#oc Aidan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

envihellbender · 1 year

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Twink flirts with a huge fat older man he meets in a train station, lures him home and forcefeeds the not so secret glutton into higher echelons of obesity.

Characters: Corvi, Hector, Aidan (OCs)

Content: slurs/homophobia, extreme weight gain, forced feedism, kidnapping, medical experimentation

Corvi knew precisely what he would do with Hector the second he laid eyes on the man after he had heard his wheezing gravely tone. Had the man kept quiet, Corvi probably would have gone throughout his life never having noticed the man. The moment the first syllable left Hector’s mouth, he had sighed his fate. Corvi had just gotten an iced mocha from the Starbucks and was checking to see what platform his train back home was leaving from. He supposed he was dressed somewhat revealingly - black jean shorts that just about reached his finger tips, a loose Misfits t-shirt, and a pair of grubby old Vans trainers. He guessed he could see why it would warrant stares but it was the middle of August, it was 27 degrees Celsius outside. When he was bouncing on his heels in front of the man, probably unintentionally emphasising his behind, he heard the man behind him loudly proclaim to his friend:

“God, that’s not right, that bloke isn’t a fucking bloke any more,” he snarled. Corvi glanced over his shoulder, doing a double take when he saw the source. Not even the wheezing exhausted tone prepared him for the bloated mass behind him, with two large breasts resting on the handlebars of his special adapted mobility scooter and his food piled on top of them. His gut was taking up so much space there was a large platfform before the front wheel to stop it from dragging along the ground. He noticed Corvi’s shocked stare and his slug-like lips smirked proudly. “What you looking at faggot? Wanna know what a real man looks like?”

“Well, big talk for the fattest pig at the county fair,” Corvi said simply with a shrug. Hector spluttered in response, covering his stack of burgers in saliva.

“Back in my day we beat fags like you half to death and then raped them until they were corpses.” His tone had become a growl in anger as his cheeks grew red merging into his lightening ginger hair that was barely visible from his receding hairline and his fat forehead.

“That sounds pretty faggy to me,” Corvi sighed, getting out his phone slyly. “You know if you really do want this arse of mine you keep staring at I might not say no. Lucky for you I like big guys.” He pretended to be typing a text message and took a selfie with Hector in the background. He clicked on it and sent the photo to his contact labelled “Aidan” with a green heart after it. He added the message ‘how does this one look?’

***

Corvi was sat on one of Aidan’s medical tables swinging his legs when Hector began groaning and spluttering, his massive shapeless arms pulling against his restraints as his piggish brown eyes began to struggle to open. Aidan didn’t say anything, just smirked and turned to the machine that controlled all of Hector’s new tubes. Corvi jumped onto his feet and grinned, a wide toothy smile that showed his snagged tooth, his catlike green eyes narrowed as his bleach blond hair fell in his face.

“Hey, Mister, remember me? The fag you were gonna beat to death?” Corvi taunted, as he did he heard a clatter come from Aidan whose hazel eyes flickered towards Corvi in protective panic. He’d neglected to mention that bit.

“Wha- what the fuck are you-” Hector said almost unintelligibly from behind the oxygen mask and the feeding tube that had been shoved into his nose and mouth respectively.

“Aide, babe, can you please-” Before Corvi finished there was a beep followed by a churning noise as a thick yellow liquid began flowing through the tube and into Hector’s throat. He tried to resist the lard from going into his mouth, causing it to drip on his lips and pool in his neck roll. The lard kept going however, covering the lower half of his face and his mask until he had no choice to swallow it. “There we go, that wasn’t so hard? Resisting isn’t gonna get you anywhere, piggy. Just gonna mean you’re going to hurt yourself.” Hector groaned and struggled, choking and causing his face to burn red until Aidan finally turned his feed off for a few moments.

“What the hell are you doing? Where am I?” Hector gasped, his stomach groaning in protest. Corvi giggled in response, it seemed the appetite stimulants were working already. Hector groaned and frowned, it seemed he hadn’t figured it out yet.

“In my basement- well, our basement. Me and my fag boyfriend liked the look of you so, we kept you.”

