#and I’m not worried about outgrowing all my clothes

[overlydeniableteddy]

Fattening Valley

First pov / feedee pov / second pov feeder / intox feedism / weight gain / mention of sex

I’ve already been at the farm for quite some time, working hard to build a successful life for myself in the valley, engaging with the townspeople, pining after Harvey and slowly winning his affection…

And then one day, you come to town, taking it by storm. I offer you a place to stay in the farm house so you don’t have to worry about finding accommodation while you get settled. It’s only after a week or two that you begin to enact your master plan, only eating half of the dinner you prepared in thanks for letting you stay and giving me the rest of your portion and a few leftovers. Me being polite, I accept, not wanting to admit to you that I’m already full. You start cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner, all of them bigger portions than what I usually had. You bring me snacks throughout the day, slowing me down and making me feel more sleepy and lethargic.

The charade continues for a few weeks, a pot belly forming under my clothes, my thighs and ass looking a bit more thick and blubbery— my face puffing up slightly. That’s when you move onto the next stage, you take me to Gus’ for a big thank you dinner, all this time you’ve been making subtle moves towards me, declaring your romantic and sexual desires with me, I laugh you off and say that I’m flattered. But you don’t stop. At this dinner date, you ply me with a variation of wines and beers, getting me drunker as you flirt more and more with me, I start drunkenly flirting back for giggles. You order plate upon plate of food for me, stuffing me so full that I nearly fall into a food coma at the bar. You scoot your chair around to my side of the table, slipping your hand into my clothes, feeling the taut bloated body beneath. I rest my head on your shoulder as you make me finish every last bite. Whimpering and burping from how full I am. The other townspeople look on in confusion and worry, they thought that it was me and Harvey that were supposed to end up together… but they don’t intervene.

At midnight, Gus closes for the night. You essentially carry an exceptionally drunk me home to the farmhouse, I belch and moan the whole way back, one arm looped around your shoulders and the other resting on my stuffed full belly. Once we get back, you decide to encourage me to drink some milk I forgot to sell during the day and I comply, lusting after you with boarish desires.

The next morning, I wake up still stuffed and hungover, unable to bring myself to get up and go about the farm chores. You smile and waltz your way into my bedroom, a thick stack of pancakes and a large coffee (with some whiskey mixed in), you declare that you’ve already done the chores for the day so I should relax and take a day for myself in bed.

You start doing this more and more, always making sure I’m in a state of tipsiness at all times, it’s easier to get me to eat more this way. My bloated pot belly becomes a large hanging gut, my arms flabby sacks of fat that can’t even bring themselves to pick up even a hoe anymore, my legs thick and blubbery cellulite ridden slabs of meat. My face rounded and cherub like— constantly rosy and jolly. I’ve begun to outgrow my once baggy clothes, knitted jumpers always riding up my belly halfway, showing off a large slice of pale fat belly.

Harvey becomes worried, he sees my decline of diet and increased intoxication, he wants to confront you for my changes but I brush him off and tell him that farmers are supposed to carry a little extra thickness, it’s all just thick muscle. He’s flustered but let’s it go until I stop doing the farm work entirely, and only appear in town for our weekly date at the saloon where you get me drunker than I’ve been all week and stuffed to beyond my increasing limits.

It goes on for a year, you transforming me into a lazy, flabby pig that can’t even take care of his own farm anymore, spending his days eating and drinking in various locations— constantly outgrowing his clothes. My body truly becoming a round and blobby spectacle for the whole valley to bask in…

And then we marry, I’m yours and yours alone. Your fat, drunk piggy, a fallen vestige of a once promising young farmer.

[mollywog]

Complicated

They've finally made it to a place where they’re stable enough that he doesn’t need to spend every Sunday out in the woods. The girls have stopped outgrowing their clothes and with the spring, Katniss’s morning hauls bring what they need for the week. He still loves it beyond the fence, but after years in the mines, six days a week, even a favorite pastime can make a man weary. So lately he’s forgone his hunts for time on the porch rocker.

But this morning he’s back in the woods at his wife’s insistence. She’d said she was worried about Katniss in an unusually cryptic way that suggested she wanted him to judge for himself. Katniss and Ruth are both headstrong, two peas in a pod, though he knows better than to speak it to either aloud. As a result, the tough conversations come better from him.

He’s paid particular attention all morning, but can’t seem to pinpoint the source of his wife’s anxiety. Though she has only just turned eighteen, Katniss seems to have grown into a woman overnight. Or maybe this has been a long time coming and he’s missed it in the dim light of evening. If anything, she seems to be alight from within.

It isn’t until it’s time to dress their kills that he understands his wife’s concern. Katniss’s glow vanishes, replaced by a palid green hue before she loses her breakfast behind a bush.

Shit.

He crouches beside her, his water flask in hand, “let’s sit down and talk Catkin.”

“Do we have to?”

“I don’t need the particulars, just a few questions,” Where her mother would lecture and fret, he knows there’s no use in the would’ve/should've - what’s done is done. “How far along?”

“Not long, but I’m keeping it, if that’s what you’re after,” she says, clutching her midsection protectively.

He nods, “and you know who the father is?”

“Of course,” she snaps and he’s glad to see she’s still got fire despite her exhaustion.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t realize you had a boy. Does he know?”

“Not yet.” He lets his silence speak for itself. “It’s complicated,” she adds defensively.

“Is he free?”

“One final reaping. Same as me.”

“That’s not what I meant. Is he free?”

She scowls, “No papa, he’s not married nor bound.”

He tisks, “Then I can’t figure what could be so complicated about it. Unless you don’t think he’ll do what’s right? Or maybe you don’t want him?”

She sighs, “it’s not that either,” she rubs her eyes, “I’m gonna tell him, but if I do it now he won’t want to wait to get married and that would ruin things for him.”

“Hmm, Is he a fool?”

“What? No!”

“If you trust him, you should tell him. If he respects you, he’ll heed your concerns. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure it all out. If not, you'll always have a home with your mother and I.” He means it, but he feels ten years older than he had just this morning, with the thought of their present security gone.

“Thanks papa,” she says, and he smiles despite his concerns. “I’ll think on it.”

Their trip to town is made in silence as he tries to imagine the man and the circumstance but comes up blank; not even a guess.

Their first stop is the Mayor’s, then Cray’s, then the butcher’s. He stands back and watches Katniss handle the trades. It fills him with pride.

When they arrive at the bakery, she falls in step behind him, and he takes the hint to lead. He’d bet she’s looking for a buffer if the baker’s witch of a wife is around, but fortunately for them one of the sons answers today; the youngest if he recalls. “Is your father in?” he asks.

The boy straightens, “Yes sir, but I’ll be handling trades from now on. Come summer, I’ll be the new baker.” The kid’s eyes flit to his daughter then back to him, “I just got word that my loan was approved. I close on the bakery July 5.”

“Really?!” Katniss’s voice catches him off guard and he turns to find her open delight at this seemingly trivial piece of town news, before she drops her eyes to her bag. He looks back at the boy who’s still beaming at his daughter and the pieces fall into place.

‘It’s complicated’ - hadn’t that been what Ruthie’d told him all those years ago when he’d asked her to marry him? He supposes it might have been even more so if her parents had been considering selling her the business and she’s been expecting his child.

The pair regain their composure enough to complete the trade, though neither quite successful at hiding their giddiness.

“Complicated huh?” He says as they walk back towards the Seam, “let me guess, a little less complicated come July 5?”

“Maybe so.”

He hums, “just don’t wait till then to tell him.”

What If?

[kindred-sims]

A letter to Matthew Dailey from his daughter Agnes, 189x

Dearest Papa,

You must give Auntie my thanks for me – though I intend on doing so myself in a separate letter, I’m very grateful for all the extra baby clothes she’s sent us recently. I cannot begin to overstate how much they are needed, you would hardly believe that Tommy was so small when he was born, but that doesn’t seem to be the case lately as he’s begun to outgrow all his old things. Will says its the Barclay in him, all Barclay boys grow to be big eventually – and I daresay he is correct. Both of my boys have been growing so much and so fast, I can barely keep up with them these days.

It has been a change, I’ll admit, going from one to two small children. I don’t know how I would manage without Martha’s help, she has been so wonderful in her visits. Playing with Charlie, keeping him distracted in the instance that Tommy was fussy and needed my attention. I worry that I’m taking advantage of her eagerness to help, but she has told me time and time again that helping me look after my little ones is a delight for her.

Charlie, meanwhile, I would say is ecstatic to be a big brother. He was admittedly rather reserved about it at first, but he’s taken to Tommy much like a duck to water. I suspect they shall be very good friends someday.

The farm is also doing well. We received quite a handsome payout from our recent harvest, and I’m so glad for it, not just for my own sake but especially Will’s. He’s been working so hard lately, I can't think of a time where he isn't out in the crop fields or tending to some other grueling task that requires his attention, I fear I barely see him these days.

I worry for him sometimes, as much as he tells me not to.

