#its still fatty but not too much

[doecrossing]

yayyyy dinner

[brilliant-soul]

Like I know my counselor meant well when she was telling me i seem too preoccupied with being in a relationship right now and I should take a step back and work on myself

But like all I've ever done is be single and work on myself. I have more hobbies than anyone I know, I go out and do things all the time, I go places, I don't sit at home waiting for somebody.

I guess it's just that *I* feel like I'm ready for someone to be close to and rely on and talk to when shit goes sideways. I've never dated anybody, and I want to feel something with someone

And yeah, of course I'm not happy when men are wasting my fucking time and not even trying.

My wants are very clearly speller out and yet it's like I'm speaking Greek. I just go in the same circles again and again, like my message is literally the exact same to everyone when they ask what I want bc it isn't even hard to achieve. Take me out, let's have fun, let's see if we have any chemistry, if there is we can sleep together but I want to go out instead of being smth you're ashamed to be seen with

[kcrossvine-art]

haiiii dungeon delvers! This is a quick one, gratefully both the materials and the dish-type are very close to their real life inspiration :D

As we speak, my favorite catgirl bestfolk is getting introduced to the anime and you haven no idea how much self control its taken to not immediately jump forward to be in sync with her, but theres SO many good recipes before we get there!!!

We will be making a Mandrake and Basilisk Omelet today!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes into a Mandrake and Basilisk Omelet?” YOU MIGHT ASKIts made from the egg of a basilisk, which isnt a large chicken egg but instead a large snake egg. Oblong shape, soft leather texture, and no eggwhites just yolk.

A large daikon

½ lbs fatty bacon

Shallots

Garlic

Chicken eggs

Salt

Pepper

Arugula (for garnishing)

OPTIONAL; ketchup/hot sauce :)

You could try cooking this using actual snake eggs, but theyre hard to come by and reportedly quite bland compared to chicken eggs. I tried getting my hands on an ostrich egg for the pizzaz of it all. The zoo lady was kind in her dismissal.

AND, “what does a Mandrake and Basilisk Omelet taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKOmelettes are standard fair but here we cook them like a french omelette and wrap it up like a burrito at the end.

Wetter eggs than im used to ( <- american)

Daikon and bacon r very tasty together

They end up having the same texture almost

Intensely savory. Heavy on the tummy

Chopped green onions would bring more levity to the filling

Ketchup pairs well

(but i prefer medium hot sauce)

Dark coffee pairs well

The acidity of the above 3 is what makes them work with this nutrient Dense dish

. In the show, decapitated mandrakes are more bitter than mandrakes left 'whole'. If you want that difference, using sweet/sour sauce on some of the daikon while it cooks will make the non-sauced daikon seem bitter by comparison. . Maybe ferment daikon too? . Adding a small amount of water with the bacon transfers the heat evenly, a small amount as to cook off before the fat/grease renders. Could also try cooking in the oven.

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"Consisting of a fluffy Basilisk egg omelet filled with minced Basilisk bacon and mandrake.If the mandrake used was killed with its 'head' still attached, it will be less bitter and more mellow" This dish is important as it marks the beginning of Senshi and Marcilles bonding, and the lead-up gives us our first glance into the school Falin and Marcille met at. Objectively the recipe is basic but it was challenging to write out.

Omelette making is muscle-memory, so having to learn the french variation and slow down felt like trying to ride a bike side-saddled.

It took about an hour and a half from laying out the ingredients, to eating the finished thing. I had to take a break in the middle of cutting veggies as my wrists are flaring up, so you could probably go faster unimpeded.

What would you rate this recipe out of 10?(with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do different, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

1 large daikon, chopped

½ lbs fatty bacon, chopped

2 shallots

3 cloves of garlic

3 Eggs

Salt

Pepper

Some arugula (for garnishing)

OPTIONAL; ketchup/hot sauce :)

Method:

Chop your bacon into roughly ½ inch squares. Cut off the ends of your daikon and cube the rest. Thinly dice your shallots and crush your garlic cloves.

Bring a cast iron skillet to medium-high heat. Once at temp, carefully add your chopped bacon to the pan with a very small amount of water.

Add your chopped bacon and stir-fry until almost cooked.

Add your shallots and garlic. Cook for about a minute or until the shallots have softened.

Transfer the bacon, shallot, and garlic mix to a bowl. Set aside. Lower the cast iron skillet to medium heat.

Place your daikon cubes in the cast iron skillet, you should still have enough bacon grease. Add salt and cook until lightly browned on each side.

Add roughly 1 tablespoon of water. Lower heat and cover. Simmer for 2 minutes.

Once your daikon are softened, transfer to same bowl containing your bacon, shallots, and garlic.

Crack your eggs into a seperate bowl and whisk for 2 minutes until 'frothy' with no egg whites visible.

Bring the cast iron skillet back up to medium heat. There might not be enough bacon grease left, so feel free to add butter! If the butter browns you've gone too hot.

Pour your eggs into the skillet. Use a spatula to spread the eggs, scraping down the sides of the pan. Sprinkle salt and pepper in, to taste.

Once your eggs are mostly solid, pour the bacon, shallot, garlic, and daikon filling into the center. If it starts to separate- stop touching and let it rest. Gently fold the edges of the omelette overtop the filling.

Lay a few pieces of arugula on a plate, and flip your omelette onto it :) enjoy!

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"burden" - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

you comfort aaron after a particularly tough case

cw: canonical violence, brief mentions of a child's death (no details), sad hotch, hurt/comfort but you're the one doing the comforting

wc: 1.2k

You moved in with your boyfriend, Aaron, about a year ago, and yet, your routine remained fairly independent of him. You woke up in the same bed sometimes, but most of the time, he was away on a case. You always missed the warmth and protection he provided, but you understood that his job was important. You never wanted to get in the way of that. 

You come home from work that afternoon, surprised to see Aaron’s car in its parking spot. Last time you checked in, he wasn’t going to be home until tomorrow. 

You’re eagerly bounding up the steps to your floor, unlocking the door in a swift movement and grinning to see him on the sofa. 

Your grin falls when you see the expression on his face. 

Crestfallen might be the most appropriate description. Heartbroken would also be apt. 

You punch in the code for the security system, and lock the door hastily. You drop your bag by the door and are at his side in an instant, perching yourself next to him on the sofa. He’s got this far-off look in his eyes, and they’re red and puffy. He’s been crying? 

“Aaron?” You speak delicately to announce your arrival, feeling your stomach roller-coaster drop and a massive lump materialize in your throat. You tuck your foot under your rear and touch his shoulder gently. 

Aaron’s next inhale is shaky. His eyelids flutter and he looks at you, finally, like he's just now realized you're there, and shakes his head softly, subtly, numbly. “We lost a child,” he says. His voice is low and raspy, crackling as if someone is snapping ten glow sticks at once. 

Your lips form a straight line, and you press your hands into his shoulder. “Aaron,” you breathe out, tugging his shoulder a little, willing him to let you hold him. He doesn’t budge, so instead you rub his shoulder with your hand, perhaps a little awkwardly. But you are desperate to comfort him somehow, to make it all go away. 

“He’s Jack��s age - he was Jack’s age,” Aaron explains. He leans forward, cradling his face in his hands. “And we caught the guy, but we were too late to save the boy. Logan.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you stay silent, moving your hand to rub the vast plain between Aaron’s shoulders. “I kept it together at the police station,” Aaron continues. He never talks about work this much. You hate the reason why, but you feel honored that he is revealing all of this to you. 

You have a VIP membership to all of Aaron, whereas everyone else just gets that put-together, statue-esque version of him. The marble cracks when he finally finds a moment of respite around you. “On the plane, I kept it together. And I usually go straight into my office after we land. I usually get my reports done before I come home.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, so he knows you’re actively listening. Your hand travels up to the nape of his neck, and you press your thumb into the fatty tissue there. You swipe your thumb across his hairline. 

“I couldn’t do it this time. I needed a moment of relief. Longer than a moment, I guess. I got in my car and I drove straight here.” Aaron continues. He doesn’t usually talk this long. But you let him get it all out. Sometimes rambling and spewing every thought in one’s head is the best way to get all of the hurt out. 

“How long have you been home?” You ask. Your eyes travel to the glass tumbler on the coffee table, with a brown ring around the bottom. Whiskey. 

“Maybe an hour,” Aaron guesses, his hands still blanketing his face. You gently push his shoulder so he’ll lean back against the sofa, and he does. You see now that he has started to cry again. His hands drop to his side.