“How- how did you- why-”

“Why? I told you. You’re the fattest pig at the county fair, remember? I love a good animal, especially a champion, and I’m going to make you bigger,” Corvi declared slapping Hector’s belly. Aidan let out a quiet laugh as Corvi began poking at Hector’s fat, watching it ripple and wobble, giggling as it made their patient snarl and make snide, horrific comments as if there was anything he could do but grow.

#envi writes #weight gain kink #extreme weight gain #forced weight gain #oc corvi #oc Aidan #oc Hector

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ballerinarina · 20 days

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LOVE ON SUBWAYS AND TAGETES

FIVE HARGREEVES X Fem!OC

Synopsis: On Christmas, Five and Lila manage to return to their timeline after seven years of living together, lost. Izabela notices that something is strange, but it is only when Diego and Five engage in a discussion with confessions that she realizes that she has been betrayed. While everyone heads to the van to prevent the end of the world, Izabela asks for a few minutes alone with Five to settle things, dot the i's and cross the t's; Word Count: 3.2k Tags: spoilers, angst, cheating, fluff, slightly canon divergence (but Lila x Five/end of S4 still happened)

Note: It's been years since I tried to write something (and I never tried to do it in English before), but I hope it worked out! You can listen to the FANFIC PLAYLIST HERE and here you can read about my OC, but it's perfectly enjoyable to read it knowing nothing about her, or imagining youself in her place! I wrote thinking that they both look ± 20 years old. Please enjoy and tell me what you think! ♡

CLICK TO PORTUGUESE VERSION

Something was off, Izabela could tell as soon as her eyes fell on Five. The boy had never been the really outgoing, smiling or affectionate type, but at that moment he didn't even seem present in Diego's living room. His unstable and lost look, the worried wrinkle on his forehead and a tense and insincere return of affection when Izabela welcomed him into the kitchen with a hug put her on alert.

It had always been easy for her to read him, but a hint of confusion seemed to be beeping in her mind now. Keeping her distance and giving him space — at least until he could organize his own thoughts —Izabela was sitting on the arm of the sofa next to her husband, without touching him, just with her senses attentive and worried as she observed him like an enigma.

A tired sigh escapes her mouth as she foresees that Five's anxious restlessness combined with Luther's comments about the apocalypse could only result in nothing good. It was Christmas Day and, from the bottom of her heart, as unlikely as it was, Izabela was wishing that the end-of-the-world problems had magically resolved themselves — or at least been paused, as the previous moments of tranquility seemed to suggest. Not unexpectedly, they were not, so sure enough: as soon as she gets up and heads to the kitchen, mentally using the excuse of taking the Brazilian mayonnaise salad out of the fridge to get away from the depressing subject, she hears Five's stressed voice picking a fight with his brothers.

Escaping the realization of the apocalypse as an existence in her mind (for the fourth time) was her goal as she grabbed the tray and the dishes, trying to distract herself from Diego and Five's argument. With the kitchen right in the next room, the attempt was naive and failed: Izabela could feel the anxiety rising up her spine. She had never seen her husband so hopeless, but not even for a second found this behavior strange among the others. She herself couldn't take it anymore and, good heavens, she hated loud noises, hated missing Christmas, hated her brothers fighting — even though she wasn't much less temperamental than them —, hated not understanding what was happening to Five, and, most of all, hated the end of the world.

She opened and closed the drawers of that house that wasn't hers on impulse, more as an outlet than really interested in finding cutlery to serve the mayonnaise, when she felt her body freeze at the sound of Diego's voice cutting through the air.

“Is something going on between you two?”

Below her, the sought-after steel spoons and forks gleamed, reflecting her pale face and no longer showed interest in any meal.

“Diego…”

“Holy shit!”

In her ears, Five's silence pierces more than any of those sharp knives could. Refusal is the modus operandi that Izabela's mind immediately activates, only retaining strength amidst the shock to slightly shake her head in denial to herself. She thinks she must have misunderstood, sharpens her ears, holds back her despair. But no.

Five and Lila were having an affair.