I suppose all I really can do is pray for him, in the meantime. I always do, every night before bed I utter a small prayer for him. He’d scoff at it, I know – he’s not a God-fearing man at all, but it gives me some comfort rather than doing nothing.

Yours,

Mrs. Agnes Barclay

[glitchytrait]

Whoever Loves Her Next - 07

wordpress version

Throughout the next few weeks after I told my parents, the name of the game was avoidance. I was avoiding everything possible when it came to even thinking about Harry, but the world made this harder on me than I ever would have thought.

I should have known before ever getting on the plane to Florida that I would be caught by paparazzi there. It hardly took 24 hours for the pictures to spread all over social media, along with the presumptions from both fans and magazines. Most of them were correct in assuming I was pregnant, but neither Harry or I had taken to the press to confirm anything. I know he wouldn’t want to say something to anyone without my permission. As for me, I refuse to step back into the spotlight before I’m ready.

It takes a couple days and one post in particular for me to decide to log out of all my social medias for the time being. It was a short video clip from the night of the concert before we lost Michael, one that I had been refusing to see ever since it started spreading.

It shows Harry’s face the very moment he saw Alex offstage, signaling him to come off despite them being in the midst of a song. He didn’t hesitate. He nearly dropped his guitar and sprinted off the stage, knowing just by a glance that something was wrong. The video ends abruptly as everyone in the audience realized that something was happening. I held my phone against my chest and fought back the tears at the memories rushing through my mind.

From that moment, I knew I couldn’t handle anymore bombardment from the fans and press. I didn’t even announce my departure from my accounts, I just logged out without a word to anyone. If anyone I knew needed to contact me, they’d have to do it through a text or phone call.

The avoidance came in other ways, too. My coworkers had been asking about my trip, but I brushed it aside every time they brought it up. Occasionally, I would hear two of the younger staff members whispering when I would step into the break room for a drink. I knew it was about me, and yet, I still did my best to ignore it.

On top of that, I had put off making an appointment with my OBGYN almost every day. My annual exam wasn’t for another few months, so she would know something was up the moment I called. I hadn’t even worked up the courage to search for the office’s phone number yet. The closest I got was sitting on my bed in near tears, clinging onto the pregnancy test with one hand as the other wiped at my eyes.

I knew one of the hardest parts of being pregnant again would be telling my friends. I could hardly even admit it to myself, so saying it to another person felt like mission impossible. One of my closest friends, Clarissa, was the first one I told and was completely out of the blue.

She insisted on taking me shopping to get me out of the house, as she knew how depressed I was, but not the reason why. Her intentions were good, but all I could think about as she sifted through the racks of clothes was that soon, I’d be outgrowing all of mine due to the little person in my stomach.

“What you really need is a new dress,” Clarissa insisted. “A night out on the town with me and some hot guys is the perfect way to make yourself feel alive again.”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled as we went to the next rack, this one being full of short, glittery dresses. “I don’t really need new party clothes.”

“Well, then what part of the store do you want to go to?” She asked.

My stomach started twisting into a knot as I spoke. “Maybe the maternity section?”

The moment the words fall out of my mouth, I can feel her eyes on me. Her lips are parted not only in surprise, but worry. She knows how terrifying pregnancy is for me now, but I can tell that she is so shocked she doesn’t know what to say. I do it for her as the tears begin welling up in my eyes.

“I didn’t go on vacation. I went to Harry.” My voice wavers when I speak his name, and she reaches out to rest a hand on my shoulder while I wipe at my eyes to stop them from overflowing.

“He’s just so different from who he was,” I tell her. “And I know I’m different, too, it’s just…”

“Scary?” Clarissa assumes correctly, and I nod in response. “Are you scared that you’re too different to get back together?”

I huff in frustration when a tear manages to escape. I quickly wipe it away as I reply. “I’m scared of that; I’m scared of losing the baby. I’m scared of everything. To move too much or breathe too hard. I’m scared I could fuck it all up again and make him fall back into the pit he was in a few months ago.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up, babe.” She pulls me by my shoulder to enter a hug. This only makes me want to cry more. “And you can’t bend over backwards for him to try keeping him away from the pit. You have to focus on staying away from it yourself.”

A sob erupts from the back of my throat, and I squeeze her tightly. “I don’t know how to stay away when every day, I seem to be a little closer to the edge.”

“That’s what you have me for,” she assures me. “I’ll always be here to bring you back, okay?”

I sniffle as I rest my head against her. “Okay.”

beginning | previous | next

[lazyexjock]

you’re easily at 250 lbs now..( probably closer to 300, if we’re being honest.)

you spent your entire life working out and worrying about your physique.. in less than two years all of your hard work and commitment has completely disappeared. the only thing you have determination for nowadays is to finish the food in front of you so you can move on to what you’re going to consume for me next.

you’re completely unrecognizable from the person you were when we met. i’ve watched you outgrow “new clothes”— going on three cycles now of you having to increase your sizes on everything. luckily i don’t mind wearing the cute boy-stuff you don’t fit in anymore, you always had good style.

most days start the same as they have since we met: you down a wg shake (sometimes two, depending on my mood) while i make breakfast for you. (you have to consume close to 8000 calories a day just to feel full anymore.) you spend every day in an aroused, caloric-filled stupor. constantly half-erect at just how overweight you’ve really gotten in such a short time.

all day while you work from home, you continue to eat snacks and mindlessly indulge. while i work out, pick up groceries and bake for you in my spare time away from work. my social life is still active and thriving, but you’ve chosen lately to stay inside, lazing and snacking away. (i don’t mind, i know that’s where you belong. ) our friends have stopped asking about you joining us, i think everyone is finally starting to realize you just aren’t as active as you used to be. you’re so much happier at home, glutted into a food-coma, aren’t you?

when i come home at night after my shift at work, you’ve already eaten one, maybe two portions of dinner for yourself (most nights i show up with mcdonald’s or del taco as a midnight snack.. you never say no. how could you resist eating WITH me?)

you end most of your nights exactly how you did when we first started this dynamic.. swollen & engorged from stuffing your face with empty calories all day. barely getting up from your spot on the couch (you outgrew your desk chair months ago it seems.. so you do all of your computer-work from the couch now)

after the last one of your countless dinners —followed by whatever dessert i’ve whipped up just for that night— i finally allow you to waddle to the bedroom and pour yourself into our bed (is it just me, or was there more room for cuddling when we first started?) you’ve gained so much at this point, the mattress frame groans and creaks as you make your way on top of it.

it doesn’t take long for you to fall into a deep sleep, attributed to the sheer number of calories you’ve consumed for me. (you barely have the energy for sex anymore, but i make sure to take care of you regardless) afterwards, caressing your over-fed gut with both hands. i’m still in shock at the immense heft and weight from it. it still leaves me completely in awe that under 2 years ago when we met you still had defined abs i could touch, now the only definition you have is the growing amount of fat you have spilling over your waistband .

i think you’ve drifted off when you ask “are you still attracted to me? i could always start working out again. it wouldn’t take too long to bounce back into shape.”

i kiss you and rub your massive gut (how does it look even bigger today?) assuring you that i’ll always be attracted to you, just how you are. don’t worry about starting to work out again, there’s always.. tomorrow ♡

Fuck- why is my brain like thissss. I like how two years from now, you have me still asking if I can work out hahah

[abstract-donut]

General: 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8

skipping a few of these that I answered already!

1. feedism 💕 All my gaining has been accidental, but i’m not one to overly worry about my numbers or my partners’

2. can we have both? mutual is my absolute goal, but as someone who dreams of a mutual gaining relationship where I’m the uncontested heavier partner, I’ll say being fed 💖

5. stuffing! bloating is fun, but I love just accidentally ending up eating too much and ending up too full to move without help or time to digest 🤤

7. gosh, I could go either way!!! being a piggy “working” “”hard”” to fatten up, or being such a glutton that even as I say I’m not gaining I end up outgrowing clothes? I’ll give a very slim victory to unintentional, just because of how laid back it can be 💕

8. in practice, i’m very much for soft feedism, but I’m comfortable fantasizing or playing with hard feedism fantasies with people I trust!

[gainercrimsonartblog]

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20

{ SFW Positive Feedism Questions }

1) Are you a gainer, admirer, or both?

Both!

2) Sweet or savory foods as a preference?

Definitely sweet. I’ve got a major sweet tooth.

3) What weird food combinations do you really enjoy?

So far the weirdest food combo I can think of is salami dipped in ranch. Great for a quick snack, pairs well with white rice if you want something more filling.

4) Favorite nonsexual thing about feedism?

I’d say just the part where I can more freely enjoy the food I like.

5) Burping is cute: yay or nay?

Yay

6) Describe your perfect date

A relaxed one. A local, small restaurant or a hangout at either my own place or my partner’s.

7) Stuffing/feeding at home or in public?

So far only prefer at home. Then again, I’ve never given at try with doing it in public. I’m constantly worried about how strangers think of me by default.

