't linger, that wasn't his intention here right now. They didn't look away in disgust either, there was no pity or grimace on his face. Just the tender love of a man trying to take care of the person he cherished with his entire being.

He didn't try to move your arms when you tried to hide parts of yourself, didn't let that shame of being vulnerable with him fester, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close, letting you use his body as a shield against the world. "Let's get ye in the tub, aye?"

"Okay." With another soft nod from you he guided you towards the tub, helping you step in, holding your hand as you lowered yourself into the warm water, reassuring you every second.

"That's it, take it slow." He cooed, dipping his hand into the water before running it over your forehead, back down your greasy dirty hair. "Hair's gotten longer these past few months, think ye want it cut back tae how it was?" He asked softly.

"I don't know." You looked down at yourself in the water, taking everything in, letting the warmth of the water envelope you, consume you so wholly that nothing but this moment remained.

"That's okay." He cupped some water in his hands, dumping it over your head, careful not to get your face, he didn't know what kind of torture they'd put you through, and he didn't want to trigger anything for you.

Dipping yourself under the surface of the water you made his job of getting all of you wet a lot easier, he hummed in approval, grabbing a brush to go through your hair, smoothing it over before squeezing your shampoo into his hands, getting to work on washing your hair.

His fingers were like heaven, gently massaging and scratching at your scalp, removing all the dandruff from several months without washing it away. He was dutiful in his work, maximizing your comfort and enjoyment, humming a song for you.

You weren't out of the tunnel, everything ahead still seemed so dark and uncertain, but being here with John, being taken care of, being treated so tenderly, you knew there was going to be an end, that one day you'd be standing in the light. You just needed to be brave.

"I love ye. All I ever wanted was ye. Always ye. I want tae spend the rest o' my life taking care of ye, making sure ye feel loved." Rinsing away the shampoo he turned your face towards him, kissing the tip of your nose. "I will never let ye be alone again, I think I'll spend the rest of eternity following ye around."

"It's nasty work taking care of someone, especially someone like me." You leaned into him, leaning against the edge of the tub to get closer to him, making his shirt wet with your body.

"Not tae me. Not if it's ye." Wrapping his arms around you he held you close, letting you soak through his shirt, anything to have you closer. His clothes would dry, or could be changed, but this moment with you could never be repeated.

"Join me." Your voice was soft, just wanting him closer, needing to feel his skin to fully believe you were really with him. That this wasn't all a hallucination.

"Not this time, I'm just tryin' tae get ye clean." He kissed your forehead before pressing his forehead against yours.

"Please." You begged, pulling him in impossibly closer, the side of the tub digging into his ribs. "I just need you closer. I just need to feel that you're real."

His resolve quickly crumbled, taking a deep breath he stood up, stripped himself of his clothes and stepped into the tub, settling beside you. He was thankful for just how large your tub was, a big long garden tub, the secret reason you chose this home.

"Now, lets finish getting you clean." He grabbed your conditioner, getting to work lathering your hair, working from the ends to the base of your head. Massaging it in.

Then he grabbed your body wash and a soft rag, gently cleaning the remaining dirt and grime from your body, careful with cleaning your sensitive places, not wanting to hurt you in any way. He cleaned your back with extra care, working out the tension your body held until you were more relaxed.

Once you were clean you leaned into him, laying on his chest, watching the candle on the windowsill, listening to his heartbeat along with the soft crackling from the wood wick candle.

You stayed in the tub with him, skin on skin, until the water grew cold, only when he felt you shiver did he make you get out, wrapping you in the bath sheet, not caring he didn't grab a towel for himself.

He blew out the candle and brought you into your room, grabbing some pajama's for you, grabbing one of the shirt's he'd left there on 'accident' for you to wear. Helping you get dressed, before leading you back to the bathroom where he towel dried your hair before blow drying the rest.

Only once you were completely taken care of did he take care of himself, getting dressed before coming back to you. "I love ye, ye ken that?" His Scottish accent grew in thickness, tucking you into bed.

"I love you too." A spike of panic filled you when he took a step back, sitting up and grabbing his wrist. He could clearly see the nervous unease on your face. Fear. He hated seeing that look on your face.

"Easy, I'm not gunna leave ye, just moving to get in bed on the other side." He shushed your worries, kissing you tenderly on the lips, climbing into bed beside you he pulled you close, letting you lay your head on his chest.

His fingers traced circles over the skin of your arm, staring up at the ceiling. A comforting silence between you two, his heartbeat and breathing the only thing keeping your mind from wandering too far into despair.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You hum, looking up at him. Things felt alright when you were with him like this, a secret place neither of you could ever be caught in crosshairs or rules.

"Just thinking." He took a deep breath. "Don't know what I would have done if I didn't find ye. I wasn't messin' around when I said ye're all I care about." He leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "Get some sleep, ye need some rest."

You hummed in acknowledgment, for the first time in a while feeling genuinely sleepy, not just tired or exhausted, but feeling a desire to sleep. Feeling a desire to sleep because things felt safe here with the man you loved.

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konigsblog · 9 months

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Price bringing the 141 boys home to meet his sweet little wifey 🥺🥺

She always cooks big meals for John but now she has to cook feasts to feed these big boys :((

John is so different around you than he is at work, sticking his tongue down your throat, slapping your ass and pulling you into his lap so you can feed him :((

And the boys have to listen every night as he fucks you dumb :(( headboard slamming against the wall, your squeals echoing through the house

they're visiting you and price, and you weren't prepared to feed four big brooding man, needing lots of calories to sustain their weight!! john acts so different around you; pulling you onto his big lap and telling you to feed him, the others watching with jealousy blooming in their chests, gritting their teeth when he slaps you ass :(

giving them a whole feast while john grabs your hips and grinds you down onto him, sucking on your earlobe and making you whimper. the others stay in the guest rooms, listening to the headboard squeaking and the sounds of your breathy squeals and moans, along with prices's grunts.

constant and hard skin slapping sounds echoing throughout the house, desperately trying to ignore their hard cocks before pushing their hand into their boxers to pump and stroke their lengths. groaning while they drag their fingers up their size, spurting thick seed all over the covers :( and when you go to change them, you find sticky liquid all over the sheets, getting flustered when they stare at you with lustful gazes.

“c'mere, love.” price shouts from the living room, sitting down on his lap and feeling as he begins sucking on your neck, slowly moving to your lips. getting you to straddle him, his bulge pressed against your clothed pussy, bucking his hips upwards while getting the others hard and riled up with the sounds of your whines.

#orla speaks #captain price #john price #captain john price #price #141 smut #141 x reader #task force 141 #cod 141 #task force 141 x y/n #captain price x y/n #captain price x you #john price x reader #price x you #female reader #female insert

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stvolanis · 3 months

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Hearts & Kisses

(I have multiple asks in my inbox for Farleigh x Plus size! Reader, so here y’all go!!)

PAIRINGS: Farleigh Start x Fem! Plus size! Reader

WARNINGS: foul language, body dysmorphia,slight angst, emotional reader, crying, mentions of blood, fluff, Farleigh being a sweetheart, pet names, use of the word “fat”, people are fucking rude

NSFW WARNINGS: sub!reader, soft Dom!Farleigh, praise, body worship but in a cutesy way, slight perv!Farleigh, slight nipple play, emotional sex, groping, making out, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), cream pie, overall cute sex

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

Your whole life, it feels as though the world was somehow molded to revolve around your weight. It was like the people around you didn’t allow you to have any other kind of personality rather than just being “the fat friend”, to put it bluntly.

Venetia was your best friend, but even she, sometimes, made you upset when it came to that aspect.

Like when she’d complain to you about how she was gaining weight, and needed to start counting her calories again. Or when something wouldn’t fit her the way she wanted it to cause of the faintest chub of her stomach, which honestly suited her petite body.

Having lived in her shadow, it was no surprise that every man you’ve ever liked, ended up liking Venetia instead. It was easier to like Venetia. She was pretty, skinny, outgoing, the whole package deal in the form of a raging she-demon. Any man would be dumb to pass up any offer Venetia laid to them.

She comforted you, of course, and knew of your insecurities and struggles you faced of being bigger than some. She tried her best to make you feel better about it, in her own odd Venetia way, and you loved her dearly for that—but it just wasn’t enough. You longed for men to look at you the way they did her.

You knew you shouldn’t have, but sometimes you wished Venetia was the token “fat friend”. Even if it were just for a day, so she could truly understand what it was like being in your shoes. Maybe then she wouldn’t tell you that you were over exaggerating when you cried over gaining 3 more pounds.