He refuses to look at you, but you grab his chin with your thumb and your forefinger, tilting his head so he has to. Tears glisten those obsidian eyes like miniature diamonds. “I’m sure you and the team did everything you could,” you say. Aaron nods. He’s heard this before. You know he has, but you thought maybe saying it again wouldn’t hurt. 

“Yeah,” he croaks. You are genuinely at a loss for words. 

You want to offer solutions, distractions, anything, but you know it would only act as a band-aid for the situation. There is no solving something like this. Helplessness washes over you like a crushing tidal wave. Watching him crumble like this makes your stomach ache. 

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back defeated against the couch cushion. You watch a few silent tears fall down his cheeks. Your thumb swipes one away. It hurts to see him like this - so sad and numbed and broken. He’s your honey, he’s your rock, your superhero, and it humanizes him in a way you can’t stand. 

You know that if the positions were reversed, Aaron would be doing whatever he could, somehow riding that line perfectly of being attentive without coddling. So you pull yourself together with one deep breath and stand from the couch. Your hand extends to Aaron’s and he looks up at you with a confused expression. “Let me give you a proper hug, Aaron,” you debate calling him a pet name - angel or honey usually roll off your tongue like a second language, but this moment feels too heavy. 

He nods like he agrees and takes your hand. You haul him to his feet and envelope him into your arms. You wish you were larger than him at this moment, that you could cover him with your entire body and he wouldn’t have to feel anything else. 

Instead, Aaron hunches down a little so you can wrap your arms around him. His head buries into the crook of your neck, his hands at your waist, and he’s shaking as he pulls you so impossibly close you think he’s trying to absorb your body into his. 

Giving him the space to purge his emotions seems to help, and you embrace him like that for a long moment. It should be illegal for this wonderful man to feel so terrible, to be so ridden with guilt. After everything that has happened with his ex-wife, with the members of his team. You know Aaron carries it all on his shoulders. 

You want so badly to rip it all away from him. 

Like coaxing a stray puppy from the rain, you guide your boyfriend through the apartment. You take a shower with him - a slow, intimate act where you do most, if not all, of the work. After, when you’re running the towel through his hair, he’s still hanging his head, but the tears have finally stopped. “Thank you,” he rasps tiredly. 

“I can’t make it go away,” you sniffle a bit. You’ve been crying this whole time, yourself. “I want to, so badly.” 

“It’s not your burden to carry,” Aaron insists, and you freeze. The towel over your hands cups his cheeks and you make him look at you. 

“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong,” you correct him. “It’s not your burden to carry alone.”

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I absolutely adore you and your writing, you truly have a gift!

Can I please request something with James Potter where readers anxiety is really bad and is super emotional cause pms and is just kinda struggling and needs to be dealt with the most gently? Totally not projecting much at all lol 😬😫🤣

Totally no pressure if you don’t feel up to it! I love reading anything you write ❤️❤️

Hi lovely, thanks so much!!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 772 words

“Here y’go, love.” James presses a mug’s handle into your hands, and you take it quickly once you realize he’s holding the hot sides. 

“James!” you hiss, chiding. “You’re going to burn yourself.”

Only James Potter could make a shrug seem fond. He sits down beside you on the couch, hand resting on your thigh, and the knee you hadn’t realized you’d been jiggling slows to a stop. 

“What’s eating you?” he asks mildly, rubbing you from knee to hip as he sips his tea, quietly hinting for you to do so as well. 

You sigh, blowing on your tea before raising it to your lips. “Nothing so important I should be this stressed about it,” you say bitterly. “It’s just PMS.” 

You hate how your hormones mess with you around this time of the month. It makes it feel like you can’t trust yourself, because you’re never sure if the emotions you’re experiencing are valid or amplified by your body’s punishing cycle. Your already oversensitive nerves go into overdrive, and you feel three times as susceptible to bouts of rage or crying, though which one it’ll be is as good as a coin toss. Everything is just more, and all the time, and it sucks. 

James makes a sad puppy sound. “Yeah? Are you hurting, honey?” 

“Not really.” You have a headache, but that’s probably more due to your anxiety than anything else. 

“Well, why don’t you try telling me what’s bothering you,” James suggests. “Even if you think it’s not a big deal, maybe I can help.” 

You sigh again, a heaving, dramatic exhale. “Macy’s having a birthday party this weekend.” 

That surprises a smile out of James, and he tilts his head to look at you bemusedly. “Oh, how nefarious! Shall we curse her?” 

You give him a look that says not funny, even as your own lips curl up slightly. James smothers his grin as best he can (which is to say, not very well), nodding at you seriously to continue. 

“I just—” you heave another sigh, and James’ hand redoubles its efforts on your leg, squeezing the fatty inner part encouragingly. “I’m not going to know anyone there, and I’m going to have to go straight after work on Friday, and she and her friends always stay out so much later than I want to. I just know I’m going to be exhausted.” 

“Okay.” James is nodding, still looking slightly confused. “So don’t go.” 

“But it’s her birthday,” you say, the last syllable taking an unexpected turn into whiny territory as your eyes grow wet. “I don’t have an excuse to miss it and I’ll be the worst friend in the world if I do.” 

“Sweetheart, hey.” James’ voice takes on a slight panicked edge due to the appearance of tears, though you can tell he’s trying to be soothing. His hand abandons your leg to snake around your waist, scrubbing up and down your side. “Honey, you’re a great friend. You’re just looking out for yourself a little bit,” he promises, kissing the top of your head. “Let’s think about who’s going to be more upset, alright? If you miss it, Macy might be a bit sad you didn’t come, but she’s still got all of her other friends who don’t know you anyway, and the party will probably go on as it would have. But if you go, you’ll have to hurry there straight after work, you might be too tired to be much fun, and you could end up miserable the whole night. Sound right?” You nod wretchedly, and he hums into your hair. “So just miss this one, and make it up to her with lunch or something another time, yeah?” At your hesitation, he adds, “You have plans Friday night, you can’t make it.” 

You look up at James. “I don’t have plans, though. I don’t want to lie to her.” 

“Sure you do, sweetheart,” he contradicts you, grinning. “You have plans with me, duh. You’ve only been friends with Macy for a couple months, right?” You nod. “Well then sorry, Macy, but I’m pulling rank.” You laugh, and James swoops down to kiss at your dimple when it appears. “I need my girl for Friday night. She’s pre-engaged.” 

James can never stop kissing once he’s gotten started, and you hide your cheek from him in his own chest, wrapping your arms around his waist in an awkward sort of hug. “Thanks, Jamie.” 

You can still hear the smile in his voice. “Anytime, my love. Now, since that’s been resolved, do you think you can drink your tea? It’s gonna get cold.”

[xyfanficarchive]

dragon belly burnt ends

laios touden x gn! reader

no warnings, except fluff and manga spoilers :)

————————————

“There you are! I see your feet under there!”

It makes Laios startle - his eyes come back into focus right as your smiling face parts through the green curtain surrounding him. Oh, it’s just you. He uncrosses his arms, comes away from the tree trunk he was leaned up against with a stretch and a grunt, and you step through the branches of the bush. He smiles at your awkward attempt to do so gracefully, without displacing the branches too much or getting scratched up. There’s a leaf and twig in your hair, he reaches up to pluck them out and discard them to the side.

“I walked all over to find you - god, there’s so many people around. Hey, why are you just here in this bush anyways?”

“I’m escaping,” his sentence broken by a yawn, “-from all the people for a little while. I’ve never had so many people trying to talk to me…” You close your eyes and nod along in acceptance.

“That’s fair- I’ve had to escape the crowd quite a bit myself these past few days.”

The little hollow is small, just enough for two people to stand in intimate quarters. There’s dappled sunlight on your face, a warm green glow all around, and the sounds of the great feast, voices in revelry, are muffled. Only a scant few inches separate your bodies - though his heart still quickened, Laios would have been much more nervous in this situation only a matter of weeks ago. But after his experience in the dungeon, all that he went through with you and the rest of the party, he feels changed. He sees it in you, too - the way you meet his eyes with ease and a gleam of confidence that was not there before. Significant enough that even he could tell the difference. It made him happy to see you this way.

So why are you looking at him like that, now, with your eyebrow raised, head cocked to the side?

He looks down and finally notices you’re carrying something in your hand; a square of waxed paper with two pieces of meat on top, thin strips rolled up into bite sized spirals and pinned with wooden skewers, glistening with brown glaze. A third one is poised between your index finger and thumb, being held out in offering.