8) Something you think all bigger people should hear___

You guys are all beautiful/handsome no matter what size you’re at. What matters is whether or not you’re happy with your body.

9) If you had an endless supply of food, what would you choose?

Okay, I know I said I have a sweet tooth, but dark chocolate. Baking chocolate levels of dark. Give me that 80-90% cacao and I’m happy.

10) Best piece of advice for new gainers would be___.

I’m a new gainer myself, so for now just take your time. Take it slow and eat however much of what you want to eat. Your weight will fluctuate no matter what you do.

11) The scale: important to you or just a number?

Definitely important for the time being. I was excited when I last weighed myself and saw the difference from before.

12) Where would you rather the fat to go, to the belly or the butt?

Definitely the belly. Most of my added fat already goes to my butt and thighs, I’d like to even it out.

13) When cuddling, do you like being the big spoon or the little spoon?

So far I’ve only ever been the little spoon, and I do enjoy it. But I wouldn’t mind being the big spoon for a try, so long as my partner doesn’t mind someone so short being in that position.

14) Favorite piece of clothing to outgrow/watch someone outgrow?

Paints. Very much pants. I still remember when I fixed a friend’s pants and it ripped in a different, but extremely close spot to the one I sewed while I was in the room. Beautiful sound,.

15) If you owned a restaurant, what kind of food would it serve?

No doubt something unhealthy like extremely creamy pasta or something healthier like this one chicken-based dish I really like but can’t remember the name of.

16) Favorite type of food?

Anything pasta with either chicken or shrimp. Especially if it’s either really creamy or cheesy.

17) How would you deal with family and friend’s comments about you or your partner’s weight?

I’ve only ever had negative comments from one family member, others kept quiet. So I would point out the fact that they’re clearly pushing their own insecurities onto me/my partner and need to back off.

18) Country you’d most like to take a food tour of?

Man, if I had been asked this question ten years ago, I would have adamantly said Japan. But these days I’m torn between Mexico and Italy.

19) What do you typically have for a midnight snack?

Typically? Nothing. When I can afford it? Those mini hostess donuts that come in medium-sized bags. Specifically the chocolate covered ones. I ate about half a bag just last night while gaming to destress. I’m not a stress eater, I kept it near me for just in case I was relaxed enough to finally feel hungry again.

20) What was the best meal you have ever had?

I’m honestly not sure. So for now I’ll say it’s the very rare artichoke and mayo meal I’ve had in the past. It’s simple to put together and I have zero issues with the textures.

[overlydeniableteddy]

Thought I’d post this— please do not be scared, I’m not going anywhere!!

Since moving away for school, I’ve actually managed to lose weight? Which is crazy for a feedist blog, especially since I’m a feedee.

When I first weighed myself four weeks ago, I was 17st 6lbs because that’s how the scale likes to put it so I was more like 244/5lbs which is pretty fucking big— definitely verging into morbidly obese territory!!

But since my diet has improved, I’m eating healthier despite stuffing myself on the occasion with ice cream and takeout… I’m losing weight. Last week, I weighed in at 17st 2lbs/240lbs which I thought was me just losing water weight or something like I was reassured.

That is unfortunately not the case, I weighed myself this past weekend and I topped out at 16st 10lbs/233lbs. I have been losing weight at a steady pace which I’ve found has actually been exciting!!

I’ve spent most my life as a bigger person, although I’m not that big compared to most of the gorgeous fatties on here but big by the way of the “outside” standards.

I love being fat, the sexy allure of gaining and stuffing, outgrowing clothes. I love being complimented and teased for my flabby body.

That is to say, I’m not actively gaining or losing weight, it’s just what’s happening to my body and I’m taking it easy. It’s a big thing for me too, to be losing weight after struggling to do so for so many years of my youth.

It’s also worth mentioning that I’m still pre-t and am on a waiting list to start medically transitioning but I’m worried that if I gain too much, they might deny me the chance and it’s not something I’m willing to risk. But there is always the possibility I’ll gain later in life when I have more money to and am comfortably in my transition (especially with t hunger being so rampant).

I’m not going anywhere, the blog is staying the same but I thought I should post this as a stream of consciousness if people notice me get smaller or something, I’ll still post myself but maybe not so much— got to keep that fat piggy image of myself alive!!😉

This doesn’t change anything about any of the conversations I’ve had with anyone on here either, I love flirting and being teased, complimented, and especially fantasising about getting fatter (I’m definitely a feedee still!!) so please please do not be put off by all of this and I hope you’ve read to the end. I’m sorry if anyone feels betrayed or annoyed but I’m still the same it’s just currently my body has opted to lose weight— I’ll probably gain properly in the future when I’ve got more of my life figured out.

Thank you to everyone for the support and all the love🥰

[windose20s]

the final member of my talentswap’s tranfem trio (members 1 and 2 are linked on their respective numbers) !!!! here she is, lucky student!sayaka !!!

im worried she looks too similar to her canon - i tried to make her palette a bit more green but i dont think it worked too well twt

also, i’m gonna start reblogging all of my content on this au from my main to @protagchihiro! big posts (such as character posts like this) will stay originally posted to here (my main) but that’ll be my ‘art blog’. everything will probably be originally posted on main first because i’m really bad about actually USING my sideblogs lol

as usual, extra doodle + backstory under cut!

she’s like, makoto inverted if that makes sense

okok her backstory is a lot shorter and more of an explanation of her luck cycle. but still :

sayaka has almost constant good luck, but it’s little things: the rain happens to stop when she leaves the house, she gets good grades even though she never studies, etc.

however, every few months something bad happens; she gets locked out of the house while her father is out of town, she gets blamed for an incident she was a bystander in, etc. the longer it’s been since the last bad thing, the worse the next one is.

the only major good luck she’s had was winning the hopes peak drawing. directly after, two bad things occur: nobody is available at all to help her pack her things/move into the dorms, and she hits a sudden drastic growth spurt that causes her to outgrow all of her clothes in a span of a week.

this is the only time something like this has happened, but it’s hypothetically how her luck cycle goes. she has constant little sprouts of good luck over a few months, and then one bad thing happens, OR, she gets one big instance of good luck, and then two bad things happen.

this is less backstory and more just character-building, but in the killing game version of this au, her motive video is changed to her tight-knit group of friends from her old school, since she doesn’t have an idol group when she’s not…an idol…

(also, i do have two versions of this swap: non-despair and kg. i cant stand to see my personally developed babies die, though, so i mostly focus on the non-despair vers)

[chubbology]

A Little Incentive

prompt: someone skinny grows chubby on their partner's good cooking and insistence they eat well

From the tempting smell of bacon and syrup that wafted into the room, I knew she’d outdone herself this morning.

“I made breakfast,” she stage-whispered to me. I grinned and turned over in bed, feigning sleepiness even though what I really wanted was to sit right up and take that plate from her hands.

Then my stomach growled and she laughed.

“The others are jealous,” she said. “But I told them they already had a habit of eating breakfast. You’re the one I need to hammer it into, by any means necessary.”

I took a deep breath and sat up in bed, pushing hair out of my face. “Consider me incentivized.” I took the heaping plate of breakfast food that she pushed at me, then the fork, and started into the chocolate chip pancakes, which were half soaked in syrup. Also on the plate lay bacon, eggs, hash browns, a muffin, and…

“French toast sticks, too?”

“As a reward for finishing all your exams! I know you like them.”

I thanked her. She poked my side and smiled fondly at me. “At the beginning of this semester, you would have said this was too much. I hope you know that it makes me the happiest girl in the world that you’re eating properly now.”

In response, I took a bite of extra crispy bacon and groaned in pleasure. As she got ready for the day, I considered her comment. Eating properly. She and I had different definitions of that, or used to at least.

My first two years of college were hard. Working part time, taking hard classes, dealing with an awful roommate. I barely took care of myself. I thought eating properly was eating at all. But then I met her and we hit it off, became friends and then more than friends, then moved in together with a couple more roommates just barely off campus. All the while, she made a point of showing me each day what eating properly meant to her: big meals cooked in the kitchenette or piled onto plates in the dining halls, snacks throughout the day, and never forgetting dessert. It kept her chubby, but she didn’t mind. I certainly didn’t.

“Bye!” I called out as she left for her last day of exams. She seemed confident about how hers had gone so far. Me? Not so much. I was never a good test taker.

I finished my plate down to the crumbs. I went and leisurely washed the dishes. I had pretty much nothing to do today. From the silence coming from the other bedrooms, I knew I had the apartment to myself, too. I could go outside, but it was too hot. And like hell I was going to go to the library again until I absolutely had to. There were always video games, but I stayed up late last night staring at screens, trying to forget my poor performance on my own last exam of the semester. I felt burnt out on everything.

I blinked in confusion when I realized I’d opened the fridge. I closed it. I literally just ate, so I don’t know why I’d…

The next three hours, I spent back in bed. Looking on my phone, resting my eyes, worrying about exam results, and tugging on my pajama pants. They were tight because I was so full. Eventually I decided to do something productive, starting with a shower. Maybe I could drive to a café or something, hang out there.