You were tired of the look on old, decaying couples faces when you’d be sitting at a restaurant. The clear look of judgment, disgust and hostility written all over their faces when you’d order food of your choice. You knew what they were thinking without them even having to say it. It made you feel like shit.

You stopped eating in restaurants, and in front of people in general. You order all your clothes online to save the embarrassment of having to feel the disappointment of not being able to fit into something, while prying eyes mock and belittle you till you exit.

You were tired of living the life you lived. Tired of the body you had. Tired of every little imperfection and flaw that you had.

The mirror was your worst enemy, a constant reminder. A vision flashes through the eyes that stare back at you of the life you wanted. Happy. Rich. Popular. Married, with a plethora of beautiful children who you prayed never had to go through your struggles.

You were so focused, so concerned with the hatred you held for the body you were given—that you didn’t even stop to think for even just a moment, that maybe, there was someone out there who adored every part of you.

Farleigh Start, being one of them.

From the moment he laid his eyes on you, he’s loved you ever since.

From afar, he watched you in Venetias shadow—seemingly the only one who’s ever seen you. From tears falling down at the party, being the saddest person in the crowded room; to watching the way you avoided mirrors in the Saltburn mansion like they were the plague. How sad you were, was a trait he could easily tell.

He knew what your troubles were, it wasn’t hard to figure out. He just wished you saw yourself through his eyes, and maybe then you’d understand just how beautiful you were.

You were funny, and so beautiful; definitely more beautiful than his bimbo of a cousin. You were smart, which he took notice of when he saw you reading a damn book rather than engaging in a valentines party back at Oxford. He seen your scores, and knew you took school seriously. A scholarship girl, through and through. But he thought it was cute.

There was never a flaw in you, and he only ever saw you for what you were; a genuine, caring and sweet person. Never did he pay mind to what everyone else so blatantly gawked at, acting as if they’d never seen a plus size person. How ignorant of them, he’d always say. How vile.

Tonight was special, a welcome to the new boy that Felix brought home from Oxford—Oliver, was his name. A peculiar boy, to Farleigh, but an easy friend to you.

You sat down on the far end of the couch, picking at the skin around your nails absentmindedly while the others around you drank wine from the bottle, singing a song you didn’t care to listen to. Every once and a while you’d look up at Venetia, just to find her giving you the thumbs up as she took one of her playthings for the night to her chambers with a dorky smile.

Farleigh watched you from across the room. Always from across the room, never close enough for you to realize he was ever even there. You complained about being in Venetias shadow, yet Farleigh basked in yours.

You wished that men would look at you. To spare you the time of day rather than just a polite smile. But Farleigh was the one who longed for you to look at him that way. He longed for you to look at him as more than just a friend, or an admirer—he wanted you to look at him as if you were lovers.

The night was still young, as were you and Farleigh. He had been planning his approach for at least a month, finally deciding to act on his need for you. So, he watched your doe eyes watch him walk towards you with a lump in his throat. Nervous.

“Farleigh.” You greeted—the warmth and familiarity of your voice filling his ears like a melodic symphony. It was slick like honey, and gentle like a dove in midnight air. “Hey.” he fumbled out after an awkward moment of silence. You smiled.

God, that fucking smile. Anything you wanted, would be yours if you promised to smile at him like that forever. It made his knees weak—weak enough for him to take his place comfortably next to you at the end of the couch.

“How are you?” He asked, staring into your eyes, waiting for a response. You hummed as you looked down at the slightly bleeding skin around your manicured nails. “I’ve been alright.” You lied, casting your eyes up to meet his.

The glint in your eyes told him everything he needed to know. He nodded in understanding, glancing down at his hands that were nervously clamped together with sweat, which he wiped on his slacks. “You look—“ he said, before he cleared his throat from imperfections, “you look beautiful, Y/N.” He smiled.

To say you were shocked was an understatement. The words you wanted to hear slipping past his lips made your walls come crumbling down. Was it finally your turn? Your turn at a chance of happiness? It couldn’t be. This must’ve been a joke. A sick prank he was playing on you with his friends probably laughing somewhere in the room.

Your brows furrowed and Farleigh saw the clear distaste on your face begin to form. “I-“ he started, but didn’t get to finish as he watched you get up and storm out of the room.

Farleigh, in a confused haze, chased after you as you paced to your room with tears in your eyes. He shouted your name from behind you, but you didn’t dare to stop and look back till you felt his hand capture your wrist gently, pulling you to stop your fast pace.

“What’s wrong? I—w-was it something I said? Or—” he rambled on desperately. Your eyes danced across his features with resentment. “You makin’ fun of me? Huh? You think I don’t know that I’m a fucking joke already? Leave me the fuck alone, Farleigh!” You yelled out through tears.

His mouth hung agape as he shook his head in a ‘no’ manner. “W-what? What are you talking about?” He asked, waiting for an answer. You sniffled, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. “You’re making fun of me, Farleigh. Why? I thought you were different.” You huffed out.

He paused for a moment, processing just exactly what you were accusing him of, before he gives you a certain look. A look that screams ‘what the fuck?’, because seriously, what the fuck are you talking about?

“I would never do that to you. Get that out of your head. I meant what I said.” He stated, his hand moving from your wrist to hold your hand firmly. “I like you.” He professed. “I’ve liked you since I met you at Oxford. I don’t know why you think so lowly of yourself—to the point where you convince yourself that you’re not worthy of love or a happy life.” He said, matter of factly.

“You deserve a happy life and more. You deserve the fucking world at your feet. The stars and the moon. You deserve the sun and the planets that orbit it. You deserve everything you want and more, so don’t you dare fucking think for a second any less, you hear me?” He said, his hands cupping your face, forcing eye contact.

That was all it took to have you sobbing in his arms, your body flush against his. “So I’ll say it again, and as many times as I have to until you finally fucking believe me.” He kissed he top of your head as he held you close, your body shaking against his. “You’re beautiful.” He murmured out.

He lead you into your room, softly shutting the door behind the both of you. He watched you curl up on the edge of your bed, rubbing at your weeping eyes. Your little sniffles broke his heart, but he was determined to change this. To change the way you saw yourself.

He stood above you, a singular hand tilting your chin up to face him. “Let me show you just how beautiful you are.” His voice barely above a whisper, in a hopeful tone. You hesitated, for only a moment, before giving in with a nod. “I need words, honey.” He said, pushing your hair out of your face.

“Please.” You whispered back. He nodded, taking off his button down shirt, revealing his toned chest and stomach. His v-line was deep, and his happy trail prominent with faint curls. He moved to take your shirt off, but you stopped him.

“I—I don’t..” you said, your eyes unable to meet his. He sighed, dropping to his knees to become eye level with you. He held your face in his hands like he did before with a small smile. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.” He reassured. You let out a sigh, nodding at him as a signal that it was okay.

His large hands met the hem of your shirt, sliding it up till it was over your shoulders, and onto the floor beneath you. He laid soft kisses against the top of your breasts, nipples hidden behind a bra. His hands traveled behind you, unclamping your bra, letting it slide off of your arms, landing next to your shirt.

“Perfect.” He mumbled against you. His mouth trialed to your nipple, sucking and licking at it to his hearts content. Your perk, sensitive bud was aching in his mouth, and you released a small mewl when you felt his teeth graze over it just barely biting down. He released your nipple with a loud pop before his tongue found its way to your other nipple, giving it the same treatment as the other.

His hand groped at the breast his mouth was lapping at previously, gently pinching and pulling at your nipples. He released the nipple his mouth was working at with a loud pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your bud.

He gazed down at you with such admiration. It sent heat throughout your body, from the blushing of your cheeks down to your neck, and then down further more as you clenched around nothing as he laid peppery kisses to your stomach.

He traced absentmindedly around your stretch marks before planting a delicate kiss on a few of them. He kissed down till he was met with your pants, unbuttoning them agonizingly slow. When he finally slid them down your legs and onto the floor, he spread your legs open.

He gawked at the way your meaty flesh were plump through his fingers as he squeezed down on your meaty thighs. He licked and sucked at every inch of skin he could get his mouth on, sufficiently leavings a series of vampire-like hickies shamelessly on your inner thighs, only for him to see.