“Are you alright, Laios?” You question, and he blinks back into focus, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah, just lost in thought…” He feels heat on his face. “I must be more spent than I thought.”

“Maybe this will help you feel better!” You beam at him, and your smile strikes him right in the heart. “I bet you haven’t tried it yet- actually I know you haven’t because I just watched it come out of the smoker… But I bet you’ll love it!”

He lifts his hand, but you’ve already started raising your own hand up towards his mouth to feed it directly to him. His fingers go back to his side to fidget with the leg of his pants as he leans in, mouth wide. You bump the corner of his mouth, leaving behind a spot of sauce.

“Oops,” you giggle. But he has no time to think about how vibrant you are, because his mouth explodes with rich flavour when he pulls it from the skewer with his teeth, sweet and tangy spiced glaze covering the savoury, fatty deliciousness of the meat. He expects to chew, but his tongue pushes into the meat easily and the fat and muscle disintegrate equally in his mouth as his eyes widen.

“What is this?” He asks incredulously around his mouthful.

You grin at him. “Dragon belly! Other than that, I don’t know.”

Laios swallows, sad that it’s over so soon, though he’s already eyeing the next two pieces in your hand. “It’s so rich! And the way it melts in your mouth! This is great!”

“Right?!” You say in enthusiastic agreement, and offer up the remaining two bites from the palm of your hand. He takes one and devours it, forgetting to even savour it for its deliciousness, and his desperation to get it into his belly. “Take the other one, it’s all for you. I’ve had a lot already, I just wanted you to try it.”

All for you. He takes it from your hand. You crumple the wax paper, shoving it in your pocket to dispose of later, and watch him, gleaming in the filtered sunlight. He eats this one with intentionality, looks down at you with warmth, his mouth full. “I love you,” he thinks. It startles him to hear the words, even in his own head, the weight of that realization gripping his heart in his chest. His expression drops, but you don’t seem to notice.

In fact, you lift your hand and swipe your thumb across the corner of his mouth, and Laios freezes before you draw it away. And then you look down, pondering the spot of glaze with pursed lips. “Hm.” Evidently you hadn’t considered how you were going to get it off your own hand. You settle to just lick it off, and his heart flips in his chest. He feels electrified, swallowing the delectable bite down thickly. So close, so close…

He grips your wrist, still staring at your thumb before he raises his eyes to meet yours. Only a half step forward and he can feel your bodies touching. He is overwhelmed by his want.

“Laios…?” You question softly, smile fading, though he cant quite read the expression it faded to. But you’re not nervous, by the way you haven’t broken eye contact - at least he hopes. His heart is pounding. But if there’s any time to be bold, to take action, it’s now, right?

He leans in, a crawling pace that belies his trepidation, giving you every chance to back away. But you don’t push him or jerk back, so he tilts his head, eyes slowly fluttering closed - this is how you do it, right? Yet something catches him, right as he feels the breath from your parted lips on his own. Your eyes - he realizes you were still staring at him wide-eyed as he drew near, as his own eyes closed. Why were you staring at him?

He pulls back, eyebrows drawn, and yours go to match as he searches your gaze, heart sickly thudding under his sternum as his stomach tightens. He feels out of control now, internally cursing his correction, agonizing in the span of a second over whether he should’ve just gone with it. His options now are to retreat, or to question:

“Is this… Is this okay? Can I…” But the words falter. He can’t make the words “kiss you” leave his throat. His face and ears are burning, and he is starting to sweat under his collar.

You sigh and tilt your head, though your face doesn’t relax. He feels a spike of sick, cringing panic in his gut, until you open your mouth: “Please, Laios,” you insist breathily, “please kiss me…”

He blinks; with a sigh he is flooded with cool, sweet relief. “Oh…” He lets go of your wrist and raises his hand, tucks a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, presses his calloused palm into your velvet soft jawline, fingers wrapped gently around the nape of your neck. Your eyes soften at his touch, your hand goes to rest on his bicep.

“It’s real now…” He thinks, feeling you gently squeeze his arm. “It’s actually happening…” But the look in your eyes feels wide open, he blinks into your warm gaze before finally shutting his lids and leaning in to press a stiff, chaste kiss to your lips, holding for a heart racing moment against your plush mouth, until he finally pulls away.

He can see you looking between each of his eyes, and suddenly you break into a smile and laugh. Both of your hands go to cradle the back of his head. He doesn’t have time to wonder why you’re laughing at him before you pull him towards you and meet his lips again, different now as you kiss him, this rolling and sucking motion that stokes up a fire in his chest. It’s an unfamiliar rhythm but he catches on, if a little sloppy and ungraceful, as he presses his face into yours with increasing fervour. The sensation of your fingers through his hair prompts him to cross his arms around your back and hug you close to his own body, a vain attempt to crush you into him and meld together.

He only pushes into you harder when he feels you retreat, chasing your mouth as you pat the back of his head. But finally you grip his hair and force him off, he whimpers in pain as you gasp for breath.

“What was that?” He questions, a little hurt and confused, though your bodies are still pressed together.

“Maybe you can breathe with that big nose between us,” your chest heaves, hungry for air, “but I sure can’t.” You smile, and your whole mouth glistens with your mixed saliva. You wipe it with the back of your hand. “Your mouth tastes like the dragon belly,” you muse, laughing breathily, and you lean into him. The feeling of you against him is nice.

“You just taste like saliva,” he remarks, and ponders for a moment because, it tasted almost like nothing and yet he only wanted more, more, more. “It’s very very subtle. Mostly tastes like nothing. Kind of like skin, kind of… mineral? Almost sweet, even,” he elaborates unprompted, fingers ghosting absentmindedly up and down your back. Almost sweet, because while it wasn’t necessarily sweet, there was a sensation of sweetness that exploded in his mind… who knew the taste of someone’s spit could be so addictive?

He finds you still looking at him, this time with a clear streak of amusement in your expression. He’s almost embarrassed, most people don’t exactly ask for the taste profile of their own saliva, but the feeling is dispelled when you trail your hand down his arm, to interlace your fingers in his.

“You make me want more of that dragon belly…” You sigh.

“Me too,” he nods, eyes closed to recall the flavour. and after a beat, he feels you pull him gently.

“Well, we ought to hurry, cause that stuff was going fast,” you say, already parting through the branches again and pulling him along, “but I’m sure they would spare whatever’s left for the King himself.” You turn your head and give him a sly smile.

Oh yeah, that’s why he was hiding. He cringes a little into the back of your head. Being king is cool and all, but he’s been feeling the weight of everyone’s lofty expectations.

Yet, the feeling of your hand is soothing, and he stares down at your interlocked fingers. With your hand in his, maybe he could face anyone.

[hedonists-den]

POV: We’re roommates and I’ve finally had it with your fatass behaviors after you help yourself to my chocolate. I let a lot of pent-up frustration out on you before realizing that there’s only one fitting consequence for your greed.

⚠️ Heavy fat-shaming ⚠️

TRANSCRIPT:

[distant] You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Did you take my truffles? You did, didn’t you? I can see the wrappers right there! I can’t fucking believe this…I put up with a lot from you, but blatantly stealing my food? Aren’t you fat enough as is? I mean you’ve already broken three office chairs—two of which I carried inside, by the way—but noooo, you’ve got to have my chocolate. 

Those truffles are the only things I allow myself at the end of the week, you know that? You know how hard I work to keep my diet in check? All the calorie tracking, exercising, and meal planning I have to do? No, you couldn’t possibly understand. You don’t try hard at anything. You don’t even know what self-control means. All you do is sit around all day, stuffing your fat fucking face and getting high. 

I’m being mean? That’s all you have to say to me? No apology, no “I’ll pay you back for it,”? Are you serious? Well how’s this for mean: You’re a fucking embarrassment. You’re a shameless fat blimp of a human being that only exists to consume. You’re no better than livestock, grazing on whatever it can because its only value is how fucking fat it is. The only difference is that you have at least a modicum of self-awareness to know how completely helpless and useless you are.

How much effort does it take to heave your fat ass up from that chair? Gotta get some momentum going before you can actually stand up? Go ahead. Try to lug yourself to your feet without grunting and struggling. [...] Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought. I’m shocked that you were able to even make it to the pantry to take my chocolate after such a pathetic attempt. That must be why there’s always piles of dishes stacked up in here, too. You’re too fucking lazy to even take them into the kitchen. I always have to clean up after these goddamn feasts of yours or else I’ll never have any dishes for myself. 