After showering and dressing (since I wasn’t exactly full anymore, I figured the tightness of my shorts was from bloating) I wandered into the kitchen for something to snack on. The fridge was always well stocked, and I eyed the rest of the batch of muffins in tupperware. I heard her voice in my mind: It makes me happy when you treat yourself.

What the hell. I took out the container, opened it, and took a bite out of the cinnamon raisin muffin. I closed my eyes. Big and sugary and so good. Better than the first one, maybe, because it had cooled off and I could better taste the flavor. I ate another one. And then I treated myself with a third before closing the lid again. There were still eight left.

I tried putting the container back in the fridge, but something stopped me. Go ahead, I heard her say. You don’t eat enough.

Slowly, I opened the container again and ate two more of the muffins. They were just so good. Then I put the container away, firmly slamming the fridge door and biting my lip. Truth was, she stopped telling me I don’t eat enough months ago.

I went back into the bathroom and took a good look at myself, which I’d avoided doing before. Truth was, my shorts were tight because, thanks to my partner’s cooking and our lingering stays at the dining halls and my new penchant for snacking, I had filled out more than a little. I’d put on my own chub. My shirt clung to my sides, which were soft and rounded (Is that why she poked me?), and upon closer inspection, I couldn’t deny my face looked tubbier, too.

I stood in quiet shock for a while, gently pressing my palm to the outward slump of my belly, its natural shape when I didn’t suck it in. (When did I start unconsciously sucking it in?) After a minute of dazedly contemplating my weight, I rummaged around for a dusty scale and stepped on it with bated breath.

My jaw fell open. My whole face, my neck, my ears flushed red, even though there was no one to see me there, finding out I was thirty seven pounds heavier than expected.

Forty pounds? Almost forty pounds? It was impossible. I didn’t look that much bigger.

But she had always said I was too skinny. So maybe twenty of those just filled me in? And then the rest was…extra? Forty pounds.

The surprise waned after a few more minutes of checking myself out in the mirror. I found I wasn’t as upset as society had led me to think I would be.

I did go to a café later that day. My newfound self-awareness didn’t kick back in until after I got a grande frappe and a scone. At my table, I thumbed the belly that now warmed a small part of my lap before eating and sipping my treats anyway.

My shorts felt so tight after a while, I just unbuttoned them and hoped no one would notice.

I spent a few hours there, reading and browsing my laptop and giving my soft belly secretive, intrigued touches before I started thinking about the six remaining muffins at the apartment. When I got back, I found I was in good company.

“I really did good on these,” she said, swallowing. “Want one?”

I took one, trying to hide my sheepishness. Did she guess it was me who ate the five that were missing? Or did she think it was our other roommates? Did she think…

“You want to get a late lunch?” “I think I need new clothes.”

We stared at each other. She chuckled, “Sorry, what?”

I flushed, tugging conspicuously on my shorts, not quite able to find the words. “Need to go shopping.” I’ve gained almost forty pounds. Forty pounds! My throat constricted.

“Oh.”

I looked up at her. “You’re a good cook,” I said, grinning. Still a little embarrassed.

But now she was a bit pink in the face, too. “Yeah, we should go shopping. Um. You aren’t mad. Are you? I just really like to cook and bake, and you really were too skinny and—”

“No, no! I’m not mad. I—”

Am I going to get fat? I wanted to ask her suddenly, and I felt very warm. I’m always eating these days. What if I outgrow the new clothes I buy? What then?

“I hope you know I think you look good,” she blurted. My thoughts ceased. “Really good.”

Suddenly, I was aware I’ve been sucking my belly in again. Would it be weird if I stopped? Just let it...swell out? I took in a deep breath, then let it all out, not sucking in this time. Her wide eyes fixated on my chubby lower belly.

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to be awkward. “To be honest, I only noticed recently that I look…different.”

Her eyes met mine and she looked very adoring. I’m sure my expression was identical. “Just a little. I was surprised how much your appetite grew.”

“Yeah. You still want to get lunch?” I asked. “Kinda feel like the dining hall.”

Kinda feel like going all out.

I won’t get fat.

Only a little, maybe. Not the end of the world.

“Okay,” she squeaked, as if hearing my thoughts. “Good idea. After all my stupid exams, it’s time to treat myself.”

I wholeheartedly agreed. So we went.

I loved how she looked shyly excited the whole time, as I overdid the second and third helpings. It seemed to make her overdo it some, too. Which spurred me to make it a competition, and there we sat together, overeating like a couple of chubby fiends.

“Still think you’re too skinny,” she taunted me, as we left, already discussing plans for dinner.

*

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

[transtalk]

“Here’s some stuff I’ve learned in my ~12 years since I started transitioning”

*Posted with permission from a Redditor who chooses to remain anonymous.  I am over 10yrs into my transition and agree with most of these points.  Thought this was a great share to help our younger transmen.

I’m 26 and I started transitioning at 14. I recently passed my 10yrs on T recently and I figured I’d pass on some random knowledge I’ve accumulated in my experience.

Physical stuff:

-Be prepared to outgrow any clothes you buy in the first 5ish years on T. You might think you’re in the clear after a couple years, you’re not. That includes shoes.

-Looking at your father and brothers for an idea of what you might look like on T isn’t always accurate. My dad and brother don’t have much body hair, I’m a damn werewolf. On the other hand, they have full heads or hair. My hair has decided to migrate from my head to, well, everywhere else.

-Mature hairlines are a thing, doesn’t necessarily mean receding. My dad has the former, I have the latter.

-Not all hair follicles grow at the same time. Your beard after not shaving for 2 weeks is not the same as your beard after not shaving 2 months and then trimming it to that same length. Ive had a thick, full beard since I was 20. I had to shave for a neck surgery and for the first month I was back to my patchy teenage beard. Right now, wearing a mask is a great opportunity if you want to try growing it out without looking ridiculous.

-Still train all of your body if you’re trying to get a more masculine physique. You may worry about having a bigger butt or thighs but trust me, it’s still important. Also, it’s not all about shoulders, chest, and arms. The lats and traps are often overlooked.

-Penises sit lower than you think and are smaller than you think. Take that into account when packing. I haven’t been in the market for many years but I pray that there are more options now that aren’t 5+”.

-If you get a hysto, hold a pillow over your belly when you cough. Trust me.

-If you have surgery in general, you’re probably going to be thirsty when you wake up. Go slow when they finally let you have water. I’ve puked on a few nurses… sorry guys.

-If you have bottom surgery with urethral lengthening, you might have extra drops of pee that get stuck. The way your urethra is situated has a different angle so more pee gets trapped in there. Press up on the gooch to get it out. Some cis guys have to do it too, it’s called the taint tap.

-Athletic fit pants are great for big booty bros.

Social/emotional stuff:

-It can be hard to see it sometimes, but plenty of cis guys have the same features you’re dysphoric about. Baby face? I’ve got male coworkers older than me that look like teenagers. Wide hips? Some dudes are bottom heavy. Short? If you pay attention, there’s short guys everywhere. The average guy doesn’t look like Channing Tatum.

-There’s a thin line between dysphoria and dysmorphia. What you see in the mirror could be totally different from what people see when they look at you.

-It’s fine to pee in the stall. Standing or sitting. Nobody gives a fuck. Even after phallo I pretty much exclusively pee in stalls. Less splashback, privacy, and pee time is me time.

-There’s another step to transitioning you might not realize: becoming confident in yourself as a man. It’s easier said than done and it can be a pretty long process. You are a manly fuckin man (or a feminine man, but you’re still a Fuckin man) and you are no less of a man than any other. You will be much happier once you can say that to yourself and truly believe it.

-You don’t owe anything to the trans community. There’s no denying there can be negativity. If it’s taking a toll on your mental health or causing more dysphoria, it’s ok to step back. You’re not obligated to involve yourself just because others in the community have helped you. You owe yourself happiness. It took me way to long to learn that. I pop in online once or twice a year in places like this sub where it typically is a civil environment but I limit it to that.

-Along the same lines, it’s ok to be stealth. You are more than your gender and it’s ok if you don’t want others to define you by that. Again, you don’t owe anybody anything. You can support the trans community without disclosing. Vote in support of trans rights, call people out on their bigotry, donate to charities, etc. And unfortunate as it is, your voice is sometimes more heard as an ally than as a trans person.

-Even if you finished the required therapy to get hormones/surgery it’s good to stick with it if you can. I know it’s not possible financially or time wise for everyone, but if you can, you should. All of your struggles don’t magically disappear when you medically transition. It’s good to have a professional help you process everything. I honestly think most people in general can benefit a lot from therapy.

-You could still have some dysphoria even when you have fully transitioned (whatever you define that as for yourself). Many don’t but it’s not a guarantee. I’m sorry to break that to anyone who is just starting their transition but it’s important to realize. If you recognize it, you can learn to cope. I still feel some dysphoria occasionally about the things I cant change. Mainly that I can’t be the biological father to my children. I have to remember that it’s not genetics that makes a father, it’s love and care.