The prominent wet patch on your panties had his cock feel like it was suffocating in its confinements. You were insufferable; a walking, living, breathing temptation. With every innocent movement, the fat of your ass jiggled. It’s all he would watch when you’d walk in front of him, or past him and he’d have to break his neck to see.

The way your breasts bounced no matter what kind of shirt you were wearing. God, he had to go rub one out like a pervert one time because you decided to prance around in a flimsy tube top, nipples poking through on display. The self restraint he had held with you was absolutely mind boggling, yet he managed.

He was doing good, too. Up until now, when he finally had you. Your face was flushed red, all the way down to your neck. Your nipples perked and hard, craving more of his undivided attention. his finger found your panties, sliding it to the side, watching as your juices all but dripped out of your needy cunt.

“Fuckkk..” he groaned out. He pressed a kiss to your swollen clit before rubbing your bud mindlessly with his thumb in a soothing manner. “Know how needy my girl is.” He muttered, licking at your entrance, slurping at the welcoming juices that flowed out.

“Farleigh..” you whimpered out. He coped at you. “I know, honey. I know. M’gonna take care of you, baby.” His tongue swirling around your most sensitive part of your body had your eyes rolling to the back of your head in a pure euphoric feeling.

Sure, you’ve rubbed one out before, but it was never anything like this. It never felt this good, or like you were on a different fucking planet. He must’ve laced his tongue with something, because there was no way someone could do what he was doing with his tongue.

Every flick sent a shiver up your spine, and had you orbiting. Every suckle at your needy little bud that wasn’t so little when he released it from his mouth made you all the more closer to the edge of your on coming orgasm. He lapped at your juices like it was the best thing he’s ever had in his life, and to him, it was.

You tasted sweet on his tongue, and a little bitter but in a delicious way. He wanted to know what you looked like when you came. Did your mouth fall open with bliss, or would it be clenched shut? Would he be able to see those eyes he loves so much, or would they be in the back of your head?

Your hand clawed at his hair, pulling when it became too much. The balls of your feet dug into his back, all of this is a painful way, yet Farleigh didn’t seem to care. He relished in knowing how good he was making you feel. Knowing only he got to see you like this made him go feral, lapping and sucking at your cunt vigorously.

“Wait—F-Farleigh, I’m— I’m gonna cum!” You moaned out, your head thrown back onto the covers on your bed. He groaned into you, sending a wave of bliss through your core, and that was what made you come so easily undone. Your orgasm crashed into you like an unsuspecting wave, but of pleasure with a hint of pain as he continued torturing you through your orgasm.

“Good girl. Did so good, baby. Y’look so fuckin’ pretty.” He praised, kissing your thigh as you came down from your world-shattering high. Little did you know, that was going to be nothing compared to the way you’re going to feel when he was done with you.

You watched as he stripped himself of his pants and boxers, freeing himself of his confinements. His cock sprang and stood proudly, slapping his stomach. You gulped at the sight of him. Hard, with prominent veins on the sides with a red, angry tip that leaked pre-cum. He was more long than girthy, around 8 inches, the biggest you’d ever seen in person.

It twitched slightly, and his heavy, slightly hairy balls hung, full of cum that you wished to milk out of him till he couldn’t give any more. You craved him, and the need to be stuffed was consuming your darkening thoughts, spreading your legs even wider as a welcoming. An initiative that Farleigh happily took.

He rubbed his length through your folds, teasingly. Each time he did so, his weeping tip bumped against your engorged, sensitive clit. “Sweet girl, you’re so wet f’me.” He pointed out, causing that familiar flush to resume on your hot cheeks. “Please fuck me, Farleigh.” You asked.

Farleigh couldn’t possibly say no to his best girl when you looked up at him like he was a godsend. When you finally looked up at him the way he longed for you to. “Anything you want, baby.” And sure enough, his cock slipped past your lower lips, invading your pussy with such recklessness.

Your walls squeezed him tightly, a warm welcome as you clamped down harder onto him when he fully bottomed out. His balls slapped against the underside of your pussy with each hard thrust he delivered to your cunt, angled just the right way, hitting all the right spots that made your legs shake.

“F-farleigh! Oh-“ you moaned out, gripping the sheets below you with such force, anything to stabilize yourself from the blunt force of his cock dominating your insides.

Farleighs mind was consumed with you. The way you felt around him. The way you looked under him, hair matted to your forehead as desperate cries of pleasure slipped past your lips. He couldn’t help himself, he needed to be closer to you. If he could live in your skin, he would, because even now as you were joined together, it wasn’t enough for him.

His lips attacked yours, taking your breath away as your tongues tangled together. He tasted like his Marlboro cigarettes, mixed with the taste of you. The kiss was passionate, an exchanging of unspoken words the two of you would discuss afterwards.

Your mixed saliva was messy, to say the least. It covered the both of your chins, and a string of saliva connected your tongues still, even as he pulled away. The whole scene was erotic as he kissed down your neck, licking and biting at spots, surely a display of marks for everyone to see and wonder who left them.

But he wasn’t hiding himself, not after this, no. He’ll be at your side forever and always after this. There was no more lonely nights of longing, no more worries and ‘what if’s’, or feeling incomplete, like something was missing, when the whole time he knew that it was you.

A wave of relief danced over your features. You didn’t have to go through this alone now, and as you were on the brink of your second release for the night, the stars seemed to shine brighter through your half opened curtains. He luminescent lighting spanning over Farleighs features, making him look most ethereal above you.

His face was contorted in bliss, a show of how he felt as he forhead rested against yours. Pants slipped past his lips as his hand met the flesh of your breast, squeezing. “Need you. M’gonna cum, baby. Can I cum in you?” He asked breathlessly. You nodded. “Yes, please, Farleigh. Please cum in me.” You moaned against him.

He moaned out, his pace becoming a little more sloppy as his hips chased for a release. You felt your orgasm consume you for a second time tonight, making you tumble over yourself as your body wracked with an overwhelming sense of pleasure. His tip hit your g-spot with every thrust, and the feeling was becoming overwhelmingly good.

Tears lined your eyes, but he kissed them away with sweet nothings as he painted your walls a creamy white color, his hips finally stuttering against yours in a final show of his arousal for the night. His balls grew tight, as he filled with with a groan. Sure enough, your sweet cunt was milking him greedily.

When he finally decided to pull out, he watched the way both of your release mixed together in a beautiful display. He smiled softly down at you, your eyes connecting in a sense of a strange understanding. Both of you, outsiders, who now had each other.

His hand found yours as he planted a charming kiss on your forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” He hummed out, watching as you nodded, propping yourself upright.

He slid his clothes back swiftly, making his way to the restroom, wetting a cloth with warm water before making his way back to where you sat, waiting on your bed. “Let me see, honey.” He urged, ushering your legs back open, gently dapping the warm cloth on your sensitive cunt, cleaning up the remnants of the mess both of you had made.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he used the clean side of the warm cloth to gently dab your forehead, ridding it of sweat, pushing your hair out of the way. “Yes—I—thank you” you said after a moment of pondering your words.

He raised a brow. “For what?” He asked. You blushed, embarrassed under his peering gaze. Ironic, seeing as he saw and heard so much more from you just mere seconds ago. “For everything, I suppose. I-I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.” You muttered, almost ashamed.

He clicked his tongue as he flicked your forehead with his finger. “You silly girl.” Was all he muttered. “Don’t worry about that now. It doesn’t matter anymore. You know now, and that’s what counts.” He smiled, a confirmation that everything indeed, was going to be okay.

His curly hair seemed more vibrant, and the glint in his eyes told you what you longed and awaited to hear the most.

“I love you.”

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

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dathomirdumpsterfire · 7 months

Text

For fun, I wanted to think through which organs Darth Maul is actually missing. This gives us clues as to which bodily processes he just doesn't have anymore, which ones he's using sith juju to make up for, and what Talzin or Death Watch might've done for him with the prosthetics. To be fair, humans have about 70 to 80 possible organs systems (don't ask), but who knows what zabrak have, and where they truly are located. We can only guess.

✓ Means he probably has this.

X Means he probably doesn't have this.

O Means he probably only has some.

(Checklist and conclusions below the cut.)

✓ Adrenal glands (above the kidneys)

X Anus

X Appendix

X Bladder

O Bones

O Bone marrow (spongy part of the bone)

✓ Brain

✓ Bronchi (tubes in the lungs)

✓ Diaphragm (muscle of breathing)

✓ Ears

✓ Esophagus

✓ Eyes

✓ Gallbladder

X Genitals

✓ Heart ( 2 of them!)