Fucking hell, when I signed up to be your roommate, I absolutely did not sign up for this. You at least had some decency when I moved in, so what the hell happened? Did you lose some fucking bet? Or did you just wake up one morning and decide that you were going to be a lazy, fat pig? What kind of degenerate shit did you—ugh, for fuck’s sake, pull your goddamn shirt down…your fucking gut is spilling out… That’s fucking disgusting… Nothing you’re wearing right now even fits! Your fat is just…oozing out of everything… I can’t believe you look like this and still you justify to yourself that you need my candy on top of everything else you shovel into your mouth. Just… No, you know what? You don’t want to apologize? You want to be a fatass? To live in this offensively obese body that you’ve ruined?

[unwrapping candy] Then eat. Eat, you fucking pig. You wanted my candy? You’re going to have it. Every single piece, and then some. You’ll never be any smaller than you are right now. I’ll make sure of it.

Oh no, no, no, you don’t get to stop now. Open up, fatty. You’re done when I say you’re done.

[toptierteaser]

Butterball Status: Pt. 1

A Blowup Anthology Story

“Well, well, well…seems like somebody’s hit ‘Butterball Status” today!”

The taunt, accompanied with a firm poke into his ample abdomen, carried out across the hall, audible to the dozens of Coaches and hundreds of Campers alike. Diego’s mouth fell agape, his plump cheeks reddening as the weight of what had just been said sunk into his stomach way that extra, stale donut had last night. I knew I should’ve laid off the treats for a while! Diego cursed internally.

But Coach Jason simply smiled at him. Or was it more of a sneer? It was hard to tell with Jason. ‘Chubby-chasin’ Jason,’ they called him. Behind his back, of course. Never when the handsome coach was present to make his Campers run an additional lap around the track. Watching diligently as their overblown backsides jiggled uncontrollably with all the added weight. Of course, the Coach could never fully express his predilections, as it would have been social suicide among the other Coaches. But he had his reputation among the Campers, and the fatties had eaten the rumor up faster than a bucket of fried chicken.

Naturally, Jason played up the angle of a Coach being disgusted at his camper for packing on as many pounds as Diego evidently had. And so the sharp poke into his big, juicy tummy transfigured into a grab as Jason’s hand snaked around from Diego’s front to his equally-tubby love handle. The other hand was placed on its twin and Deigo felt himself, helpless, defenseless, and in full view of half the camp, being turned toward the mirror in front of him.

The scale had confirmed it, the numbers having jumped by ten since the last weigh in—how was it even possible he had packed on that much weight in a week?—and Coach Sebastian clacked away at his calculator, racking up Diego’s routinely-increasing BMI. The nerdy coach began snickering behind his glasses as he waved the numbers up in the air. “It’s official!” said the Coach in his nasally voice. “The fat fuck is officially a butterball!”

Those within Diego’s earshot began to snicker and whoop, to offer snide comments about how he had “never quite been able to put the fork down, that one.” Or how it was a “good thing he’ll get bumped up a weight class. His fat ass was barely able to fit through the door as it was, poor fat fuck.”

Diego tried not to let everyone see how badly it affected him, how flustered and embarrassed it was making him. But such teasing, taunting observations weren’t even the worst of it.

                “This is your own fault, you know, pork chop?” said Jason in his ear. Now he really was smiling. “You’re the one who fed yourself up like this, weren’t you fatboy?”

                And as Diego’s round body was wheeled about, he realized the Coach was absolutely right. He almost didn’t recognize himself. Before him stood a tubby young man, the lingerings of handsomeness jutting through the added pudge on his face. but the rest of him was completely unrecognizable. In his time at the Camp, Diego had absolutely buried himself in layers of fat, his belly swelling to completely cover his fly, his thighs porking out ridiculously, his moobs pressing up against his chubbed-up neck. He looked like a big fat scoop of neopolitan ice cream, his warm brown skin busting out from underneath the tight white t-shirt that didn’t even reach his cavernous belly button and his bright pink booty shorts that looked more like painted-on briefs. It had been a while since he’d been forced to look at himself in the mirror and while he still found his shocked, embarrassed face to be handsome, he felt that the rest of him rather resembled an overinflated balloon!

                It was all too much! The image of himself, standing there, big fat legs pressing out against each other, juicy arms unable to rest because his love handles were in the way. His Coach poking and prodding and squeezing his chubby side rolls. The sight of himself, about a bite of cheesecake away from splitting his uniform, completely defenseless. An overfed blowfish who in all likeliness would only be blown up even fatter! He felt himself growing excited, the waistband of his shorts creaking as he felt himself expand within them.

                Calm down, he told himself. Just take a deep breath.

                And then he saw Brandon, the flamboyant Coach who had been a tailor and a hairdresser before they began Rounding Up fatties across the country, walking up to him, smirking with a measuring tape held taut between his hands.

                And as Coach Jason was forced to stand aside as Brandon took the helm, wrapping the tape beneath Diego’s armpits and tut-tutting as he slid down Diego’s sides to his big belly, measuring the ridiculous circumference of the fatass. “Seems like the fat fuck has ballooned his belly wider than his shoulder-width!” said the Coach. And as he said it, Diego felt himself rise, swell, and—PING—the button of his shorts went flying out across the room!

                There was another humiliating snickering that surrounded him, consuming him, driving Diego ever-more flustered.

                And then, as Diego’s obese ass and thunderous thighs were measured, Jason all but shoved Brandon out of the way, grabbing Diego by the love handles and turning him in a 180-degree fashion. “Well, biggums…I’m sad to see you leave the Bunk…but rules are rules…now, there’s only one thing left to do.” And Diego braced himself, hoping his belly covered the exposed fly of his shorts, as he felt the enormous stamp flying out across the air and pressing squarely in his extremely-wide ass.

                He gave an involuntary squeal of embarrassment that thrilled the Coaches. And then, looking more pathetic than ever, Diego turned to look at the mirror over his shoulder, taking in the stamped image of a turkey that now replaced the teddy-bear print on his caked-up ass.

                “Well, then,” said Coach Jason. “All there is for us to do now is to roll you on down to your new bunk and introduce you to the other tubby butterballs!”

[yardsards]

This is why I refuse to watch/read delicious in dungeon. The entire thing gives me fatphobic vibes.

see the premise as a whole is actually very body positive (i myself had similar worries that a story about eating "healthy" would rely on fatphobic ideas of "healthy", but was pleasantly surprised). like, its approach to "healthy" is "make sure you're eating enough of everything so that your body has enough fuel. make sure you're resting enough and not overworking." rather than "you must not eat The Bad Junk Food." (like, there's one part early on where they're like "oh, we've eaten too much vegetables and lean meat, we need to eat more fat" so they search for fatty meat and eggs. and then later they eat deep fried food and no one is ever like "oh no, this is too fattening" they're just like "wow this is great it's so crispy and tasty")

and the core message of it all is just like "your body is a part of you, and is the part of you that allows you to do things and reach your goals. don't treat it like a burden or an afterthought." and the series has had a positive impact on the way i view and treat my body

and overall, it's better than a lot of other popular anime series in terms of representing realistic and diverse body types. our two human (or "tallman" as they're called in-universe) main characters, laios and falin, are not super skinny, with no wasp waist or shrink-wrapped abs. i would not consider either of them fat in canon, but they're still fatter than your average popular anime character. certain races like dwarves and orcs are just naturally stout, and are never treated as being unhealthy or unattractive because of their weight. fatness is said to be a respected trait among adventurers, as a sign that you're good at survival and can safely recover from injuries.

however. the show has a few small things that make me raise my eyebrows. one or two iffy offhand comments (glaring at you, That One Conversation about laios's hunger near the end) that in most media i'd just be like "sighhh, normalized societal fatphobia strikes again, as expected." but for this series it's like "god damn it, i expected better from you."

and some things about how body types between fantasy races are handled leaves something to be desired for me. like yeah dwarves are all stocky, but also elves are all slender. it makes sense for the different fantasy races to have different *average* body types, but i wish we got to see more variation from those averages between individuals.