My experience obviously isn’t going to be the same as everyone else’s but I hope this can help someone a little bit.

[wormstacheangel]

Bec and Ali Creators Week: Day 4 - baby!jack au where Dean fell into the portal with Lucifer and Cas lives

It’s been almost a month since Dean disappeared into the portal with Lucifer.

Sam has been off researching all things otherworldly while Mary does nothing but hunt. She never calls back but sends an ‘I’m okay’ text whenever she remembers.

Cas, on the other hand, has been on the run with baby Jack the whole time. He thought they could have lived in peace in the lake house, but since the portal opened, it’s been a calling card for every supernatural creature around them. Including angels and Cas couldn’t risk anybody hurting Jack.

“You can’t do this on your own!” Sam yelled at Cas through the phone. “Just tell me where you are, and I-!”

“No! Sam.” Cas sighed as he looked over at the motel bed to see Jack’s little hands grasping at air as he fidgets and laughs. “I can’t risk what happened before, happen again. Jack he-when he is upset it could be catastrophic.”

“I won’t hurt him.”

Sam promised. But he has promised this before, and the only reason Sam is alive is that Cas begged Jack not to hurt him. Jack was as powerful as anybody feared, but he is still so gentle. His powers only appearing when there was a threat nearby. Now Sam was a threat.

“I can’t be sure he won’t hurt you, Sam, and I just can’t risk you.” You are all I have.

The days were never lonely with Jack. Cas has dealt with true loneliness before to know the difference. But they weren’t any easier.

“Please, Jack. Please stop crying.” Cas would bounce Jack in his arms, unable to understand what was wrong. Jack doesn’t get sick like a regular baby. He doesn’t sleep or eat like one either, so those books were utterly useless. They only helped remind him repeatedly about keeping to a schedule, and right now, Jack should be tired.

Cas sang to him, hoping whoever banged the motel door won’t come back yelling about shutting the baby up. Jack has cried for two hours now. Not stopping. And while Cas did not sleep, he felt exhausted.

“Show me what’s wrong, Jack. Please. I want to help you.”

Dean would know what to do. He would know how to hold Jack and bounce his arms to an exact beat that made all babies feel comfortable. Dean was amazing with kids. Amazing with everybody.

“You would have loved him.” Cas bent his head over to press a kiss to Jack’s soft bald head. He took a big calming breath of baby before continuing to bounce the baby in his arms. This time Cas sang a familiar song, one may be inappropriate for Jack but comforting nonetheless. “And if you say to me tomorrow. Oh, what fun it all would be. Then what's to stop us, pretty baby. But what is and what should never be.”

“I actually didn’t understand the lyrics and had to look them up.” Cas talked as he looked ahead at the ugly wallpapered room. “Dean knows them, though. Sometimes he mumbles it, and he gets embarrassed when he messes up, but he knows it. He just gets excited.”

Cas stops talking when he realizes the crying has finally turned into easy breathing. Jack was finally asleep.

The relief didn’t last long. Cas was lying in bed, eyes shut with Jack sleeping on his chest when he felt something off with the air around them. It tasted too electrifying and heavy to feel like a storm.

They have been found again.

Cas is quick to pack up, cradling a once again crying baby to his chest. It would be faster if he had both his arms to pack up their mess, but he left some things behind as he drove off. Leaving another motel for the road again.

Driving the Impala to the next motel took a three-day drive. Jack was patient enough, blabbering alongside the music, but even they needed to stop to get some fresh air every once in a while.

In the motel, Cas once again had to watch the video on how to bathe a baby because he always assumes he will do it wrong. He made a checklist out loud, asking Jack what else they may need besides food and diapers. He promised to head straight to the store in the morning to buy him new clothes since the baby quickly outgrows every new outfit Cas could manage to get him.

As the day was winding down, Cas called Claire to check up on her. She worries about him but won’t admit it out loud, so Cas keeps the conversation focus on her. She asks about Jack but more to be polite. She is scared that the baby may end up being the thing that would kill him, but Cas saw a future where Claire was happy and safe, so all this trouble would be worth it.

Though he saw a future with Dean too, but every day, it felt like that vision was wrong. Maybe that vision was long gone now. All possibilities to it were now shattered.

Cas turned to the bed when he heard the start of cries. Jack was waking up.

“Hey.” Cas crawled into bed beside him. “Oh, don’t cry, Jack.”

He presses a kiss to his son’s head, feeling warmth run through him. “I love you so much. You know that?” Cas lifts Jack up and holds him to his chest again. Letting Jack settle down for a second before Cas continued. “I know we are dealing with a lot right now, but having you, Jack, still makes me feel happy. I just wish I could give you the life you deserve.”

Cas sighed as his hand gently pats at Jack’s back.

“I just wish I could give everyone I love the life they deserve.”

They settle in the motel for a week before they had to move on. Motel. Impala. Motel. Impala. That was their life.

“I’m so tired,” Cas whispered to himself in the mirror, splashing water on his face as he hears Jack continue to cry in the room over. Of course, Cas would start crying himself because Jack has been crying with no rhyme or reason. Not one that Cas could find.

They haven’t stopped driving for a week. They rested in the car, and it was only a short time before they were found again. Cas finally lost whoever was after them after killing three demons in the gas station, but he was nicked a few times. Grace seeping out of him for a few seconds before he healed himself.

Jack could heal him, sure, but every time he used his powers, they had a new group coming after them. So no powers for right now. While Cas was desperate to feel better, he was also desperate to stay put for a while and not drive.

“Jack, baby, please don’t cry anymore.” Cas crawled back into bed, tears forming around his eyes. “Please stop crying. I’ll do anything you want.”

Jack’s little lungs gave it everything they got in the sudden yell, and Cas hid his face in Jack’s little body as he cried alongside his baby.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “Dean would have known what to do. He would have taken so much better care of you.”

Jack’s little cries stung again and again. Feeling hopeless and frustrated, Cas only kissed him. He was trying to quiet his cries while also fighting his own.

“Please, baby, don’t cry.” Cas cradled Jack to his chest and kissed his little head as Jack’s tiny fist hit him. “I never knew how much it would hurt to see a child cry. I never thought I would know this heartache.”

Cas started to sing. "You are my sunshine. My only sunshine.”

The voice filled with more gravel as he fought his own sob.

Cas fell asleep for the first time since having Jack. He dreamt of the happy vision, of Dean, of the happy family he longed for. All the things that were looking impossible today.

Cas wakes up to a flash of light.

[thedeathdeelers]

a little drabble that came to mind while chatting to and exchanging juke ideas with @phantomsandsunsets (and by chatting i probably mean shouting in all caps)

please enjoy!

——

beating hearts baby

it had been weeks since the orpheum, weeks since he’d finally been able to touch her, hold her, and cradle her face in the palm of his hands. and although it was awkward and a little hesitant at first, they had finally managed to cross that line of will they won’t they the moment luke had accidentally slipped up and whispered that he loved her in her ear one night after a big gig.

she froze in his embrace, his body following suit, but it only took her a split second before she was tightening her arms around him and declaring her love for him, the words spilling out of her like a waterfall.

ever since then, they had become inseparable (well, more so than usual). julie would wake up in the mornings, get ready for school and make her way to the studio. she would wave goodbye to the boys, get a tight hug and a lingering kiss from luke before she made her way to where flynn was waiting for her. her best friend always looked at her with an amused but exasperated expression on her face, probably due to julie’s slightly dazed one. luke always some pride in that.

as soon as she walked down her street after school headed towards the studio, luke would beat her to it, eagerly waiting for her at the edge of the Molina green jungle. he would scoop her up the moment she was within arm’s reach, crushing her into a hug and pulling her further into the garden, away from any prying eyes - they didn’t want to have to explain to julie’s neighbours how she had suddenly mastered the art of floating.

they would walk hand in hand to the studio, julie filling him in on her day, and luke eagerly listening to every word coming out of her mouth, as if scared he might miss out on a crucial detail that made up the very essence of julie.

the day would go on with the two of them nearly attached to the hip; julie eating her lunch and luke sitting on the kitchen island chattering away about all of the new ideas he came up with while she was at school. julie sitting at her desk doing her homework, while luke scribbled away on his journal on her bed. the two of them at practice, rehearsing new songs with the boys while still making eyes at each other.

and then came their favourite part of the day: cuddling in bed and talking about the past, the present and the future, before julie drifted off into blissful slumber.

luke would spend the night eyes closed, arms wrapped tightly around the light of his life, as he tried to burn the feeling of her against him in his mind.

and although luke would never say this out loud, never dare let julie know in fear of upsetting her, he knew that as long as he was a ghost, there wasn’t much of future for them. he couldn’t envision a future where he got to keep her forever. the thought hurt him more than he could ever put into words, but he loved her enough to know that he was going to have to let her go eventually. he was a ghost, ever unchanging, no heart, no heartbeat; no blood pumping through his veins. julie deserved better - julie deserved someone who was alive.

but for now he would cherish these moments for as long as he could - and at the end of the day, he would always be there for her, no matter what.

if only he knew that he had her heart just as much as she had his non-beating one.