✓ Hypothalamus (in the brain)

O Joints

✓ Kidneys

O Large intestine

✓ Larynx (voice box)

✓ Liver

✓ Lungs

O Lymph nodes

O Mesentery (Nerves, vessel, & fat storage in gut)

✓ Mouth

✓ Nasal cavity

✓ Nose

✓ Pancreas (hormones/enzymes)

✓ Pineal gland (in the brain- hormone production)

✓ Parathyroid glands (hormones, in the neck)

✓ Pharynx (back of the throat)

✓ Pituitary gland (in the brain, hormones)

X Prostate

X Rectum

✓ Salivary glands

O Skeletal muscles

O Skin

O Small intestine

O Spinal cord

✓ Spleen (big blood filter)

✓ Stomach

✓ Teeth

✓ Thymus gland (immune training, in the chest)

✓ Thyroid (hormones, in the neck)

✓ Trachea

✓ Tongue

O Ureters (Kidney to bladder tubes)

X Urethra

O Ligaments (connect muscles to bones)

O Tendons (connect bones to bones)

✓ Blood cells

✓ Hair (Uhhh... horns? I guess he has eyelashes?)

✓ The vestibular system (of the ear)

X Testes (unless zabrak locate them internally)

✓ Nails

X Vas deferens (testes to genitals tube)

X Seminal vesicles (semen fluid production)

X Bulbourethral glands (makes preejaculate)

X Penis

X Scrotum (if zabrak keep the testes externally)

✓ Parathyroid glands (neck, hormonal)

O Thoracic ducts (Where lymph flows into veins)

O Arteries

O Veins

O Capillaries

O Lymphatic vessels

✓ Tonsils

O Nerves

O Subcutaneous tissue

O Olfactory epithelium (nose)

✓ Cerebellum

Long story short, besides just his legs and genitals, Maul lost most of his digestive and urinary systems.

He actually kept almost all of his life-critical organs, so whatever sith voodoo he was doing to stay alive on Lotho Minor was probably focused on fighting off sepsis (due to the unclean end points of his digestive system. Remember he got cauterized by a lightsaber so assume he had to make... new holes. There may have also been some self-done surgery to reconnect what remained of his large and small intestines.)

The loss of his testes, if he indeed had human typical location for them, could have proven a growing problem, considering that they make 90% of a man's testosterone, and that's needed just to have normal amounts of energy.

The digestive track is also a problem, as the gut microbiome is where a lot of neurochemicals are produced. For example, 95%~ of the body's seratonin is produced in the gut. Lacking huge chunks of his small and large intestine means that Maul had poor absorbtion of nutrients, and probably needed to eat all the time just to get a fraction of the calories and nutrients from his food.

So. He lived on the edge of starvation due to a truncated digestive track, had low energy, mood imbalances like you wouldn't believe, and constant sepsis. I'm sure the acid rain being the only source of fresh water was also just, so helpful.

I assume, by the lack of black veins on him afterward, and (sort of?) stable mood, that talzin might've regrown some of his gut and fixed the end point issues. Later on, Death Watch (being mandalorians) might've given him more robust life support systems that included testosterone replacement and cybernetic genitals. Seems like what they would do for their own people.

Possible lingering complications? I assume he has a VERY weird relationship with food. He had spider legs for twelve years, so bipedal motion probably fails him sometimes. Back pain. Phantom leg pain. Nerve junction issues. Immune system weirdness (from all that missing marrow, and a long stint with sepsis). Issues storing fat. Talzin yoloed his brain back to sane-adjacent, so mental health is... I mean. Yeah. Triggers. Teeth prone to chipping and cavities (from malnutrition and acid water). Possibly goes to the bathroom once a day and urinates like a race horse. Issues with being touched, myriad phobias, and a squirrelly libido.

Did I miss anything?

#darth maul #star wars #maul opress #nightbrothers #zabrak #sith #lotho minor #writing resources #fanon #medical #xenobiology #sci-fi healthcare

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allfattenedup · 7 months

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I'm a huge fan of your content, but I need to take a minute to talk about something you do that drives me absolutely wild:

I love when gainers tag their stuff as "ex-jock". Because, in the "real world" when someone uses terms like that, it's typically to describe a specific body type. An "ex-jock" is someone who works out, or at least used to. Sure they've gone a bit to seed, and they have a nice little pot belly going on, but their strong muscles, the developed upper body or the muscled glutes are all still present and noticeable. Any fat they have doesn't really jiggle all that much, because at the end of the day, there's still, you know, muscle supporting it.

But you gainers have created a second meaning for the term. When gainers like you use "ex-jock", it's not helpful shorthand to describe a specific body type, it's something used to remember a person who doesn't exist anymore. Because no one looks at a developed, established fatty, gut hanging and jiggling, ass and thighs plush and dimpled with cellulite, two chins and chubby cheeks grown plump with gorging on thousands of calories of chocolates and junk food, and thinks "oh yeah, he ran track in high school". Once you hit a certain threshold of weight gained, that history disappears. No one can see the hours in the gym. No one respects the team captain anymore. No one sees you as anything other then a lifetime fatty, because how could someone that fat ever have been anything else?

But that's not how gainers like you like to operate. Destroying the athlete you used to be, rendering them invisible, is only half the objective. Sure, you're fat now, probably fatter then you ever wanted to be (not that something like a weight limit, or goal, could ever stop you), but that alone doesn't give you the perverse thrill you crave. So what can you do? "ex-jock". A word that works like a brand. Now, no matter how fat you get, no matter how hungry you are or how much muscle mass you replace with soft, jiggling fat, the world will know that you made yourself this way. Like a bat signal in the sky, calling everyone to see an athlete that was conventionally attractive, fit and energetic, and who gave it all away. All so you could be what you see before you now.

And you're still hungry for more.

I don’t know what I can add to this because it’s perfection 😩👌🏼🐷🥵 And you nailed it. To me, I use ex-jock so that when people look at me they try to imagine what I must have looked like before I ruined my body with fat.

When they see my belly wobble against my heavy thighs, I want them to know the feeling is still strange to me, still new, still a bit frightening. Very exciting.

That the face I see in the mirror was once radically different. You’d have thought so differently of me if you’d known me before I got fat. But if I use ex-jock, at least you know when you see me like this that once I was the complete opposite of what I've now become.

That I’ve changed. I’m not making the best of the body I have, I’m making the worst body I can possibly bear, and then a little bit worse than that. Maybe a lot worse if things get out of hand. Methodically, intentionally, fatter and fatter, loving how hard it is to see myself like this. Relishing the constant, gentle horror as my fat arms wobble while I eat. Delighting in the dreadful embarrassment of a new double chin.

And you're right. I am hungry for more. Desperate, even.

#askafu #exjock #😏

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temptingfatetakingnames · 9 months

Text

The Last Steve Harrington Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Dinner had been a truly harrowing experience that Steve never wanted to repeat. He would rather fight a horde of Demobats than sit at that table as they all tried to act normal and light and happy. He wanted to scream in their faces or bang his fists on the table – anything to get a real reaction out of them. He was also becoming increasingly terrified of Joyce and her seemingly unconscious need to offer comforting touches to everyone. Get up for a napkin? Pat Eleven on the head. Oh, forgot to get the milk? Rubbed Will’s shoulders on her way to the fridge. The third time she got up, Steve had to grip the table to keep from running. She hesitated for a moment beside him but didn’t reach out, probably because she could see the tension in his posture. He only relaxed when she sat back down again.

Hopper was quiet, but the kids and Joyce kept up a constant stream of conversation, only occasionally trying to draw him in. They failed; he was too on edge to even attempt to speak. The food tasted like ash in his mouth and he excused himself before finishing, doctor’s orders on calorie intake be damned. The silence at the table as he left was deafening. He sat down on the bed in his room and wondered how the hell he was going to do this. He wanted to sink into the floorboards and pretend he didn’t exist. He wanted to run.

Not yet.

He grabbed his backpack from under the bed and counted his canned goods and went over his supplies. The steak knife he had slipped into his sock at dinner when no one was looking was added to the pile. He had plenty of food and could refill his canteen easily, but he needed money.

A knock on the door sounded loud in the quiet of the room. Steve shoved everything in the backpack and put it under the bed before he called, “come in.”

Joyce opened the door, carrying a steaming mug in one hand.

“Tea,” she said as she walked over. “With lots of milk and sugar.”