(also, i can fully understand praising laios and falin's canon body types! even medium body types are underrepresented in most media and it's good to see more of them! but calling them *fat* representation just feels inaccurate to me)

it's just like. dungeon meshi is GOOD in terms of body positivity and representation, but it's not PERFECT.

like, i love this show/manga (if you couldn't tell from the content of my blog)

mostly i voice my complaints bc like. i'm tired of tumblr getting it's hands on a piece of media that is good and generally progressive and acting like the media is *perfect*. and then proceeding to treat anyone who points out things the media could have done better as if they personally slayed your firstborn. (and then, months later, after the hype dies down, realize that some of that criticism was actually very valid, and then violently knock the piece of media down from its pedestal. and act like everyone involved in the media's creation are irredeemable scum and that anyone who still likes it should be ashamed)

so yeah, funny dungeon show good, and i strongly recommend it if you like fantasy stories and food and worldbuilding, just don't expect it to be a flawless paragon of representation and fat positivity

(also take everything i say here with a grain of salt bc i myself am thin, i just care a lot about representation in media and body acceptance and dismantling fatphobia)

[juicyolpickle]

Finally finished this sheet about the Zaabuas pregnancy process. The Zaabua do have their sexual differences but only the male and female can get pregnant and give birth, while the vonithral who are a whole complete new sex to the female and male cannot.

The vonithrals are the only ones of the 3 sexes to have the capability to produce fatty nutrient rich milk for the new borns and adults Zaabuas. These have not been illustrated yet but I do plan to show off the male, female, and vonithrals, sexual dimorphism and their unique individual characteristics in the near future. If either the male or female carry children they automatically earn the title of “mother”

But enough of the sexes and more about what we are here for. Pregnant Zaabuas commonly only get 2 to 3 offspring at a time but in some rarer cases 4 to 5 can form inside the pregnant individual, though this is a highly risky process and most of the time both the mother and the developing offspring are at greater risk of death. As more weight being brought onto the mothers back might succumb them.

Though males are at greater risk of this happening as their smaller much less muscular bodies might become too much to carry, while females have a better chance of carrying more than 3 offspring, as they are much larger and have higher amounts of body fat and muscle.

Once the fetus has gone through its 4 month gestation period it sprouts out of from the mothers back with distinct two orb like sacs that are called cells. These cells are responsible for holding genetic material, sodium hydroxide, and warm water, this combination creating a heat pack for both the mother and offspring.

The orange outer cell responsible for holding the water, genetic material, and other general waste from the fetus, while the inner cell that the fetus is wrapped around is responsible for holding in large amounts of sodium hydroxide. These two cells are held together by a thin but very elastic layer of see-through skin, this keeps the two cells from touching each others chemicals. Though sometimes this is not enough from bursting inside the mother.

Due to lack of nutrients or a genetic mutation. Nearing the 4 month mark, either the inner or outer cell bursts inside the mother triggering the exothermic reaction and implode both the fetus and mother from the inside. Though this happens rarely among the individuals.

Another thing that could happen that isn’t life threatening to the mother but the fetus, is that the outer cell responsible for holding the warm water and carrying the fetus and inner cell in place could burst before birth, leaving the mother to excrete it out of the body mistaking it as the fetuses waste leaving the fetus without the outer cell. This wouldn’t be too much of a big issue as the fetus can still use the mother’s body warmth and have a slight chance of survival if it was later in development.

But due to the below -60 dagree weather on Borease if the fetus was still alive by the time it was birthed it wouldn’t have much of a chance drying out before shortly freezing to death.

[froggyfics]

The Deadliest Poisons Are The Sweetest - 4

You meet someone new.

(09/15/23) Note: If you have read this series before this date, please note that I have combined chapters 1 and 2 together. This may seem confusing, but I have decided that as a creative approach, I would like the chapters to be longer. This chapter and beyond are up to date.

Also, please let me know if the dialogue is too much or too weird. This chapter was a bit of a challenge for me because of it.

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Word Count: 3,853

The air is stifling and stale within the banquet hall. It’s a familiar sight that you have seen before – servants pouring drinks until cups runneth over, men leering at both married and unmarried women, people stuffing their mouths with fatty meats. 

People are similar everywhere, you realize. The sight before you is akin to what you witnessed as a child growing up in the banquet hall of your father’s home. For some reason though, you thought that the people in the capital were more refined and distinguished than those in your birthplace. However, your experience in Gotham so far has proved you severely wrong. 

In fact, it seemed as though the richer people are, the more repulsive. It left a terrible taste in your mouth. The city was absolutely beautiful – with ancient architecture to depict its rich history and bustling streets filled to capacity with cultures and ideas from all over.

It was the upper echelon of the city however, that left you wary. Every interaction with the highest members of society was enjoyable on the surface, but there was a distinct undercurrent of greed and jealousy beneath the gritted smiles and half-hearted waves that people gave you.

It made you feel out of place, as if you didn’t already know that you don’t belong here. 

The liquid in your cup sloshes out and coats your hands after your shoulder is violently jerked.

“My sincere apologies, my Lady,” a man near you says. 

You grumble, but manage to scrounge up a small smile for the man. After all, it was simply an accident that he bumped into you. 

However, the vulgar stare that follows his apology tells you otherwise. He smirks at you while walking backwards, practically undressing you with his eyes. 

Your face reddens and your stomach coils uncomfortably. You’ve been pasted to the wall nearly all night, but you take the man’s indomitable stare as a sign to venture out and seek out Damian. 

You’ve barely seen him, let alone talked to him, since you’ve arrived in Gotham. In fact, it almost seemed like he was avoiding you since that fateful reunion in the garden. You were in such high spirits after that day, but now, you find yourself replaying your interaction with him obsessively. 

In your recollection, it didn’t seem like you said or did anything to upset him. Presumably, there would no reason as to why he steered clear of you, but you can’t help but wonder if it’s your fault.

“You will live and breathe for the House of Al Ghul after your marriage,” Talia said to you over breakfast a few days ago. 

You nearly choked on your bread in response. The timing of her statement, and her statement itself, were quite absurd. She rarely spoke more than a few words to you since your arrival and when she did speak to you, the conversation was shallow. All of a sudden, here she was, in front of you with the most apathetic look upon her face. 

“Certainly, Lady Al Ghul.” Your mother sat beside you and answered in your stead. “My daughter will become the property of her husband, and the House of Al Ghul, after her marriage takes place.”

How were you to “live and breathe for the House of Al Ghul” if you couldn’t even find the person you were theoretically supposed to exist for – your future husband?

You wade through the throng of people in the hall. They all pause their conversations to greet you as you pass by. It still startles you today just as much as it did the first day you arrived in Gotham. You politely greet them all back, but quicken your step nonetheless. 

Damian was certainly in the banquet hall. After all, this betrothal dinner was being held in honor of you and Damian. However, it was becoming increasingly difficult to find him. You spot him in the crowd with his head poking above the wave of people, but as soon as you near him, he inexplicably disappears. 

It’s overwhelming for your senses. Anxiety courses through your veins. You’re trapped in a space filled with strangers, new and old. Your family was busy socializing with people that they never thought they would mingle with – never considering your isolating plight. R’as and Talia avoided you like the plague, as if you weren’t about to become a part of their family. Talia assigned several ladies-in-waiting to be employed by your household, but even they excluded you from their conversations. Damian was the one person that you wanted to seek comfort from, but he seemed intent on dodging you. 

You stand in the middle of the banquet hall with people all around you, but you have never felt so unseen and lonely. A hand firmly seizes your shoulder and for a moment, you panic. You slowly turn around, hoping that the man that oogled you earlier was not behind you.

Instead, you meet the steely blue eyes of your future father-in-law, Bruce Wayne. You wondered how a gentle soul like him managed to tolerate someone like Talia long enough to produce an heir.

He seemed to be the polar opposite of her. Though he was a man of few words, he always spoke kindly to you since the day you were introduced. His eyes were bright blue like the sky, which contrasted the signature mossy greens of the Al Ghul’s. 

You sigh in relief and curtsy politely. “My Lord.”

He holds his hand up to quiet you. “Please, call me Bruce. You are to be my daughter by law. You are…” He wrinkles his face for a moment to think. “…to be my family soon enough.”

“Thank you – Bruce. For making me feel welcome. I look forward to marrying into your family and –”

“Father,” Damian curtly acknowledges, interrupting your conversation. He greets you as well, but barely looks at you. “Mother is kindly asking for your presence. Something to do with wedding preparations.”

Bruce nods his head and gives you quick goodbye. He begins to walk again, with Damian leading him, until you grab onto Damian’s arm.

“Wait,” you start.

Both Damian and Bruce turn to face you while your face reddens with embarrassment. You know what you want to say, but you struggle with getting the words out. 

“Hello,” you squeak. “Damian, erm, how are you this evening?”