——

and so the days bled into weeks and months and years, and still the boys remained frozen in time, still as 17 as on the day they had died.

julie had just turned 17, and luke was trying very hard not to stress about the fact that she was getting closer and closer to outgrowing him, both physically and emotionally. he tried to keep it together, really, he did, but once they had settled into her bed that night, his agitation was starting to seep through his thinly veiled façade.

“luke? are you okay?” came her quiet question, staring up at him through her lashes with wide brown eyes.

her head was nestled on his chest, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, while hers was loosely thrown over his stomach. they were like two pieces of the same puzzle: always meant to find each other and slot perfectly into place.

he knew he should lie, knew that he had never planned on letting her in on his inner turmoil, but he was never good at keeping secrets from her - especially when she looked at him that with all the trust in the world.

with a deep sigh and averted eyes, he finally shared the thoughts he’d been keeping to himself for years.

“ya, i’m fine. i just- you could do so much better, jules. you deserve so much better.”

“what do you mean?” he could see the genuine confusion on her face, could tell that this was not a conversation she was expecting. his eyes kept twitching back to hers, the growing worry on her face only making it more difficult for him to continue.

he tried to reply, tried to form the words to make this right, but his mouth wasn’t cooperating. she was looking at him, her eyes scanning his face, most likely taking in the pained expression that was slowly taking over his features.

“luke? what’s wrong?” she lifted her head off his chest, her hand moving from its place on his waist to stroke his face, trying to ease away the lines of anguish.

wordlessly, he pulled the hand that was tucked under his head, and pressed it against hers. he closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath letting the the fragrance that was purely julie overwhelm him. he wanted to drown in her, treasure the feel of her soft warm skin on his, and not think of the consequences.

but he couldn’t do that to her.

gathering her hand in his, he slowly dragged it down his face, down his neck and further down his chest, until he reached the spot where a steady beat should’ve been felt.

he held her hand there, and waited. waited for a sign of understanding, an “Oh,” anything. but when a few seconds had passed and he still hadn’t gotten a reaction from her, he forced his eyes open, dreading the look of pity he assumed would be clear on her face. instead, he only found confusion still evident in her eyes.

“jules you..you just turned 17 today, and i’m still 17. next year you’ll be 18, and the year after that, 19...and even then i’ll still be 17. i- i won’t be able to keep up with you and i- i..i don’t want to hold you back, keep you from living your...” luke averted his gaze again, trailing off as the corner of his lip pulled down, twisting in his attempt to hold himself from fully breaking down.

he tried to focus on her ceiling, then her desk - her window, the pile of clothes laying on the chair - anything so as to reel in his emotions. but as the quiet stretched out in the dark room, luke started to get more and more worried. he tried to focus on his breathing, his mind spiralling as he started to truly believe that julie was about to pull away. surely she agreed? surely she realised that he was only holding her back from fully living the life she deserved?

the silence was killing him.

barely a few seconds had passed before luke was opening his mouth again, willing to fill the silence that was suffocating him. but before he could make a noise, a small hand made its way up over his mouth, effectively silencing him.

he turned his head to look at her, only to be taken aback by the fierce determination that blazed in her eyes. she’d never looked more beautiful.

“you are what i deserve. what we have is what i deserve. it’s what i want in life and i can’t do better because this is already the best.”

“but-” he tried to speak through her fingers but she cut him off before he could get past one syllable.

“no. this isn’t up for discussion, luke. i made my decision that day, years ago, and i’m not changing it now. i have faith that we’ll find a way. fate brought you to me, and there’s a reason for that.” she nodded to herself, her eyes piercing his.

“and what’s the reason?” he mumbled, her fingers still pressed against his lips.

“that we’re meant to be together.” she said it so simply, so confidently, that he couldn’t find it in himself to question it, to argue.

but he still needed to make his point across - needed to make sure she understood.

“jules, i- i’m not saying that we’re not. i just...” he pulled her hand away from his lips, and dragged it back down to where a dormant heart lay.

“i don’t even have a heartbeat. you know it’s yours for the taking, julie. but...it’s not even a functioning heart.” the momentary surge of hope that was brought forward with julie’s words was starting to fade.

he was still dead.

“we’ll figure it out.” he just stared at her, her answer so straight forward, so uncomplicated.

“i-” her hand found its way back to his mouth.

“no, luke. we will find a way.” she cocked her head slightly to the side, a small smile making its way onto her lips. “trust me.”

he gazed at this girl, this angel - his wicked beauty - who seemed to have such unshakable faith in the universe, in him, in them, that he couldn’t find it in himself to fight it anymore. at least not tonight.

he quirked his lips up, before pressing them into a kiss against the palm of her hand.

“okay.”

“okay?”

“yeah. you’re the boss, right?”

her eyes crinkled as her smile grew, spreading warmth in his chest and momentarily chasing away his fears.

“yes, i am.”

and just as she was leaning in, closing the distance between his lips and hers, she stopped. luke raised his eyebrow at her, about to lift his head to reach her, but she suddenly moved, ducking her head and changing direction.

he watched, confused, as her head traveled down his neck, dropping kisses as she made her way further down towards his chest. and there, right above the spot where his dormant heart lay, julie lowered her lips and pressed a soft kiss against his thin t-shirt, lingering there for a few seconds before lifting her head back up.

it was fleeting, but luke swore he could have felt a soft thud against his ribs. he knew it was impossible, probably just wishful thinking, but he had felt it.

“i love you.” the words escape him easily, his chest bursting with the love he felt for this girl.

“i know,” her eyes twinkled mischievously, as she made her way back up his chest to rest her head against the crook of his neck.

where she belonged.

——

in the next few weeks, the strange thud in his chest kept coming back, sometimes once, sometimes multiple times in the span of a few seconds. never continuous.

it kept happening until one day, the thudding picked up and never stopped.

he had her heart, and now she had brought his back to her.

FIN

——

taglist: @moreflowersthanweeds , @thesunsetcurvephantom , @fanfics-she-wrote , @pink-flame , @molinashimbos , @ourstarscollided , @ace-bookworm, @williexmercer , @star-astro , @heademptynothoughts , @i-thought-i-knew-what-love-was , @candycornmgg , @blush-and-books , @radioactive-rosh , @tmp-jatp, @tonightthestarsalign

[fruitcoops]

Hey Eve! So first of all I wanted to say that I really love how you write arguments- even during escalations, I still respect the characters because you handle the arguments so well. This is kinda silly but I have a friend who I feel like isn't putting time into our friendship and I'm always asking her to hang out, so I feel a bit unwanted by her. Would you be willing to write a fic with that general premise? Idc the characters but your fics help me so much with having difficult conversations

Thank you! I’m sorry you’re going through that with your friend; in my experience, that is one of the worst feelings in the world and I wish you the best with them.

To the anon struggling with their acne that requested Leo and Reg: you are beautiful no matter what <3

SW belongs to @lumosinlove! TW for acne, mild pain, and lack of communication

Regulus’ phone pinged and his heart did its best to make an escape via his throat.

New Message From: Leo Knut

Are you on your way?

It was preceded by six other messages, most with the same general theme. Regulus shoved it back into his hoodie pocket and sank lower into the mattress, wincing as his cheek brushed the pillow. He had never thought acne would be painful, but it had been growing steadily worse over the past week and he could only reschedule plans so many times.

Message To: Leo Knut

Can’t make it

Sorry

See you tm?

Three dots appeared below, then disappeared. They lingered longer the second time.

Message From: Leo Knut

K

“Shit,” Regulus muttered, feeling guilt twist in his guts. He had been so ready to go that morning—it was just acne, after all—but one too-long glance in the mirror had sent everything crashing down. He couldn’t go outside looking like that. He just couldn’t. It was embarrassing, and painful, and he looked like a fourteen-year-old kid going through puberty all over again.

Someone knocked on the door. “Regulus? Are you awake?”

“Oui.”

The door opened a crack and Dumo poked his head in with a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to meet Leo this morning?”

“I’m sick,” he lied. Dumo laid the back of his hand over Regulus’ forehead and squinted at him in the darkness with a hum. “I already let him know I wouldn’t be there.”

“You look fine to me,” Dumo said, clearly suspicious as he sat at the foot of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Just stuff.”

“Just…stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Embarrassing stuff.”

Dumo raised his eyebrows. “Can we talk about it? You’ve been avoiding Leo for the past week, and from what I hear, he’s pretty bummed.”

“It’s stupid,” Regulus mumbled, turning on his side despite the sharp pain from the red spots on his face.

“It’s not,” Dumo said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Not if it makes you this upset.”

“How do I—” Regulus faltered, pressing his lips together. He took a deep breath. “How do I get rid of acne?”

