#anybody else ever get tired of bein ignored

[cardtorius]

Idk what people care about i just post and kinda pray people like it tbh. Here's some marvel snap shots.

[drpeppertummy]

this was Supposed to be a steamy little hunger-to-stuffing thing but it wound up being the most normal non-kinky shit ever its mostly just leon & shel bein mushy together like they do

[mildly described hunger, brief & mild stuffing, warning for a vague dollop of suicidal ideation at the beginning, mostly just leon pulling shel out of a slump]

Shel lay limp in bed, staring glumly up at the ceiling. The old alarm clock beside him read 1:45 p.m. He hadn't gotten out of bed all day. After another long night of barely any sleep, he just didn't have it in him to move. Laying there wasn't making him feel any better, of course; he felt absolutely miserable. He hadn't eaten since the night before. His head hurt, and so did his empty stomach. His knees, which had kept him up, still ached badly, and he was utterly exhausted.

Shel's mental health had come a long way in the past twenty years, but, like anybody else, he was still susceptible to the occasional off day. This was one of them. If he'd been feeling well enough to get up, he might have tried something drastic, but then, if he'd been feeling well enough to get up, the desire might not have been there at all. He let out a shaky sigh.

As he lay there, the silence was disturbed by the sound of his phone ringing. He almost ignored it, but, just as it was nearly finished, he reached out and took it from the nightstand, his stiff joints cracking as he moved for the first time in hours. It was Leon. He flipped the phone open and brought it to his ear, but couldn't find the voice to greet his friend.

"Shelly?" Leon spoke first, following a brief pause.

"Hey," said Shel. His voice was soft and hoarse.

"Hey, Shelly, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"You sure?" Leon didn't sound convinced in the slightest. "You sound like you're on your deathbed. What's up?"

"Nothin'. Just one of those days, y'know."

"I'm gonna swing by in a little bit, alright?" Leon sounded worried, and Shel felt ashamed for worrying him. Leon had enough of his own problems to worry about; he didn't need to be fretting over him. Still, he was touched by his friend's concern.

"Alright," he said finally. "You're sweet, Leon."

"I'll be there soon," Leon promised. Then, frightened by Shel's lifeless voice: "Love you, Shelly."

"Love you too."

Shel was still laying there when he heard Leon knock at the door, then come inside. He heard his friend shuffle around for a moment, most likely looking for him, and then he heard his soft footsteps approaching the bedroom.

"Shelly?" Leon knocked gently at the slightly ajar door, then pushed it open. He looked momentarily alarmed at the state of his friend, but his expression softened into one of tender concern as Shel smiled weakly at him.

"Oh, Shelly," he said, his voice filled with aching sympathy. "Don't tell me you've been layin' there all day." Shel's gaze fell away from his, ashamed, and Leon sat on the edge of the bed beside him.

"I'm just tired," he sighed, and Leon understood everything. His stomach let out a long, hollow growl, and Leon winced.

"I brought some soup," he said softly, taking Shel's thin hand in his own. "Think you can get outta bed and have some?"

"I guess I oughtta." Shel pushed himself upright with a groan. He was terribly stiff, and he paused for a moment to stretch, his joints cracking loudly as he finally began to loosen them up again. Leon stood up and helped him to his feet. A wave of dizziness rolled over him as he stood, but Leon held him steady until it passed. His head was pounding now, the effects of going so long without eating finally catching up to him now that he was moving, and he wrapped an arm tightly around Leon.

"I think I know how mummies feel," he said with a hoarse chuckle.

"I'll bet," said Leon, smiling up at him. "Come on, let's get some food in you."

Slowly, they made their way to the kitchen together. While the initial bout of dizziness had passed, Shel still felt a little woozy, and after laying in bed for so long, his knees were so stiff he could barely walk. Leon matched his pace, though, and remained at his side until he was finally able to sit down at the kitchen table. He gave his shoulder a gentle pat and went to heat up the soup.

After not eating for so long, Shel felt more nauseous than hungry. As the soup warmed up and the kitchen began to fill with its cozy aroma, though, the idea of eating began to seem more appealing, and his belly rumbled again. He twisted around to stretch his back. As he did, his eyes met Leon's, and they exchanged a smile.

"Hey, how're you doin, anyway?"