Damian shifts awkwardly, never quite meeting your eyes. Bruce inquisitively looks between the two of you and excuses himself.

“I’ll let the two of you talk. I’ll…speak with Talia on my own.” He grimaces before walking away.

Damian longingly gazes in the direction that Bruce walked in. You notice his uneasiness, which only amplifies your own. What had you done wrong?

“Damian,” you call out again.

He turns to face you, but his eyes don’t meet your own. It’s like they see through you, rather than at you.  

You can’t even bare to look him in the face any longer out of mortification. “I have not been blessed by your presence recently,” you murmur.

Damian breathes deeply. “Yes, I…suppose it has been some time.”

Silence falls between the two of you, yet the party rages on. You look down and play with your dress, the same shyness that enveloped you the day you arrived in Gotham has returned. It’s green, black, and gold – the colors that represented House Al Ghul. It truly is a stunning dress, a testament to the skillful hands of the Gothamite tailors, but you don’t feel beautiful in it at all. Not when the one person you want to impress seems so thoroughly unimpressed with you. You gullibly thought to wear this particular garb tonight in the hopes that he would perhaps throw a compliment in your direction. 

You think back to the day in the garden just a few days prior. It felt like a hallucination, but the red carnation that Damian gave you reminded you that this was, in fact, reality. When you returned to your quarters that day, you excitedly dried and preserved the carnation and stowed it away in your jewelry box. You wanted to save it as a memento to the start of your love story with Damian. 

Although, your love story seemed to be a far-fetched dream at this point.   

“Would you like to walk with me in the garden? Like we did not too long ago?” you reminded.

Damian rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I’m afraid that I cannot.” He looks in the direction that Bruce left in. “I really should go. My parents…they do not have a civil relationship. I really should be with them to mediate.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” You want to melt into the floor and drip into the soil beneath the castle. 

“Right.” Damian stretches his mouth uncomfortably into a smile, and then promptly leaves. Funnily enough, he travels in the direction opposite to where his father went. 

You want to cry, but what is there to cry for? It’s not like you’re in love with Damian – you’ve only just met him. Yes, you had a chance encounter with him many years prior, but besides that initial meeting and the walk in the garden, you’ve barely interacted with him. 

It’s just that you felt a connection with him like no other. You would be lying to yourself if you said that you weren’t attracted to him. He was the epitome of handsome, and you oftentimes found yourself wondering what he looked like underneath all his armor. However, your connection to him was more than just your attraction to his physical appearance. You were swept away by how charming he was that day in the garden. You also wanted to peel back the multiple layers of his personality. He was the obedient son – the responsible heir to the throne – but he was simultaneously a romantic person who had a soft spot for animals. 

You felt yourself drawn outside to the garden. If Damian didn’t want to come with you, then you should still enjoy it for yourself. You twitch as you look back at the raucous party. Everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves. Except for you. Despite the fact that the banquet was being held in your honor, no one tried to stop you as walk out. 

The outside air serves as a reprieve from the stickiness of the banquet hall. You feel like you can finally breathe again outside the confines of the party. You can still hear the boisterous crowd of people from within, but the sound of it is considerably reduced in the garden. 

The moonlight strikes the flowers in a unique, but utterly beautiful way. The petals now have grayish undertones, but their beauty still shines through. The perfume of the flowers engulfs your senses. You take a deep breath in – you can almost forget your worries in the aroma. 

A melancholic sigh distracts you from your thoughts. The sound startles you, as you assumed everyone else was still inside enjoying the festivity. 

Curiosity overwhelms your better judgement, and you slowly creep towards where you heard the sound. You’re met with a downcast figure sitting on bench. Coincidentally, the bench is situated next to the bush of red carnations – the same carnations that supposedly symbolize deep love and affection. 

Black hair with a tinge of violet hues. Gray-ish skin. A sharp widow’s peak. And most strikingly – a red jewel on forehead.

She looks up at you when you accidentally bristle against some branches. Her eyes are a gorgeous shade of violet. A dark cloud surrounds her aura.

She’s…beautiful. Ethereal.

“Oh, my!” She stands up from her seat. “I apologize. I did not expect anyone else to be within the garden.”

“No, no!” You shake your hands fervently at her. “Please, I should apologize for the intrusion.” You look over your shoulder in the direction of the party. The lively atmosphere could still be heard meters away. “I just needed a moment away from…everything and everyone.”

“I understand.” Her dark blue cloak drags across the pavement as she glides towards the red carnations near her. She plucks a flower out, longingly staring at it. “I also needed a moment of reprieve.”

She plays with the petals of the carnation for a moment before crushing them in the palm of her hand. “Rachel. Rachel Roth of House Azarath.”

You begin to bend your knees into a curtsy until a realization dawns upon you. While your family is from humble beginnings, you are about to become a princess. The House of Azarath is an old, respectable, and wealthy dynasty, but the House of Al Ghul supersedes it. You hurriedly stand upright once more while Rachel’s back is towards you. 

Rachel’s head whips around when you introduce yourself. “My Lady!’ she exclaims. “Please forgive me for my ill manners.” She curtsies in respect. “If I had known I was speaking to you, I would have immediately –”

“Please, no,” you interrupt. You softly grab her arms to stand her into the upright position. Ironic how you always dreamed of being a princess as a child and have people bow to you, but these past few days have revealed your chagrin to people’s mannerisms towards royalty. “Be comfortable around me. I beg of you.” Your voice is laced with sincerity. 

Rachel timidly nods her head. “Yes, my Lady.”

You roll your eyes at her politeness. “And please, I implore you not to call me that.”

You exhale loudly and shames roils within you at your sudden temper. “I apologize Lady Roth. You are not the subject of my anger, so it is unfair of me to burden you with it.” You bitterly glare at the carnations with a scowl on your face and sit down on the bench with a humph. 

Rachel slowly sits on the opposite side of the bench, leaving the middle vacant. 

“Why are you not inside enjoying the festivities?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Rachel is silent, and you almost believe that she didn’t hear you until she responds abruptly. 

“I hate weddings,” she admits. The look upon your face at her admission must have been bizarre because she meets your gaze with a soft laugh. “Allow me to rephrase that – I do not hate weddings.” A deep sigh escapes her lips. “I suppose I hate the idea of it.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Your body leans in towards her ever so slightly. 

Rachel observes your face with a mysterious look upon her face. It’s almost like her violet eyes can see right through to your soul, scooping out the innermost parts of you for her to analyze.

“Well, if you insist. Simply put, weddings are public business transactions. Akin to how you purchase bread from your local baker for a few coins, weddings are a way to signal a purchase. In your case for example, the baker would be the House of Al Ghul and Wayne, the bread would be Prince Damian – long may he live –, your dowry would be the coins, and you and your family are the customers.”

Your eyebrows scrunch in thought. Her analogy made perfect sense, but it also left a bad taste in your mouth.

“I suppose so,” you muse. “However, I would not go as far as to call it a ‘business transaction’. Weddings are so much more than that.” You start to move your hands to emphasis your point. “Prince Damian cannot be compared to – to bread and I do not feel like I purchased him.”

“Ahh, but that is exactly what you did. Your dowry ensured your betrothal to him. It may not have been in coins, but you certainly did purchase him.”

“Well, I suppose you think weddings are useless in the eyes of the law, then.”

“Yes, that’s precisely what I think.”

Your head shoots up and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “No, weddings are absolutely necessary,” you stammer. “Weddings signify the joining of two people who will share…quite practically their entire lives together. They signify the start of a new generation. They signify family and unity.”

“My dear.” Rachel grabs one of your flailing hands into her own. The warmth of her contact immediately plateaus your ever increasing volitivity. “Weddings symbolize whatever you want them to symbolize. For you, it’s obvious that they represent love and some sort of girlish romance. But for others, weddings are the end of their lives as they know it. The beginning of a prison sentence. The end of youth.”

“That’s so…morbid.” You giggle at the absurdness of it all. “Surely, you want to get married one day yourself.”

“I do not care for marriage,” she sharply replies. “There is nothing that it could provide for me that I cannot obtain on my own.”

“What about…children?” You want to hide in the bushes at the mention. You learned quite recently that despite the fairytales your grandmother yammered on about in your youth, the act of producing an heir was rather…procedural. You furiously blush as you recall your mother sitting you down a few days prior to inform you of what would happen on your wedding night.

“Children?” Rachel scoffs. She adjusts herself on the bench, so that she faces you entirely. “You do not need to be married to have children.”

You open your mouth to reply, but immediately close it. Your posture slumps in defeat. Rachel was right.