To Izabela's anguish, Diego and his wife's voices were the last things she wanted to hear, but they were the ones talking, talking, talking amidst the suffocating silence that settled over the house like a funeral, squeezing her chest and leaving her breathless. Five and Lila were together.

Why? Was that why Five was acting strange? How had she not noticed before? When had she lost her husband? At what point had Five stopped being the person she trusted most in the world? In what world had she stopped being the person he trusted most? Why hadn’t he told her himself? Had she done something wrong?

“Yeah. You think I’m gonna buy that bullshit?”

Not even noticing when it began a state of near hyperventilation, Izabela's breathing only catches when Five's voice finally silences her thoughts:

“She’s telling the truth, all right? We got lost. We couldn’t find our way back.”

“We were searching for seven years, Diego…”

A gasp. No. No, no, no — it is horror what gradually fills every cell of Izabela's body, like blood spreading across a carpet.

Seven years. The pieces fit together almost in slow motion in her head, with her mouth half open, wanting to cry, but unable to emit even a single sob. It is towards the open door that her body turns without even needing an order, but it is her own steps that seem to weigh a thousand tons, and it is on the threshold that she stops once again. Leaning on the doorpost, without the courage to step outside and face her husband. Her husband, from whom she had lost seven whole years.

“We were chased, attacked, shot at…”

Each of Lila's words of explanation numbs her from afar as they settle into her diaphragm like stones. As if 45 years without Five hadn't been enough. As if the imminent end of times wasn't enough. It all sets up a scenario so desperate that it turns all sadness into apathetic disgust on her tongue.

Claire’s interruption comes like a ghost that straightens her posture and wipes away the moisture that escaped as it pooled in her eyes. Pursing the lips in bitterness, the information of Ben’s location is an almost physical reminder to Izabela that, whether she likes it or not, she will have to be part of the Umbrella Academy once again, so repressing all this futile conflict is her only option at the moment.

Swallowing the feelings, however, doesn't take away the agony in her heart and, with a shaky sigh trying to regain her composure, she fails to maintain the cool when her eyes meet the back of Five's figure as she enters the room. More than ever, Izabela wants to be practical, to go prevent the end of the world once and for all while stifling any thoughts about this terrifying situation playing with her head, but she knows she would never be able to win any fight like that. In a mirror of her unconscious distress, she exchanges glances with Klaus, the only one on the couch who noticed her in the corner of the room. "I just need a few minutes. Please." he doesn't need words to understand and, with a certain pity, he doesn't hesitate to stand up and encourage the rest of the family towards the van, distracting them with some Klaus-style comment that Izabela honestly can't process.

Feeling her presence as he had for so many years in his past, Five turns around, meeting Izabela's gaze, who mentally catalogues the worst nausea she has ever been condemned to feel when looking at her husband and wondering if she finds a stranger there. The eyes trying not to run over every detail of that face only now notice how much sadder and tired it seems compared to the last time she outlined his features. The silence traps them in a trance in which she finds herself unable to think of anything to say, until she hears the living room door slam, looking away at it and noticing that it was closed. The boy sighs and purses his lips; they were alone.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Is it true? Everything Lila said?” going back to stare at him, the words slip through her mouth, almost like an escape “Did I miss seven years of you?”

“All this time I tried to come back, Izabela…”

A quick shake of her head, Izabela crosses her arms in a tic. What he tries to justify, with such a cautious voice, had never been the question for her.

“I believe you.” pause “And… even if it’s not true, Five. It’s been seven years.”

“Yeah.”

That wasn't the tightness in her chest. She knows Five well, she knows her brother and husband well, and knows how he had spent decades trying to return to his family before. Even if, at any time in these seven years, he had hesitated, Izabela would never have the arrogance to judge his willpower in the face of emptiness. No, her cholera is another. Trying to keep her voice serious, she feels that what she wants is not to fight, that unlike her brother Diego, her anger is not against Five but against everything in essence. She finds herself unable to rid herself of a deep desire to slit her throat, she bites her lip.

“Do you love her?”

“Bela…”

“Please.”