She set it on the table before sitting down beside him. Steve couldn’t help but bristle at her presence.

“I wanted to ask how you were doing?”

Steve blinked at her. In terms of how he was doing physically, he couldn’t deny that he was better. In terms of how he was doing mentally? He had no idea how to answer that. His thoughts were a messy tangle of grief, anger, guilt, and shame. He thought his feelings on surviving were bad before, but that was nothing to what he felt now – now that he knew what he had done.

He went with the easiest answer, “better.”

It was both the truth and complete and utter horseshit.

“You don’t have to be alright, Steve. I’m going to keep talking to you and asking you questions because I want to get to know you, but you don’t have to answer. I know that you don’t know how to talk to us, and you’re overwhelmed. I guess I just hope that if I keep talking to you like normal, eventually it will be normal. Hopper thinks I should back right off and leave you alone but I think if given the choice, you’ll isolate yourself. So, I’m going to talk and you don’t have to listen and I’m going to ask questions and you don’t have to answer. Is that okay?”

She was right that he would isolate himself if he could. He really didn’t want to talk to any of them. Steve appreciated her explaining her thought process, though. It helped to make sense of why she kept trying to engage with him when he rarely responded back.

He nodded in answer.

There was something he could ask for that would ease his mind more than knowing he didn’t have to talk to her if he didn’t want to. He figured she would want to know if she was serious about making him comfortable.

“Don’t touch me,” he said and after a brief pause added, “please.”

“Of course, Steve.” She held his gaze, projecting sincerity. He remembered his Joyce always being frazzled and stressed�� but she had been looking for her lost son and even after she had found him, Will wasn’t okay. This Joyce was calm and… motherly. “I won’t touch you.”

He nodded again and she got up to leave.

“Drink your tea. The green toothbrush in the bathroom is yours when you’re ready for bed and there’s lots of towels if you want to have a shower in the morning. Good night, Steve.”

She left the door open when she left, which didn’t bother him as much as it probably would have before their conversation. He drank the tea, enjoying the feeling of the warm beverage in his hands, and started re-reading The Hobbit for the thousandth time. The evening passed slowly into night. Steve stayed in his room, enjoying the quiet. He was still reading when Will and Eleven stopped in his open doorway.

“Good night, Steve,” they chorused together.

“Night,” he replied and they scampered away.

It took awhile longer for Joyce and Hopper to settle into bed and even longer before he felt sure that everyone was sleeping deeply. He waited in the hallway and listened patiently for any signs of wakefulness or movement before he slipped downstairs and out the door. The hospital had felt like a prison and Steve needed to know he could leave if he wanted to. Needed to take back the autonomy he had lost when he had walked through that portal.

He didn’t see anyone, no people or cars, as he made his way down the street and it reminded him so viscerally of his Hawkins that he shivered. He exited the suburb and turned onto Main Street. Passing the theatre, he saw that there were new releases for movies called Predator and Spaceballs, reminding him that time had passed here. That life had moved forward. He had a year to catch up on… along with everything else. Continuing on his way, he passed the middle school and high school and arrived at the playground. Steve sat on the swing set and looked up at the sky.

It was a clear night and the stars shone brightly. He wished he had paid more attention in school so he could know if they were the same ones from his universe. This Hawkins didn’t seem any different from his, so he figured the stars were probably the same too. Steve wondered again what the hell had made him so different? What had affected him or changed him to make him so catastrophically different from all the other Steves? What was wrong with him?

He didn’t have any answers.

The summer heat had gone with the sun, and a cool wind played with his hair. It was beautiful and quiet and he could almost pretend that he was the only person in the universe. That the past week hadn’t happened and he was still blissfully unaware of parallel universes and he only had his own failure to be guilty of. He sat there for hours. Sometimes swinging, kicking until he was as high as he could go, feet pointing at the sky before falling back down to Earth. Sometimes just sitting calmly and looking up at the sky and listening to the crickets sing. When he could see the sky start to lighten off in the distance he made his way back to the Hopper-Byers’ house.

Hopper was in the kitchen when Steve walked in the door. Standing in front of the coffee maker and waiting for it to finish dripping. He expected him to yell, shout, ask where he had been all night. Instead, Hopper silently grabbed another mug out of the cupboard above him and set it down next to the one already on the counter. When the coffee was done, he poured two steaming mugs and handed one to Steve.

“Milk or sugar?” he inquired.

Steve shook his head and Hopper nodded before jerking his head to the front door. Steve followed him out and they sat together on the porch swing. Hopper didn’t speak again and Steve sipped his coffee and watched the sun finish rising on a new day.

---

Time passed slowly for Steve over the weekend. He mostly stayed in his room, reading or sleeping. He emerged for mealtimes, which didn’t cause him as much stress now that he and Joyce had an understanding. She would sometimes ask him easy yes or no questions that he could nod or shake his to and the kids told him about their summertime days - biking and swimming and visiting the arcade with the others.

When dinner was over, he went to go back to his room but was stopped by Eleven and Will blocking the stairs.

“We are going to watch a movie, do you want to come?” Eleven asked.

A movie could be… nice. Easy.

“What movie?”

“Empire Strikes Back!” Will declared and Eleven glared at him.

“The Breakfast Club,” she argued back.

They turned to look at him, expecting him to choose. He wouldn’t mind watching both, he loved those movies. He wondered if they chose them because they were Other Steve’s favourites… It didn’t matter, he decided. He wanted to watch them.

“We could watch both?”

They smiled and nodded.

He followed them into the living room, where they began setting up the television and VHS player. Empire Strikes Back was put in because Will had said it first, a rule that Eleven seemed to abide by. Steve settled into the corner of the couch, Eleven beside him and Will on her other side. The iconic music started and the text was rolling down the screen when Joyce came in with drinks and popcorn. Eleven held the bowl in her lap so he and Will could both reach it. The popcorn was cooked perfectly, salted and buttery and Steve had never tasted anything so good.

They finished Empire Strikes Back and were watching The Breakfast Club when Steve started to drift in and out of consciousness. He would wake up, watch some teenage shenanigans, then his eyes would get heavy again. He tried to stay awake, but he was always so tired. Maybe the kids would watch it with him again tomorrow night?

“Code red. Over,” Dustin’s muffled, staticky voice came through the walkie-talkie on the table.

Steve jerked, instantly awake as adrenaline rushed through him. Will leapt off the couch and grabbed the walkie. He hissed into the receiver, “Dustin, you can’t keep using code red to check on Steve. Over and out!” He turned the button on the top, turning it off before tossing it on the couch.

Steve was breathing harshly and staring at it like it was a snake that was going to bite him. He closed his eyes tight. Code red. Code red meant The Upside Down. Code red meant monsters and danger and death. He couldn’t do monsters and danger and death again. It was supposed to be safe here. It was supposed to be over.

“Steve!”

He couldn’t breathe. He needed his bat or his fucking gun.

“Steve!”

His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest, and his breathing was out of his control. He clutched desperately at his neck and sweater.

“Don’t touch him. Back up,” the voice sounded far away.

What the hell was it now? Had Vecna found out about the parallel universes? Did he follow Steve through the portal? He was going to kill everyone. He was going to kill everyone again.

“You’re safe, Steve. There is no code red. Everyone is safe. There is no code red.”

He knew he was hyperventilating when a prickling sensation started in his fingers and made its way up his arms. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t watch it again. He couldn’t do it!

Please… Please… Please… Please!

“You’re safe, everyone is safe. There is no code red. Look at me, Steve.”

Hopper? What was he saying? No code red? He had heard Dustin say it over the walkie! Steve shook his head.

“It’s okay, Steve. Dustin has been radioing Will for updates, he’s used code red a few times to get a response. Nothing bad is happening, I promise.” Hopper’s voice was even and calm. So calm. Why was he so fucking calm?

Steve slowly opened his eyes. Hopper was kneeling in front of him, his large body taking up all of Steve’s frame of vision. He smiled when Steve met his eyes.

“There you are. Take a deep breath for me if you can.”

Steve tried but couldn’t do it yet. His heart was still pounding but the panic was starting to subside in the face of Hopper’s calm. He let go of his sweater and flexed his hands. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out slowly. He did it again, and again, and again.

“No code red?” Steve finally managed to ask after his breathing had settled.

Hopper shook his head. “Nothing to worry about, Steve.”

“How do you know? For sure?”

Hopper stood and grabbed the walkie from the couch where Will had tossed it and turned it back on.