The disturbing heat of shame creeps into your body. You feel utterly foolish. It should have been obvious to you that children could be born out of wedlock – Damian would be a prime example of such an event. Still, it felt unnerving to you that procreation was taught to you under the context of marriage. It seemed as though there were certain unspoken rules that you had to follow, but others did not. 

“Well, it is more…respectable for a person to get married. Is it not?” You triumphantly straighten your shoulders back, hoping this would make Rachel stumble. 

“Respectable.” She repeats the word slowly, as if tasting it as she spoke it. She scoots closer to you, so close in fact that your foreheads nearly bump into one another. “May I be frank with you?” Your nod gives her permission to continue. “You will soon learn that Gotham lacks respectable people. Being respectable implies that you think outside of yourself, which will be hard to find in this city.” She stares deeply into your eyes. “Everyone is out for themselves, and it is only fair that I warn you of this now.”

Rachel’s words leave you with a mixture of confusion and intrigue. It’s obvious that Rachel understands the innerworkings of the Gothamites, as she was raised here. You can’t help but agree with her rational – your own experiences within Gotham showcased a city rotten with false pretenses. 

You also wonder what secrets – and whose secrets – she must know about. 

“Rachel, I must say our conversation has been…refreshing.” You half-heartedly chuckle in an effort to dissipate the sudden tenseness. “Honestly, it comes as quite a surprise. You are likely the only person since I’ve arrived in the capital to speak to me so openly – so honestly.” You place your hands on top of hers and squeeze. “It truly means so much to me.”

Her honesty was what you’ve been craving ever since you arrived in Gotham. Rachel was correct – people in Gotham were inherently selfish. Perhaps, you’ll come to understand the culture of the city the longer you’re in it. Back in your humble hometown, the aristocrats and countryfolk alike were welcoming, gracious, and outgoing. Here in Gotham, it seemed like every comment was thinly veiled with a backstory that you were unaware of. 

Everyone already had their own circles, and no one seemed to want you in theirs. Not even Damian.

A sudden idea popped into your head. “I know we have only just met, but you have made such an impression on me. I’m so inconsolably lonely, Rachel.” Your admittance brought tears to your eyes. Your heart wrenched as the feeling of loneliness enveloped it.  “My family will return home after the wedding. All I will have is my dear servant Alice, but that is all! It would truly mean the world to me if you joined my household staff. To be my lady-in-waiting.”

You look at Rachel hopefully. Tears threaten to escape your waterline, especially as she rescinds her hands from your grasp and stands up.

“I do not think this is a wise idea,” she whispers.

“Why not?” You stand in front of her and place your hands on her shoulders. 

Rachel does her absolute best to avoid your gaze. “Lady Talia has already appointed ladies-in-waiting for you. I saw the flock of them inside.”

You shake your head wildly. “Yes, yes, I know. However, who says there is a limit to how many I can have? Besides, they have barely even looked in my direction since we’ve met. Rachel…” You bend your knees so that your face can meet her eyes. “I have no one here. No one on my side. Lady Talia abhors me. King R’as avoids me. My own family ignores me in favor of flattering people that would not have even breathed in their direction just a few months ago. And Prince Damian is –”

You suddenly screech to a halt at the remembrance of Damian. Rachel nudges you when you become silent. 

“What about Prince Damian?” she asks.

Your hands slide off her shoulders, so that you could wrap your arms around yourself. The act provided you little comfort against the pang within your heart. “I suppose what you said about weddings earlier was. Weddings can symbolize many things, including the start of a prison sentence.” You smile at the red carnations to your side. The meaning behind them is tucked far away in the back of your head. “I fear that is what Prince Damian is thinking. I naively thought this union would be like a fairytale, but alas, I’m still a girl with much to learn.”

You can’t help but sniffle as you try to control the onslaught of tears. How embarrassing would it be for Rachel to witness you cry on the first night you meet! Your stomach twists at the sight of pity in her eyes. How pathetic you must look. How pathetic, yet you can’t help it. You wanted her to save you. You desperately needed her guidance.

“You give me no choice, my Lady. I suppose I must accept my new position at once.” 

Rachel breaks out into an infectious smile. You breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, a sliver of hope cracks through the dark gloomy Gotham clouds. Rachel may not be a friend yet, but for now, she is your only ally. She is the only dependable connection you’ve developed outside the influence of the Al Ghul household.                                                      

You were to be a princess within a week’s time, but a pretty crown would not distract from the fact that you were still an outsider – to Talia, to R’as, to the citizens of Gotham, and to Damian. 

[dreamerwitches]

Here’s some Suzune doppel redos. Why did I skip Oriko? Cause this one’s a worse batch so its more fun to fix

For Clothette, I just think she’s a little boring… i dont like how the witch is so meagre and the doppel is mostly made up of familiars. It was hard to work to make her more interesting but I did my best. I made the witch head a mask instead of the stupid sans undertale eye and Clothette is overall bigger and more impressive

Man I hate Renard… first things first, fix the utilisation of Arisa ffs. She deserves some big beefy arms. I used the bouquet as more of a veil. The little bnnuy gets some arms too and I wanted to utilise her scythe so put the blades in her arms.

Spica is just pretty lame to me. Why did they give the police magi a speaker doppel??? Also she looks so much like Aodamo... lame... Though the speakers do look fun so I kept it in part of it but I gave her the gun she deserves (and a taser)

Odette is probably the best doppel of this group but I still have my gripes.. like those fatty baby arms... eh? I wanted to make her utilisation more fun as well as a nod to her sister.

Man I hate Carmen's doppel, that's why I didn't even use the original as a base, so awful. I think the outcome here looks great.

Kagari doesn't have a doppel yet so I had to make her myself. I don't know if I like it... :T I think it uses the witch well but I dont know if its Kagari... meh... I might try again sometime

Where's Elise you say? Eh, I like her already so she didn't need touching up. I might try the rest of the witches sometime

[boytumms]

Okay so, I’ve had this one fantasy for a long time (probably since my sexual awakening lol) and it’s a double whammy of stuffing and pregnancy. A very vain person is kidnapped and told that the only way to leave is to clear the massive dining table of all the food on it.

They protest at first, they have an intense and strict diet and exercise regime and the food on the table is all fatty meats and buttery sides and carbs and sugary desserts. But their captor persists, giving them water spiked with appetite stimulants, and eventually they relent and try a bite. They’re so hungry at this point that they start gorging themselves, and even when they start to be in pain and really want to stop eating, they can’t. It’s like their body has a mind of its own as they eventually make their way through all of the food.

By the end their stomach is red and sore, they’re rubbing it desperately to try and find some relief but it’s like every available inch of space is taken up. Eventually, their captor enters the room and taunts them with how much weight they’ll gain because of this binge and the vain person is absolutely horrified. Then, the captor gives them an alternate option. Instead of gaining that weight, they can become pregnant with a child that is the equivalent weight. Best of all, they’ll give birth within the week and then they can just lose the leftover baby weight.

The vain person agrees immediately. They know pregnancy won’t be great for their figure but it’s better than having to work off fat. And how much could one stuffing like this cause? Five, at worst ten pounds? Easier to birth than exercise away. What they don’t realize is that the amount of food they ate was the equivalent of 30 pounds of weight gain and they are going to give birth to a toddler sized child in a week.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, stuffing + pregnancy is so top tier and they need to be combined more often!!!

What if, to make it worse for the poor guy, he agrees to the pregnancy thinking that the baby will replace the food he just ate, but instead, he get's impregnated on top of his fully stuffed stomach. While he wont gain the weight from the food, it's still in his stomach and has to be digested while the baby grows in his belly at the same time. Since he was forced to eat so much, it takes ages for his gut to process the food, so while he's still so overly stuffed, his tummy continues to swell even bigger with the huge soon to be 30 pound baby.

In a matter of days his belly doubles in size, becoming so large and heavy that he can barely stand on his own two feet anymore. The baby's growth is only aided by the copious amounts of nutrients from the food, so it grows big and strong extremely fast. It kicks and punches, twisting and turning in the poor boy's tummy, making him feel sick as his stomach cramps from the food it's still trying to work through. He spends his time trying to rub and sooth his restless belly, whimpering and trying to keep the baby calm to stop it from beating his tender tummy.

By the end of the week he's absolutely exhausted. His mountain of a tummy is so big it pins him to the ground, skin red and tight, so full now he can't even rub the painfully taut surface anymore. His massive toddler sized baby rolls and kicks within him, tenting the too tight skin and making him cry out in pain. Each movement threatens to rip through the paper thin skin of his swollen mound, and all he can do is clutch his bloated sides and pray his belly holds together.