The words came out in a rush; he didn’t expect Dumo to catch any of it, but he simply made a noise of understanding. “If you weren’t the most hygienic person that has ever lived in this house, I would suggest washing your face. It’s different from person to person, but all your brother had to do was outgrow it, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it was similar with you.”

“So I just have to sit here and wait?” Frustration bled into his voice and he scowled, holding the pillow tighter.

“You can still do the things you like, Regulus.”

“I look stupid.”

“No, you don’t.”

“It’s gross.”

“It’s not.”

“How do you know?” he snapped. The guilty feeling returned with a vengeance and he tucked his legs up closer to his body. “Sorry.”

“Everyone gets acne. You just have do decide what you’re going to do in the meantime.” There was a light nudge to the middle of his back. “I suggest putting a shirt and some real pants on, and then meeting up with your friend like you said you would, oui?”

Regulus sighed through his nose. “I guess. These are real pants, by the way.”

“Sweats don’t count. Allez, petit serpent, Leo is waiting.”

Regulus dragged himself out of bed and splashed some water on his face—rubbing soap onto his skin was way too painful at the moment—before changing into real-people clothes and sliding his shoes on.

Message To: Leo Knut

Change of plans

DQ?

He waited in silence for what felt like a lifetime before three dots popped up.

Message From: Leo Knut

See you in ten

A pause, and then a simple <3. Regulus smiled.

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

“So.” Leo licked a drip off the base of his cone and laid back against the windshield, letting his head loll to the side as he cocked an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“My face feels fucking awful, dude.” Regulus hummed around the spoonful of minty blizzard for a second. “Being a teenager is the worst thing ever.”

Leo snorted. “We’re not technically teenagers anymore.”

“Still.” He hesitated, then knocked their elbows together. “I’m really sorry, by the way.”

“For?” Leo avoided his gaze and went back to his ice cream.

Regulus chewed the inside of his lip before answering. “The last week of avoiding you. I didn’t want to go out looking like this, but that was such a shitty thing to do to you.”

“It was. Apology accepted.” Leo glanced over and flicked his bicep. “Of everyone you know, I’m literally the last person who would judge you for that. Other things, absolutely, but not acne.”

“I know,” Regulus said quietly.

“Next time that happens, will you at least tell me what’s going on?” His blue eyes turned sad. “I was worried something really bad happened.”

“It won’t happen again,” Regulus promised, and he meant it. They sat in silence on the hood of the car with their ice cream for a while, pointing out weird-shaped clouds with various hums of approval; he wondered how he ever thought staying away from his best friend would make things better. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Wanna see a tiktok of a duck I saw the other day? Made me think of you.”

A smile flickered over Leo’s face, then came out full force as he scooted closer. “Of course I do.”

[cowboyjen68]

Recently I’ve been debating getting top surgery. I know that some butches get top surgery and seem happy with the results but I’ve also met some who grew out of their discomfort with time. So I guess I’m debating if I should wait to see if maybe the discomfort around my chest will ease with age or if I should look into getting top surgery. The ones I’ve talked to also had this discomfort about their breast growing during puberty but they said after some time it decreased but for mines it seems like a problem that hasn’t gone away.

I am so sorry for the delay, seems work and side gigs are taking up a lot of my time lately. 

I can only speak from my experience with my body and from other lesbians I talk to... and I talk to a lot. I have many friends across generations. Many of my younger friends are butch but not all. My older friends are a myriad of types of lesbians and as diverse as the greater population. This weekend now that we are all vaccinated we had a campfire with 12 lesbian, 5 butches present. We have definitely had discussions about our breasts, discomfort, and the mourning over loosing breasts to cancer (or the danger of cancer).  Most of my buddies, from 19 to 68 share similar stories about learning to be at least “okay” with their bodies in a world where our physical attributes are often used to define our personality, and our worth. 

One thing we ALL share, as women, not just lesbians, is that we were at best dissatisfied that we have breasts starting as soon as they begin to form. I was 7 when mom told me I had to wear a shirt outside. Wow was I pissed. AND as a 7 years old I knew it had nothing to do with me but everyone seemed just fine with the fact that men were the issue but since we can’t change them we must change our own behavior.

 I remember thinking “how is me not wearing a shirt a problem”. Breasts had been neutral for me at that point. Just another part of my body. Once I realized “they” made me different, more vulnerable, more controlled, less “human” than those around me without breasts I turned my hate on my body instead of the people who really were to blame. Just like I was taught, I can’t control the men but I perhaps I could control my body. 

I have raised at least 10 teenage daughters (2 are lesbians now) my youngest adopted is 15 and when her other mom told her to put on a shirt in the summer of her 8th birthday, even in our rural yard she looked at me dead in the eye and said “why haven’t you fixed this yet?” (meaning women’s bodies being subject to the eyes and opinions of men). I wonder.. why haven’t we? She is the youngest, but all the others grew from hating their breasts to at least neutral, some really love their bodies and that is lovely. 

Lesbians are unique in our dealings of men’s opinions because we never need or want the approval of men in relation to our bodies. The opposite in fact.. we would prefer they see us void of anything they find sexual. Many women, straight, bi, lesbian eventually either learn to give no shits about the opinions of men or they learn to work around that feeling.

Ok.. all that being said, my story. My breasts are B cups, perhaps C’s when I was a bit heavier weight wise. I wore regular bras WITH padding and always as tight as a could to make them less noticeable. When I came out i switched to sports bras because i was embracing being butch and no longer wanted to play the game of wearing  “pretty bra” . I never wore tight shirts, always baggy. I wore the tightest bra I could wear to keep my breasts smaller, less visible. FOR YEARS. 

Going to a women’s festival opened my eyes to the many ways bodies can be. The many ways BUTCH bodies can exist. Women went topless and NO one sexualized them. (except when appropriate-- like while flirting etc when it was welcomed). Thousands of people, many topless and no one, not one person was oogled, cat called, teased, or otherwise treated as different than someone wearing a shirt.  What did they all share? Why was it different than in other places? Women. All women and mostly lesbians. However that did not automatically translate to “I am going back to the real world and giving no fucks about the reality of existing with breasts in our world”. It took time.

I no longer wear a bra just an undershirt. BUT I am in control of where I go, who I interact with most of the time. If I was still at my retail job, I’d probably still wear a bra. I no longer dislike my breasts. I love them. They bring me pleasure, they bring my girlfriend pleasure. They are a lovely part of me BUT that does not mean I am not very aware in public of my nipples being visible or of people noticing I am braless. And I imagine it is harder for women with larger breasts. 

Had binders been a “thing”, had I had access to a double  mastectomy, or the idea of it i cannot say that would have pursued either. The pattern suggests I would have. But again., neither were on my radar, not options presented to me or encouraged as a way to solve my discomfort.

 I have  three friends who have had elective double mastectomies. And many who had one to prevent or remove cancer. Several of them suffer consistent and painful nerve damage that is not treatable, is quite common, is unpredictable (they can’t know who will have it) and possibly life long. Of the three who were trying to alleviate the distress of dysphoria, all three regret the decision and none of them are over 30 yet. These women are all lesbians. Those who had the surgery because of cancer are thrilled to be happy and alive with less worry, although they do deal with nerve issues and mourn the loss of a part of their body. 

I have a few trans men friends, although we are not close. A  couple of them have had double mastectomies but their thoughts or feelings have not come up, we are just not close enough for such a personal discussion and none have had the surgery for more than 2 years.  I have had lots of older lesbians friends (and a few younger) who did get breast reduction surgery and their health and mental health were both improved. Their backs are better, their clothes fit better and they feel more active, less self conscious with out the physical risks of a full mastectomy. 

The easy answer and what I WANT to say, is be patient, find lots of older lesbians friends to show you your body is neutral, men are the problem. Give yourself time to understand that your breasts are as butch as the rest of you. They are a natural part of your body and how you are meant to be. Also, I know there is not an easy answer. Men will continue to exist. They will continue to sexualize lesbians (with or without breasts). I didn’t outgrow wishing my breasts could just disappear(in public settings) until my 40′s but it got easier and easier to sort of “live with it”. I am many times over grateful for my healthy breasts now. 

Seek therapy.. and not someone who will just go along with what ever you say. My therapists works me hard. She makes me answer the hard questions. She has me vocalize things that I don’t even want to admit in my head let alone out loud. Find one like that. Find one who is willing to explore all the reasons your breasts cause you distress. Then, if you decide to proceed, you can do so knowing you were worth the hard work and you can feel more confident in making an informed decision. Don’t make any decisions based on the opinions of men. Your body. YOUR decision. Write that down on a post it and keep it somewhere you will see it. 

If you would like to speak to some others who are struggling with how you feel or want to talk to lesbians who can tell you about their double mastectomies, DM me, perhaps I can connect you. 

If  anyone wants to add their experience in the notes please be kind. No judgement for anyone making such a difficult decision. 

One last thing to this long post. From one butch to another.  I care about you and I am saddened and angry at  bull shit you have to wade through in this world. I get it. You are not alone. 

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #15: Slow Night: Mirio Togata

In which you and Mirio aren’t having much luck on patrol together.