He held down the button and said, “Dustin, it’s Hopper. What’s the code red?”

Silence. Steve’s panic slowly started to rise again.

“How’s Steve? Over.”

Hopper looked up and shook his head, exasperated.

“You used code red just to ask about Steve? You can pick up the phone, ya know?”

“I radioed all day but Will and Eleven never answered!” a pause and then, “over.” Dustin’s voice sounded smaller, ashamed.

Hopper sighed and pushed two of his fingers into his eyes.

Steve reached up and took the walkie out of his hand. It was the same one they used in his universe. He pushed the button and said, “roll call,” with the strongest voice he could muster.

There was silence for a moment, before their voices all started coming in.

“Dustin. Green. Over.”

“Robin. Green. Over.”

“Lucas and Erica. Green. Over.”

“Max. Green. Over.”

“Mike. Green. Over.”

The longest pause came next before a sleepy voice crackled through.

“Eddie. Green. Over.”

Instant relief. He sagged back into the couch, exhausted.

He looked up at Hopper. “Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle?”

“All out of town. We can call them if you need to hear that their okay.”

Steve shook his head. He didn’t want to bother them late at night. They were safe if they weren’t in Hawkins.

“El? Will?”

“We’re here, Steve,” Will called.

They were standing in the hallway with Joyce, both of their eyes wide and terrified. Steve swallowed down the guilt at causing that expression on their faces.

“El, Will and Steve. Green. Over and out.”

He put the walkie down, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the back of the couch. Sensing them all staring at him, he opened his eyes again. Now he was just embarrassed that he had overreacted so aggressively.

“I’m alright now. Sorry for freaking you all out.”

“Nothing for you to apologize for. It’s Dustin who’s going to be sorry,” Hopper stated with frightening certainty.

“I’ll make everyone tea,” Joyce said and left the room. Hopper followed her out. He could hear them talking quietly in the kitchen.

Steve was wide awake now, still coming down from the adrenaline rush. He wanted to run to his room and curl into a ball under the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Will and Eleven came over and sat back down on the couch, their gazes heavy as they watched him. Probably for any sign that he was going to freak out and scare them again.

“We can start the movie over if you want?” Will asked quietly.

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, and the movie would be a good distraction from his thoughts. He nodded and Will went to rewind the tape before they all settled back down. Eleven sat a lot closer to him than before, and after a moment she reached out and took two of his fingers in a loose grip. Steve had never been so grateful for such a soft and grounding touch. He looked down at her tiny hand and adjusted so their fingers intertwined. She squeezed gently and he squeezed back. Joyce came in a few minutes later with a tray of steaming mugs for everyone.

Eleven and Will were fast asleep before Bender raised his fist in the air, their heads resting against each other.

Steve held the walkie in a tight grip and watched over them, the static from the television flickering in his eyes.

Part 5

@vampireinthesun @just-a-tiny-void

#steddie #stranger things #multiverse #steve harrington #steve x eddie #slow burn #angst with a happy ending

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thegnomelord · 2 months

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was thinking about drawing Ifrit from "Hell has a basement floor" and had some headcanons on his appearance.

on one hand i was thinking to make him tall and burly, built big to store all the mana and power he has, make him built like a volcano.

on the other.... what if and hear me out.... Ifrit.... skinny. tall and gangly, long limbs, underfed, outlines of bones poking out from underneath the skin, sunken eyes for that extra unsettling factor. besides magic does have a cost. maybe it's just your body that needs to be exchanged.

now i thought of the second hc because tall and skinny isn't exactly associated with the kind of brute force Ifrit has but he's still strong even if his lifestyle is gonna put him in an early grave. now imagine when he's finally part of tf 141 they notice that he's not very well in the food and weight department for his height and the amount of energy he spends so... they start feeding him (especially Price and Soap because protect and care hoard/pack)......

i've also been getting into the trope where characters gain weight as a sign of health and living a better life. so yeah tell me what you think

and maybe share your hcs on Ifrits appearance because i don't want to butcher your creation on accident

Okay 1: you have no idea how happy it makes me when I hear ppl want to draw fan art of my stuff :DD, internally I'm like that dog video where the dogs happily tapping his paws lol bc he can't contain his excitement lol. And also yeah, I'm a huge sucker for the trope and your little idea with Price amd Soap tickles my brain.

And 2: man you did some mind reading bc your hcs are actually very close to what I've made up for the lore of the whole au. While I want to overall leave Ifrit's body type ambiguous to give readers some space to imagine themselves in Ifrit's place, Ifrit is 100% underweight with more of a volleyball/basketball player type build, as mages focus on stamina and endurance rather than raw strength bc that can be augmented with magic. Also has stretch marks because their weight fluctuates a lot lol

Okay lore spoilers so if y'all want to find out through the story skip this-

Okay so— magic is increadibly taxing on the body, not just by eating away flesh and creating mage marks as a Mage's power grows, but just by simply existing inside the body magic stresses the body. Because fundamentally magic is toxic to humans, and even mages who have the needed adaptations to utilise magic are no better than our ancestors when they were first learning to stand on two legs.

The best metaphor I have for magic is chemo drugs. They're used to kill a cancer but they also damage healthy cells. Magic, similarly, damages the body by existing inside it, but also is used by mages to heal the damage as soon as it happens. This uses a lot of calories and also why mages have really irregular weights, losing 10kg in a week isn't an uncommon thing.

Someone possessing even half of Ifrit's capabilities would need to eat 3x that of a regular human of the same height and weight. Mages are literally Shaggy from Scooby Doo lol. And that's only to get the bare minimum their body needs, caloric need becomes much bigger if they're active like Ifrit is. So you'll find that many mages, but especially military ones, are underweight and need to regularly get Iv fluids and nutrients to help their body recover from using magic. They also need to eat a lot of highly caloric food, which isn't easy when one of the most common side effects of magic use is puking your guts up.

Most military mages don't reach 30. The average life expectancy is around 25, with active duty (i.e. constant missions and daily magic use) mages lasting on average 3-4 years before their body basically breaks down, but they can last longer depending on how conservatively they use magic.

Now, knowing all that, Ifrit has been actively using strong magic on par with military mages since they were 14-15 years old and while they're not the healthiest, they're healthy as a horse when compared to most mages. The reason behind their continued survival — their mage marks.

#gnome's tea break #gnome correspondence #hell has a basement floor series #hell has a basement floor lore

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sleepy-gee · 2 months

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🍊 orange juice - sejanus/gn!reader

you turn oranges to orange juice. some ed based hurt/comfort from your boyfriend, mostly plotless i just needed to get something off of my chest

🍊 word count: 799

🍊 trigger warnings: eating disorders, emetophobia, very self indulgent lmao

🍊 a/n: inspired by that one melanie martinez song. sorry if this sucks your boy is going through it

it's hard. really hard. it's a struggle that not many can understand unless they've been through it or are currently going through it themselves. it's not just as simple as not eating or wanting to be thin, it runs so much deeper. hell, it hurts deeper, too.

your entire life revolves around it- planning out your next meal, whether you'll eat or skip, the amount of calories you'll consume, how you'll dispose of the food or if you'll even make it at all– a constant battle plan for a war you can't remember the reason for starting.some don't get it or refuse to acknowledge it. so what if you lose a little weight? you're still technically healthy, so there's no real problem. everyone goes through periods where they're not hungry.

it's stupid, you think, but the very thing that makes you want to break down is the same thing that brings you comfort— food. or, more specifically, the food your boyfriend, sejanus, brings you. you didn't have to tell him anything. he was able to catch on rather quickly and has been making accommodations for you, like making sure you always have your safe foods or a shoulder to cry on. he doesn't understand, nor will he ever, but at least he's trying.

today was one of the harder days. you sat outside the school on the front steps, fidgeting nervously with your fingers as sejanus peeled an orange for you, one of your safe snacks he had packed along with his own lunch. not being around a bunch of other people did help to ease the anxiety a bit, but it didn't eradicate the whole problem.

sejanus passed you the peeled orange with a smile, already having cracked it into a few pieces. “i'll take the first bite if you want.” you only nodded.

your boyfriend grabbed one of the slices before biting into it. “mm.. y'know, my ma has been growing these for as long as i can remember.” he said with a wistful smile. “she wanted to grow the biggest garden panem had ever seen.. so, she started with oranges, since they were my pa's favorite.”

“oh?” you asked, biting into the corner of one of the orange slices. tangy, yet comforting.