The week is finally up and his captor excitedly waits for his labor to begin. After 7 days of torturous agony, the boy will finally be free, that is if he can survive giving birth to a gigantic 30 pound baby. His contractions start and his baby squirms inside him, eager to be born, but it still takes hours for his waters to finally break. By the time they do, he's already moaning and screaming in pain. He throws his head back in agony as the pressure heightens to the point he thinks he's really going to pop, when instead he feels something burst inside and a rush of hot fluid soaking his trembling thighs.

His captor laughs at him as he shakes and thrashes, arching his back and throwing his contracting belly into the air. He feels his captor place his rough hands on his squirming tummy, rubbing and squeezing his sides and making him choke out a garbled scream. Despite his weak pushes, the baby inches down towards his ass like it's trying to crawl out on its own. His canal stretches around the massive head, it's so big it feels like it's the size of a small melon.

Hours of pushing later it reaches his hole and begins to ram against the tight ring of muscle. The boy's voice is ragged from screaming, but he can't help by let out a torn cry as the baby spreads him wide. Slowly the head begins to emerge, stretching him further and further until he feels the skin begin to tear. He kicks and thrashes in pain, begging his captor to help him, but they laugh and tell him there's nothing they can do even if they wanted to help, which they don't.

The baby's head comes to a crown, and to the exhausted boy's horror and dismay, comes to a complete halt. He pushes and strains as hard as he can against the pain, but it's useless. His baby is stuck stretching him at it's widest point and he simply doesn't have the strength to force it to move. wailing in despair, he thrashes back and forth, trying to spread his trembling legs wider, clutching at his sweaty deformed belly, anything to get the head unstuck. Nothing works, and he falls back panting and moaning.

His eyes flutter as his vision blurs. He's too tired to push anymore and his head rolls back on the floor, letting the contractions rip through his body with his mouth hanging open in a silent scream of pain. Suddenly, his body jerks and his belly jumps. His eyes widen and his hands fly to his tummy, crying out as it jerks again. He looks down at his quivering belly in fear, watching in horror as it jerks over and over, pulling his body with it with each lurch. A sudden crack and he weakly cries out, feeling a rib break.

He realizes what's happening, his baby is trying to kick its way out of his belly. It's strong arms and legs push and kick at his insides, and cracking his ribs in the process. Each kick sends his mind spiraling with pain, arms wrapped around his tummy as far as he can reach in a desperate attempt to stop it's movements. He sobs and babbles incoherently as his baby forces its way out of his body, beating his insides to a pulp and tearing its way through his entrance.

With one last kick, the head bursts through his hole along side a gush of blood and fluid. His body convulses as the baby wriggles and writhes the rest of it's body out, leaving him gasping and wheezing, no longer able to scream anymore. The baby slides out between his legs and he hears it take its first breath and begin to cry. It's a miracle he's somehow survived giving birth to a baby the size of a two year old.

Standing over the boy, his captor picks up the crying baby. They look down at him and smirk, lifting their boot over his still swollen tummy and placing it right over his stretched out belly button. The boy seems unresponsive at first touch, but his captor drives their heel deep into the bloated, puffy flesh of his tender belly, immediately eliciting one last gargled shriek from the boy. Fluid spurts from his torn hole as the heel twists and digs into the poor boy's tummy, forcing the placenta out with a sick splatter onto the messy floor. His eyes roll back in his head and his tongue lolls out the side of his mouth, vision finally fading to black as his mind finally blacks out.

He should have just gained the 30 pounds

[d0not-disturb]

I DISAGRREE BECAUSE Y ARE WEONG!!!!!GRUMBO IS SO NASTY STOP GO BACK TO SCADIAN ITS SO MUCH BETTER AND POGGERS do ppl still say that AND SWAG AND COOL AND UGH GRUMVO IS SO ANNOYING THEYRE TOO FRIENDLY TO BE JN LOVE U SEE SCARINA BETTER ANGST BETTER EVEYRTHING ALSO UR BAD AND AND AND UR THE WORST TWINKERBELL EVER🤬🤬🤬🤬 ALSO LEARN BACGROUNDS LOSER + RATIO + UR NOT A COOL LOSER LIKE ur a loserrre baby NO UR JJST A ANNOTING ONE + L

SHUT UP YOU ROTTING AGING DYING DISINTEGRATING PEES IN A DIAPER FATTY CUNT

[laseratingfist]

so I've been reading the flavor text in Belobog. again. as usual. I have some fun notes.... (all item descriptions are typed up directly from the in-game descriptions into a google doc so i can look at it whenever without waiting for the game to load.)

Endotherm Chitin (character ascension material, dropped by the stagnant shadow: shape of blaze in the Silvermane Guard Restricted Zone) - Strange chitin peeled off from an interdimensional creature. Although not piping hot anymore, it still radiates warmth. "It's too cold outside. But with this gemstone on you, you'll be able to travel far and wide, even to search for cities with humans left..."

I am extremely curious who that quote is from! Is it Sampo? Of course, this is my first thought because he's the most well-known scammer to us, the players. I don't actually think it's him, I think it is probably somebody else, also because I don't think Sampo would be the type to encourage exploration of the wilderness outside of Belobog. There does seem to be a lot of, or at least a few, people interested in exploration (Lynx, of course) but also, apparently, people who have read Tales of the Winterlands....? I think it's a reasonable response to growing up in a city like Belobog, though. Anyway, I don't think it would be a good idea to use the Chitin to stay warm in the Freeze, but it might come in handy. Maybe that's something that Sampo uses?

Horn of Snow (character ascension material dropped by the stagnant shadow: shape of rime in the Corridor of Fading Echoes) - The Silvermane Guards would host contests where the winner must take a body part from a monster and bring it back within a set time limit. This cold broken horn must have been a trophy of one such contest. "Sir Bova, this is no moose horn and certainly not fit for decoration above the Geomarrow furnace."

Searing Steel Blade (character ascension material dropped by the stagnant shadow: shape of scorch in the Great Mine) - [...] This broken blade must have been a trophy of one such contest. "I saw it with my own eyes. Captain Gepard smashed that thing's hot steel blade with one blow of his fist, then held it with his bare hands and plunged it into the belly of that cold fatty, warming its heart."

Some very funny tidbits about the Silvermanes. It feels very much like a boy's club, though I know it's not only men. They must get really bored, honestly, I get it. Not really sure what monster the quote on the second one is referring to, because Shape of Scorch is the chainsaw automaton, whereas Shape of Rime is the big round automaton? maybe the fight they're referring to had both corrupted by Fragmentum. curious.

[edluv-skinandbones]

-Introduction Post-

please, please block instead of reporting. Tumblr has always been a huge comfort in giving me a sense of community and i genuinely encourage anyone wanting to recover to please go and do it 🫶 its just not something i can personally do right now for myself.

MINORS DNI PLEASE! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

TW: 4n0r3xia, m1a, $H, addiction, drvgs

hi! i'm starting my first 3d blog after not being on 3dblr for six years and would love to be friends with more people who just get it. dms are open even if its just casual chit-chat or ranting lol.

About Me:

my name is mae, im 21. i have had really bad disordered eating since i was about eight years old. it was for a number of reasons at the time :/ but never with the intent to be skinny. i didn't aim for that until i was like thirteen and its been an obsession ever since.

i've also actively $h'ed since my teens years + 4bus3d substnc3s being in the rave scene in my city which i still love going to. i love partying too much and my functioning alcoholism is probably what gives me such a fatty beer gut lol.

i'm an emo veteran! the 2014 tumblr days were wild lol

i <3 mcr, the used, ayesha erotica, FIDLAR, millionaires, taking back sunday, ptv, msi, joyce manor, panuccis pizza, three days grace, korn, cigarettes after sex, sum 41, alex g, surf curse + any midwestern emo song tbh has my heart. lets exchange playlists!

i also <3 drag race, makeup, fashion, glamour, and making people feel fabulous! call it materialistic of me but i will always love beauty and worldly items.

my favorite activities are yoga, exercise, meditating, video gaming, and watching/engaging in any 3d media i can find lol. i also spend too many hours on AO3.

Stats:

lw: 85 lbs

hw: 120 lbs

gw: 89 lbs

ugw: 72 lbs

cw: 95.6 lbs

height: 5'0

BMI: 18.3