After so many years of the tradition of emotional constipation that has branched out in the family with half-truths and poorly spoken subjects, when Five holds his wife's gaze, he already knows that she would not accept him doing the same thing that Lila did to Diego. Avoiding the subject is the easiest thing to do, but Izabela, so emotional, has also always been the most logical Hargreeves in dealing with emotion, so he knows very well that she, while staring at his green irises so dejected and hesitant, prays for an honest answer.

“I do. I love her a lot, Bela.”

It is no less painful to hear what she already imagined she would hear: the mind seems to be in standby mode, slowly assimilating what so quickly pierced her heart. Trying hard to accept the new reality rationally, the only disturbance on her face is her eyebrows furrowing for just a second, struggling to suppress the urge to cry that rises in her throat, her gaze scanning the wall in the background and then turning back down.

“So you don’t love me anymore?”

Five perceives more of a statement than a question. He opens his mouth to try to answer, but then closes it, his face saddened and his voice not found before himself. It is when she does not hear a response that the so-called new reality hits Izabela, surrounding her in fear, making her look at him with a neutral voice and expression contrasting with her trembling pupils.

“Five… you don’t love me anymore?”

“That’s not fair to you…”

“No… Look.” her voice is dually firm, but by a thread, shivering him “Don't lie, but don't let me die without having that answer.”

If before the tension between the two could be described as funereal, it becomes even more so. The prospect of an imminent death coming out of Izabela's mouth is so strange to Five's ears that it hurts as if he were the one who lost seven years of his wife. Even in the midst of all the daily hopelessness in her life, when finding herself facing the end of times Izabela used to at least pretend to have faith. The lack of such works as a disillusionment for him. Despite having lost his own a few years ago, he only embodies this in himself when he realizes that not even Izabela thinks it is worth believing that she will have another chance to say what was not said.

“I couldn't.” the answer simply comes out of him due to the disturbance of perception “I couldn't stop loving you, even if it were a centenary, Bella. I've never stopped thinking about you, not for a single minute of these seven years.” Five shakes his head, lowering it, scared to finally verbalize anything at all about the subject, especially to the person he was most afraid of doing. He barely feels room to hate how he stutters, lost like just a boy. How he hesitates. “But… when…. when my heart started loving Lila… I had so much fear of coming back to you, precisely because not even for a moment I stopped loving you too.” his cheeks begin to get wet with the tears that throughout his life he has always repressed, but that only ever escaped in the presence of the girl in front of him “Coming back to you meant concretize it, and that's not fair to you, you... you know I'd rather rip my heart out with my own hands than hurt you. But I couldn't help myself…”

His greenish eyes, now so moist, return to Izabela and are surprised to notice what Five identifies as tenderness amidst the restrained and painful crying that accompanied his. Not that his wife wasn't towards him the most tender human being he had ever had the fortune to live with, but precisely because he had failed her so much, he knew he deserved her anger. What he receives, however, is the anguish in his chest intensifying when Izabela approaches and puts her forehead to his, cupping Five's cheeks in her hands and sighing a lament:

“Please. Tell me you still wanna stay with me.”

Silence, he gasps in agony.

“I don’t mind, Five.” Izabela feels as if she is short of breath, so much she longs for confirmation of her request. Any attempted neutrality was lost when the words of the husband, who's always so strong, made it clear how exhausted he seemed in the face of his own feelings. Five had been her weak point for as long as she could remember, and, knowing every comma of what once shaped his pain, being able to see it now makes her desperate, above all and any problem. “I lost seven years of you, Five, I… I almost lost you forever… Please. Maybe the world will end today, but if it doesn’t… Stay with me.

It shouldn’t be Izabela the one asking for anything in this scenario. But if Five still loves her — and, God, she can see that he does —, she finds herself willing to fight the feeling of humiliation tingling in every part of her body. More than anyone, she knows how much the boy believes in his core that he doesn’t deserve any mercy or love as payment for his countless past sins. Izabela sees his affliction before her and, as she has done all her life, she could never give up on her husband like that. He gasps with his brows furrowed, trying to hold back his tears, when a sudden flash illuminates the girl’s mind, that finally sees the edge of the inevitable abyss in which she finds herself.