“mhm.” sejanus ate another slice. “she's grown a lot more, of course.. apples and lemons, we've gotten a few strawberry bushes now, too. dunno where she's finding all the land for it, but.. it makes her happy.” the brunette turned to you. “how’s that orange treating you?”

“‘s good.” you mumbled, still nibbling away at it. “reminds me of the orange juice we used to drink on your porch.. with your mother's blueberry muffins.” hunger hit you like a wave, yet you refused to give in.

“i miss those days.. we should have more like them. maybe go on a picnic in the park some day.”

“maybe..”

you had gone over the amount you planned on during lunch, eating not only an entire orange but half of the sandwich you packed the previous night for show. you took your guilt out on your throat when you had the chance, trying to make up for it. how could you lose control so easily?

when you stumbled into your sixth period a few minutes late, sejanus’ eyes automatically caught your own, and you weren't able to shield the disappointment in your eyes. neither was he. it wasn't entirely disappointment, more so worry, a look that said i know you're better than this. and the truth is, you knew you were. recovery was a game you played. some days you could eat and others you couldn't. you'd eat eventually, but for now? running on empty was just what you needed.

“you were doing so good,” sejanus murmured when you got a moment alone. “why now?”

“it's– it's not that simple. i can't give you the answer you're looking for.”

“honey, i don't care about what i want right now.” he took your hands, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. “tell me anything and i'll listen, i'm here for you. speak in a language you can understand.. i'll keep up.”

“but i don't understand.” you said in a defeated tone. “i don't understand why i'm like this or why i can't stop..”

“then let me help you. please?” sejanus pleaded, bringing your hands up to his mouth and kissing the top of each. “let me do what i can. i don't want to lose you.”

you could only nod, reduced to tears– tears of frustration, of anguish, tears of burnt out hope. sejanus’ heart nearly shattered when he saw this, and he dropped your hands only to pull you into an embrace.

“i love you.” he whispered. “you're gonna get through this. i'll make sure of it.”

#sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x you #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus x reader #sejanus x you #self insert #second person pov #no use of y/n #hurt/comfort #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosbas #the hunger games #thg

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zhivaoverdrive · 3 months

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Used to be huge, pt11

Bloated. Distended. Engorged. The spherical belly, larger than any pregnancy, but maintaining the distinct shape. The greedy girl shape. No biological process can turn a woman into this. Today's intake seemed endless... She still wasn't full. Not in her mind where it mattered. But there just wasn't much left for it, not today. Ayu had once again blocked her requests for a continuing stream of takeout, leaving her alone at night with only the stupid calorie drip. The bare minimum to stop Hitomi losing her mind from hunger.

Her body had a lot of metabolising to do, and it was hard work. Hitomi fought off the sleep, just a little longer. Tomorrow would be the first visit, and she was in no hurry to face him.

Why can't it just stay like this? Ayu might be strict sometimes, but she still knows how to make me happy. Taking a slow blink, she crept her hand down underneath the immense bulk of her inflated tits. Even in her reclined sleeping position, the tremendous weight of her implants was fighting for real estate with her balloon of a gut. Ayu'd still not told her how big her tits were. 10,000cc? Surely more… Much larger than her head. Much larger than she'd ever planned on. Wedging her hand between the underside of her breast and her belly, she felt their tremendous weight. The pressure imparted by her saline spheres was ever present, trying to compress a belly that had simply no give. But she'd grown to like it. It was a feedback loop. A constant reminder of her circular depravity, her newly inflated implants, so heavy, but unable to hang freely... It had been a good day. She squeezed the upper bulge of her stomach, which may have hurt, but it hurt good.

"What do I do? When do I stop pouring?" came Ayus voice, indistinct in the dim.

Hitomi barely chewed her candy and swallowed, her fingers already unwrapping another roll. Not rocket science, Ayu. You upend every one of these bottles to my greedy lips until I say the safe word. She saw the line of soda bottles, lids removed. Ayu's thin hands struggling to keep it balanced as it was brought to her face. But there was no safe word. She couldn't speak. This was always a one way trip.

No! next one! No break. Every last drop. Fill me, Ayu. Her belly creaked and heaved. Every last millilitres of liquid fighting to find space in a distended gut. Her stomach was rapidly expanding, fighting with the science class reaction going on inside of her. The contents of her belly multiplying by the second as the mentos fizzed.

"You're getting too fat! It's unprecedented Hitomi! I'm not... I'm not sure I can do it. Not today" came Ayu's voice, this time behind her? "We've been pumping saline into your implants every other day. Look at them. You've already doubled since last week. Each of them weighs more than me! And.. I want to keep filling you, I really do. But these boobs will never be proportional if you don't stop ballooning up with fat!" continued Ayu's disembodied voice.

Do I really blame him? I shouldn't act surprised he left. I'm a monster. I'm so fat I can' even reach my pussy. My tits are so pumped I can even reach my nipples. But I need it, I need to keep going.

No! Never! I'm never going to slow down! If I'm too fat... pump me harder Ayu! I need it. I need the calorie drip to sleep! The cravings… She felt a cold cloth swabbed her fill ports, before the familiar embrace of saline being forced into her gargantuan breast implants washed over her. Come on girls, you can do it. I'm ready for you. Just leave them in, Ayu. It's the only way they can keep up. I'm not slowing down. The pump whirred and her breasts swelled. Every cc that flows through this tube will be inside of me forever… So pump me all night.

Hiomi's hand gripped the sheet and a sharp moan reverberated through once quiet ward. She woke with a start, panting, sweat beading off her forehead. Turning on the lamp, she looked down at her body. Huge. Bloated. The biggest tits she'd ever seen. But they were just how she'd left them the day before. And she could definitely still reach her pussy...

"Ah. Might keep that one to myself..." Hitomi chuckled, before turning off the light.

#breastexpansion #breastimplants #saline #silicone #expanderimplants #weightgain #bellystuffing

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miraculan-draws · 11 months

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Not done with my Lean Mean Anders thoughts.

I just love the idea of anyone who knew him in Kinloch, or in Amaranthine, meeting him again in like Act 2/3 timeline. Like listen, to me this guy is tall. This dude is like 6'5. He was never gonna be like Bulky. He cannot put away the calories to pull that off. BUT. He's literally always walking. He is always fighting. Fighting shrieks and ogres and those genlocks with the crazy shields. Then bandits. And templars, just swarms of templars. You think this dude can't fight??? You think, once zapped by the church cops, that he just sits awaiting handcuffs?? NO!!

And I think in the Circle, at least at Kinloch, there's a lot of talk about how gaudy the clothes are—i think that has a lot to do with self expression and I think Anders was always the one to push the boundary—long haired, shimmery, jewelry when he could get it etc. He has some of that vibe in Awakening too.

Da2, he doesn't need to hide in his frills. And he's like. 35 with a full time job(s), he is stylish but practical. Home haircut bisexual bob. Uneven as hell. Lean and mean. Without floor length robes you can tell he is like 75 percent legs. Ass-kicking boots. Covered in scars from adventuring. Constant 5oclock shadow

I just WANT. Like. The commander to see him. Or NATHANIEL to see him. (Un-Tranquiled Karl AU, Karl would straight up not recognize him for a split second. "You were late...because you were being a gray warden?? ") And not in the overdone "oh he's losing it he's a monster" way, I mean in a "oh my god he's so sexy. Is that a gray hair. He's so sexy" kind of way. Justice was good for Anders in that he looks amazing. Hawke and Isabela know this.

#anders

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thisiswhereikeepdcthings · 2 years

Note

You cannot convince me that there is a single person in the batfam without a sweet tooth. They're crime-fighting vigilantes, they need the easy calories. It started with Batman keeping lollipops on his belt for kids that he starts snacking on if he's hungry, then each robin makes a habit of stealing some each patrol, then candy hidden away in everyone's rooms. They'd have the worst cavities in history if it wasn't for the constant brushing and flossing.

One time Alfred threatened to cut their sugar intake. There were tears.

And it’s over this that every batchild bonded with any and all of the flashes fight me

#batman #batkids #batfam #flashfam

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donistheone · 6 months

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The Scale

Summary: Eric, a recent college grad with a healthy appetite, is desperately trying to keep himself underneath the threshold of “obesity”. As he religiously keeps track of his weight and works out, he still craves junk food and his clothes are no longer fitting properly. Something isn’t adding up…

Eric threw himself down onto his old leather couch and turned on the TV, sighing with relief after his long day. He had started the day at his doctor’s office for his annual check-up, which hadn’t gone well. He knew that sitting in his office snacking had caught up with his waistline, and he no longer had the muscular and fit body he’d been so proud of in college.