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), Pro Hero Mirio, aged up characters, size kink, smaller reader, tummy bulge (? Idk what it’s called), vaginal sex, cock riding, police scanners, rooftop sex

Notes: I’m back on my Mirio bullshit today. Only this time, it’s thirsty, thirsty, thirsty. Today’s prompt was ‘size difference,’ and I... ah, what was I saying?

I’m horny for Mirio and frankly, it shows.

Kinktober Masterlist

“Okay, that’s it. I’m calling it.”

It’s a chilly night for patrol, but the air is clear as a bell. You’re squatting on the flat rooftop of some corporate skyscraper, puffing frost into the air and huddling together around the tiny police scanner. It’s been silent all night- so silent that, at one point, you had to check the batteries, just to make sure you weren’t missing out on the action.

Tonight’s the first cold one all year, and you’re starting to wish that you had thought to transition into your winter gear. At least that suit comes with gloves- your fingertips are like icicles as you rub your palms together.

“Yeah.” Mirio shifts next to you, irritatingly warm and cheerful as always. He runs like a radiator no matter what season it is. He lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck and gives a deep chuckle. “I guess it’s been pretty quiet for a while, hasn’t it?”

You deadpan. “Not a single call. Not one. We could’ve been halfway through the new season of Schitt’s Creek by now.”

You’ll never honestly resent this part of your job. Pro hero work isn’t always about flashy rescues and daring escapes. Sometimes, it just means being there, in case. But you can’t deny that a night as dead as this one puts you in a sour mood.

“Don’t worry,” he assures you, slipping a weighty arm around your shoulders and giving you a squeeze. “We got all day tomorrow, I promise. We’re taking Saturdays now, remember?”

He drops a kiss to the crown of your head, sending a pleased warmth through your entire body. The lines between partner and lover had been blurred a long time ago, but you usually try to keep them separated when you’re in the field.

Still, you suppose there’s nothing typical about tonight.

“Cold?” He nudges, and you scoot a little closer. You’re starting to shiver.

“Aww,” he continues. “C’mere, little moonbeam. Lemme warm you up.”

He tugs you into his lap and rubs your upper arms, doing his best to warm you up. Then he pulls you tightly against his chest, hanging his chin over the top of your head and curling his body around yours.

“You’re so tiny,” he laughs, drawing a hand up the column of your back. “So small. I bet I could pick you up with one hand.”

You can feel the heat beginning to rise on your cheeks and the temptation to scramble off his lap and call it a night spikes. There’s no denying the difference between you. It’s not like it’s difficult, to be smaller than Mirio.

“You can,” you remind him. “You have.”

Not your proudest moment.

He reaches over and gives the swell of your hip a little pinch, making you yelp and squirm against him. His expression is masked in the shadowy darkness, but the glint of his eyes is unmistakeable.

You’re in trouble.

“Let’s stay out here a little longer,” he murmurs. His hips tilt up against yours as he buries the tip of his flushed nose into the crook of your neck.

“Babe…” you protest, but the urge to fall in with him is quickly outgrowing the urge to resist him. His warm breath puffs over your skin and he presses his lips to the point where your neck meets your shoulder, smiling against you.

“C’mon,” he grunts. “I’ll keep you warm, princess. I promise.”

He slips a gloved hand under your chin, tilting your face up as he straightens. He leans in and captures your mouth- slowly, at first, building the urgency naturally. It’s something he’s always been good at, playing it cool with his kisses. It’s how he always gets you, too. You find yourself leaning in to match his desire before you even realize.

Your hands curl in the front of his suit. His palms slide to your hips as your knees fall to either side of his lap. He slides his fingers back, groping your ass. He gives it a little slap.

“Miri-“ you start to gasp, but he shuts you up with a bruising kiss.

“Hero names, princess,” he rasps. “I’d hate for someone to be listenin’ in on us.”

“Can it, Lemillion,” you growl back. You take his jaw in your hands and kiss all the smugness from his face, grinding your hips down against him and making him groan, making his cock stir to life down the left leg of his tight suit.

He lifts his hand to the zipper at your throat and starts tugging it down. As he gets the tab to the bottom of your sternum, he pauses, pulling back from your mouth to hook his fingers in the edges of your suit and yank it down off your shoulders, exposing your bare chest in the chill of the night.

“Thought so,” he growls, leaning in to nose at your collar bone. “Been lookin’ over at you all night, princess. You really didn’t think I’d notice that you left your bra at home?”

He’s palming one of your breasts now, his gloves cool, but not nearly as chilled as your own fingers. Your fingers dive spitefully into his perfectly styled hair, unafraid to muss.

“So perfect,” he whispers against you. “You fit right in my hand. Like a little peach.” He gives the flesh of your breast a squeeze before his mouth descends on you. He licks and sucks your nipple into his mouth, taut and tender from the chill. From his teasing.

You barely feel the cold on your back, squeezing your eyes shut and clinging to him. Your hips buck forward and you find the strain of his erection, sliding the apex of your thighs shamelessly along it as his arms slide around you. His face is buried in your chest right now, nipping across your breasts and sucking at your other nipple like a man starved.

“Let me stretch you,” he grumbles, eagerly pushing his hips into your sloppy rhythm. “Let me have you, princess, right here. Let me see you.”

You tear the zipper the rest of the way down your front and help him shrug you out of the clingy fabric. He peels it down to your thighs and gets to work on his own clothes, digging his fingers under the top portion of his suit to dislodge his pants and shove them down. His cock springs into the space between you, thick and long and flushed like the rest of him. Your mouth goes dry.

He gets you every time.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, reaching between your legs and swiping a gloved finger along your slit. “I’ll make it fit. Just like I always do.”

He reaches around you, pulling your hips forward. You spread your legs and slip your hand between them, spreading your folds as you settle your hips over the tip of his cock. At the apex like this, it feels like there’s no way his thick head will ever make it. But he holds himself steady, and you work yourself down. Millimetre by millimetre.

“That’s it, my little princess,” he coos, sliding his other hand in and out of the curve of your waist as he watches you struggle. “No preparation at all. Look at you. You’re gonna be so tight for me, I can feel it already.”

He slides his hand in and thumbs the swell of your clit. You yelp, hips jerking downward, and the head of his cock pops past your tight entrance. The sting rushes through your body, but you’ve learned to live for it by now.

“Oh, man,” he groans. “Look at you go. So tight around me, princess. You’re gonna wring me out good.”

With a few more heartbeats of encouraging words, you work yourself onto his cock. Mirio groans and juts his hips into you, places his hand on the flat of your belly where the tip of his cock pushes at your flesh. He’s so much, too much to take all at once, but you’re addicted to the feeling that only he can bring.

Nobody fills you as deeply as Mirio.

“Look at your little tummy,” he growls, “bulging all for me. You’re so small, I can’t believe I haven’t split you in two by now.”

He grabs your hips between his hands. His thumbs nearly touch in the middle, and he grips you tight as he starts to thrust up into you. The chill hovers in the air around you, but there’s only heat between you as you throw your head back, boneless already.

“Miri… Lem… Lemillion,” you whine as your pussy clenches around him.

“That’s it, princess,” he gasps, starting to lose himself already. “That’s it. Let me work you so good. God, you’re so tiny, I-“

His words are lost as you slip a hand between your legs and start to stroke your clit. The pleasure overwhelms you and you clench around him, milking the pleasure from his body with every stroke.

“Fuck, princess,” he grunts. “Not gonna last long as all, with you touchin’ yourself like that.” You know when he starts to curse that he’s really losing control. You lick your lips and re-double your efforts. Your wrist starts to ache, but you’re too close to stop now.

“Baby,” you gasp, “Shit, I-…” You can feel that rubber band drawing tighter in your lower belly. Threatening to snap around him at any moment.

“I’m there,” he pants. “I’m there, princess, god, milk my cock with your tight little pussy.”

It doesn’t take more than that.

You come with a howl into the skyline and he follows close behind. He seizes your hips and drags you against him, slamming your body against his balls as he pumps his hips upward and grunts, coming hard. He buries his face into the crook of his neck as your pussy convulses around him, taking every pump of ecstasy that he spills into you.

Both of you take your time coming round, letting the haze dissipate slowly. By the time you open your eyes the sleepy bliss of your orgasm is starting to wear off, and the cold of the waning night sets in.

The dull hiss of static prompts your ears. Mirio looks first, realizing that it’s the police scanner. You hook your chin over his shoulder, watching.

“…jewelry shop…west 89th and Parkdale…violent Quirk…”

“Holy shit.” You jump off his lap, hurrying to zip yourself back into your suit. West 89th and Parkdale isn’t far at all. If you hurry, you could still make it in time.

“What’d I tell ya, princess?” Mirio chuckles, tucking his softening cock back into his suit and tugging the two halves of his costume together again. “Staying out here’d be worth your while.”

You’re stiff as you finish buckling up the last of your suit, but you can’t hide the way you’re smirking.

He’s right. Definitely worth it.