“Even if… even if you stay with her too… Just… don’t leave me…”

Such insensate words being uttered set up the exact moment when Five breaks, nodding his head in despair and wrapping Izabela's waist in a frightening fragility — which she herself would never have expected to witness in him on a day and in a mood like the one they were experiencing —, marking the beginning of a salty, bereft and hasty kiss, with neither having any idea on who did it.

The bodies of each spouse, once accustomed to kissing for hours on end, this time witnessed an emotional suffocation that soon left them short of breath. Five finds his reason trapped in Izabela's incongruity, who even facing a scenario like the apocalypse and the most logical devastation of what she should feel for him, still thinks and utters such an altruistic and utopian possibility. It is uncomfortable. Hiding his wet face in the girl's shoulder, he hugs her tightly and she immediately clings to him, wrapping her arms around his nape and trying to find in the fingers that intertwine in his locks any physical difference that would mark the years that have passed in him.

“I shouldn't do this to you.”

“No. No. Five.”

“Izabela, it's not fair” he tries to repeat it for the third time, but she interrupts him and repeats herself too:

“And I don’t mind. Damn, Five... You survived. You came back to me. And if loving her kept you alive... That’s… that’s okay with me.” If Izabela is honest with herself, she admits how every word she utters never fails to sound absurd to her. Jealous since she was a child, she deeply hates finding herself in this scenario and, yes, she wants to at least scream in rage. The truth, however, is still intrinsic to every sentence she is saying, no matter how strange it may sound to herself. Faced with this situation, greater than all the rage she feels is the memory of her husband alone for 45 years with the only trace of what he believed to be love coming from deliriums about a broken mannequin — this is what makes her sicker than any unusual situation of infidelity. The realization that Five saw himself once again in front of the horror that has endured his entire life fades any absurdity in the impulsive words she has been speaking, because it is replaced with the relief that at least this time he was not alone. He, in reflex, hugs her tighter, fearing this being a lie. It is with the man she loves most so fragile in her arms that she reaches the certainty that, if in order to survive in the midst of despondment, Five needed to find love — human, real —, her love for him can indeed overcome any other feeling she may feel in the face of it. Izabela pulls away from the hug, connecting her eyes with his and guiding her hand from his hair to his cheek, in a sweet caress accompanied by the melancholy of a weak smile. “When we save the world… Tell me about her. Tell me about you both.” in immediate reaction he frowns, a slight protest as if he assumes that this would only hurt her, but she continues “Five, I love your heart. And this… is part of it now… Let me know. We'll find a way.”

Five hesitates. Izabela is very good to him, always has been. He sees in the affectionate look she gives him the pain his wife is feeling, but he also sees how genuine she is in everything she says. The suffocating dilemma makes him want to die, hating to cause such displeasure to someone he loves so much, but it also makes him wonder if he has gone mad and is just trapped in a dream, so Kafkaesque was the dread he has felt of this moment for the last few years. He kisses her, briefly, leaning in with a sigh and praying in gratitude before joining their foreheads, nodding in agreement, agonized.

“Fuck, I missed you so much…”

“Good to have you back, Five.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Like the misfortune of flowers burning in a fire, Izabela, however, never gets to have Five lying with his head on her lap in a moment of affection, reciting about how much he loved her even from a distance. She also doesn't hear her husband's cautious voice telling her about the dangers that left his life hanging by a thread countless times during those years away, or about the unplanned feelings he experienced. She never had to get used to how their marriage would adapt when he sorted out his pending love with Lila, because such plans never came to fruition, just like the ones to sort out with his brother Diego.

The existence of this love, — of these loves — intertwined by the knots that constituted its universe, was eternally erased in two marigolds that, I like to believe, only survived the rebirth, the wind and the storm due to the hope and lull watered shortly before the end on the vestige of cherish that fought in the hearts of the two lovers.

Five and Izabela Hargreeves.

N/A: What do you think? I'd love to read your opinion!

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