It had been a year since Eric graduated with his degree in business, and he had recently replaced all of his 32’ pants with 34s. What he hadn’t realized was that over the past year, he had packed quite a lot of weight onto his 6’1” frame. Eric was devastated that morning to hear the doctor tell him he weighed 220 pounds, 30 pounds heavier than he had been only a year ago. The doctor had been direct with Eric, smiling as he told him that he had gained too much weight too quickly, and that with a BMI of 29.0, he was tantalizingly close to a BMI of 30.0, or obesity. The doctor had happily informed Eric that he needed to take action to lose weight or else, at the rapid rate he was growing, he would cross this terrifying threshold very soon.

Sitting on his couch, Eric looked down at his belly, which peeked out in the gaps between the buttons of his strained size L shirt. His stomach growled, and Eric frowned. “Shut up!” he muttered to himself crossly. He needed to lose weight, and he wasn’t allowing himself to be hungry. After his appointment, he had skipped his usual breakfast order of 2 egg McMuffins from McDonalds, and he went into work with a determination to not snack at all. He ordered a salad for lunch, and had worked out for the first time in a year after his shift had finished. On the way home, he bought healthy ingredients and a scale to keep track of his weight. He wasn’t going to allow himself to cross the threshold to obesity, no matter what.

Eric had watched 2 episodes of his favorite show when he decided he had to eat something. After all, he was used to constant snacking, and he had barely eaten all day. He paused his show and walked over to the kitchen and threw together a low calorie salad with cucumber, lettuce, and tomato. “I feel like a fucking rabbit” he thought to himself as he nibbled a piece of lettuce. “Do normal people eat like this??”.

Having not satiated his hunger at all, Eric miserably rose up from the couch and walked to the bathroom. He timidly stepped on his new scale, praying that all of the suffering he had endured throughout the day had at least been worth it. The scale displayed 219 in glowing red letters. “I’ve already lost a pound!” Eric shouted, pleased with himself. Just then, his stomach once again growled in protest. It seemed to have a mind of its own, and Eric could no longer tolerate the hunger pains. He remembered he had leftover pizza from last night, and while it wasn’t the healthiest option, he couldn’t stand the idea of eating more vegetables. He walked over to the fridge and opened the door, but then realized with dismay that he had finished the entire Domino’s XL pizza last night. Ravenous and desperate, Eric opened the DoorDash app on his phone and ordered his usual double cheeseburger meal from Wendy’s.

Half an hour later surrounded by burger wrappers and an empty 64oz soda cup, Eric’s urgent hunger had been satiated, but he had made a terrible mistake. Panicking, Eric got up and looked at himself in the mirror, burger grease dribbling down his chin. His chest was puffy, and his gut was distended, jutting out far in front of him. He quickly stepped on his new scale, and sighed with annoyance when it read 221. Some quick googling informed him that his BMI was still under 30.0. “Maybe I gained a couple of pounds back already, but at least I’m still technically not obese” he told himself.

Eric woke up the next morning and immediately made his way to the bathroom and stepped on his scale. 220. “Ha! Looks like sleeping is a great way to lose weight!” He smirked at himself in the mirror and raised his arm into a muscle pump, ignoring the slight drooping of flab that had been solid muscle less than a year ago. “We’re going to really start losing weight today!” His 34” inch jeans obscenely clinging to his ass, he walked to his car, got in, and turned on the engine.

At work, Eric decided that to avoid a repeat of the manic frenzy of eating that had happened last night, he would allow himself to have a few of his usual snacks to tame his hunger. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a few Twinkies and a family size bag of Doritos, munching slowly while he filled out his reports. He stopped by the gym on the way home, taking no notice of how his belly slightly eased its way out from underneath his tight gym clothes as he lifted weights.

After his exhausting workout, Eric flopped onto his couch and picked at a salad. Putting the mostly uneaten meal aside, he weighed himself in the bathroom. 222. “How is this possible!” He yelped. He had been trying so hard to lose weight and avoid obesity, but it was so challenging! He didn’t even understand how he had gained weight over the course of the day, since he had only had a few snacks, and he had even done a thorough weight lifting routine! Defeated, he got onto his computer and calculated that he would be considered obese at a weight of 228 pounds. Six measly pounds lay between him and obesity. He sat in front of his computer for a moment, miserable and deep in thought. He gently rubbed his grumbling belly, his hairy paunch briefly visible. He then abruptly ordered an XL Domino’s pizza on his phone. He couldn’t stand being hungry, and a little treat wouldn’t affect his weight too much. As long as he weighed less than 228 pounds, he told himself, then he couldn’t be officially obese.

After the pizza, Eric had demolished a half gallon of cookie dough ice cream in a particularly gluttonous moment, and then followed it with a dozen donuts. He had gone to sleep happy and absolutely stuffed to the brim. That morning, he had woken up, taken in the evidence of the previous night scattered across the floor, and cursed himself for allowing such a feeding frenzy to happen yet again. He had then reluctantly weighed himself, expecting the worst.

222 was the number that flashed up on the scale. “Holy hell!” he thought merrily. “I was sure that I would have gained at least a couple of pounds after what happened last night!” The scale revealed that he hadn’t gained a single pound. It was a miracle! Joyous, he went into his closet and picked out a large pink polo shirt and his new favorite 34” brown chino pants. He was so thrilled to not have gained any weight that he didn’t notice how his thick thighs rubbed together viciously, straining against the seams of his pants. He didn’t notice how his belly peeked out of his polo shirt ever so slightly, or the new small layer of fat beginning to form underneath his chin.

---

Eric walked into work two weeks later feeling ecstatic. The scale still read 222 pounds, even though he had completely abandoned his new diet of salad two weeks ago. Clearly, his workouts lifting weights at the gym were enough to balance out the calories of his extravagant evening meals. He binged on his favorite foods every night, but the scale continued to not change. He did have to buy a few new XL shirts and some 36” chinos, but when you build so much muscle, of course you might need to go up a size or two! He had found a way to conquer the looming threshold of obesity. He slowly lowered himself into his seat, not noticing the way his ass filled up his chair more than it used to. “Why would anyone want to eat salad when they could avoid obesity by eating anything they want?” he thought to himself smugly as he scarfed down another family size bag of Doritos. He leaned over to his phone and ordered a burger from Wendy’s for lunch. He was hungry, and he didn’t want to starve, after all!

---

About a year later, Eric lumbered into the doctor’s office for his annual check-up. His 44” jeans slipped down his wide legs and he quickly yanked them back up, the action making his entire body jiggle. His belly flopped out of the bottom of his new 3XL shirt. He had continued to eat whatever he wanted and lifted weights every day. Sure, he was lifting less than he had a few months ago and he wasn’t doing as many reps as he used to, but at least he still hadn’t become obese! After a few months of his new weight maintenance routine, his scale still reported a weight of 222 pounds, and he eventually stopped weighing himself since the weight never changed.

The doctor looked up, and gaped in shock. “Eric?!” he cried. “Is that you?”. Eric looked at the doctor and frowned. “Yes, of course it’s me!” he replied. The doctor stared at Eric for a moment, looked at his medical report, blinked, and then shook his head. “Get on the scale,” he ordered. Eric proudly stepped on the scale, his hairy belly grazing the wall, and smiled at the doctor. “I’ve been on a diet and working out over the last year. I haven’t lost any weight, exactly, but I think you’ll be pleased nevertheless!”. The doctor laughed and grabbed Eric’s protruding belly. “Pleased? Remember last time you were here, I informed you that you were nearing obesity and you needed to get in shape? Well, it seems like you certainly have been busy since our last meeting.” The doctor smirked and pointed at the reading on the scale.

340

“A BMI of 44.9!” the doctor bellowed. Eric turned towards the doctor, belly and tits wobbling, and mouth agape in surprise. “But….but…. “ The doctor smacked Eric’s ass. “Yes, that’s a big butt alright!” he cackled. Eric’s cheeks burned red as he realized he had gained a whopping 120 pounds over the last year. All of those binges had made him gain so much weight! And he had foolishly thought that he hadn’t gained any weight at all…

“But the scale said I still weighed 222 pounds!” he blurted out. The doctor looked at him and sighed. “Did you remember to change the batteries, fatty?”

The End

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