"Not too bad," said Leon, leaning against the counter. "Finally got around to sweeping today, so that's an achievement."

"Hey, look at you," grinned Shel.

"And how are you, dare I ask?"

"Hell of a lot better than I was half an hour ago," said Shel, and he meant it. Even with his still-empty stomach, Leon had lifted his spirits just by being there, and getting him out of bed had helped a lot as well.

"Well, you'll feel even better once you eat," said Leon, taking the soup from the microwave and setting the steaming bowl on the table. Shel caught his hand as he began to pull away and held it tight for a moment.

"You're an angel, Leon," he said, a sudden tenderness in his voice that almost caught Leon off guard.

"Oh, come on." Leon leaned in and gave Shel a clumsy sideways hug, then sat down at the table beside him.

"Really," Shel insisted. "You're the best."

"Eat your lunch, Shelly," said Leon, smiling fondly at his friend. Shel returned the smile and scooped up a spoonful of soup.

The soup was left from a batch Leon had made the day before, following a recipe Shel had shared with him. It was thick and hearty, but not too rich, and easy on Shel's aching stomach. It didn't take long to fill him up, but there wasn't quite enough left in the bowl to save, and, despite his full tummy, he slowly finished it off. By the time he was done, his belly poked out slightly against the loose fabric of his pajama shirt. It felt taut and warm and almost ached, and if there had been any more it would have ached, but right now the weight in his stomach felt nice. He leaned back in the chair with a soft sigh, resting a hand on his rounded tummy.

"Better?"

"I feel like a million bucks," said Shel. Leon laughed, and Shel flashed him a toothy grin.

"I'd say you look like it too, but I feel tired just lookin' at you," chuckled Leon. "You oughtta get some rest."

"God, Leon, I can't stand the thought of goin' back to that bed right now," he groaned. Leon couldn't blame him. He thought for a moment.

"You could come take a nap in mine," he suggested.

"Oh, Leon!"

"Really! Hey, I just changed the sheets, it's clean, honest!"

"I know you're clean, you goofball," Shel laughed, giving Leon a friendly pat on the back.

"Come on, it's gotta beat sleepin' on the couch," Leon insisted.

"Alright," Shel relented. "You're a sweetheart, Leon."

The two friends climbed into Leon's scrappy little car and headed across town to Leon's place. Shel spent the short ride covering up yawns, and Leon couldn't help but smile at the sight of his sleepy friend sitting there in his pajamas, his mousy gray curls sticking up wildly and his full tummy poking just noticeably over the seatbelt. He'd looked exhausted before, but now he looked like he was fighting for consciousness, sleepier than ever with a belly full of hot soup.

Finally, they arrived, and Shel practically collapsed into Leon's bed. Yawning, he clumsily kicked off the old sneakers he'd thrown on for the trip before pulling his legs up onto the mattress. Leon pulled the blanket up, and Shel caught his hand again before he could go.

"You busy?" His voice was soft, as was his expression as he looked sleepily up at Leon.

"No, why?"

"Stay a while," he suggested, still holding Leon's hand. Leon considered that for a moment, then kicked off his shoes as well.

He briefly considered hopping into bed in his regular clothes, but decided to quickly change into pajamas as well before snuggling up beside his friend. It was after three now, and the sun filtered gently through the curtains, but neither of them minded, especially not Shel, who was already on his way out. Leon rested a hand on Shel's full belly. It felt snug and firm, but not uncomfortable, and he gave it a gentle rub. As he did, he heard a soft snore from his friend. He smiled, then closed his eyes and drifted off beside him.

[witch-of-the-west-country]

The story so far

Writing a little something for @emilys-arty-farty-stuff and just wanted her approval on the first part before I continue. 2007 The second Emily stepped outside, the Louisiana sun hit her like a brick to the face. Her glasses seemed to magnify the glare more than was scientifically possible, and the heat settled over her like a heavy blanket. Holy shit. She didn't ever think she'd get used to this. Coming from the damp and drizzle of the East of England to here wasn't just a culture shock, it was a thermal shock too. Not to mention what the humidity did to her fucking hair…… She'd lived in Dulvey for two months now and hadn't made a single friend. The people there weren't actively unfriendly, but they didn't seem to know what to make of her with her accent and her penchant for wearing odd socks, and she'd been carefully avoided the entire time. Emily went down the school steps, feeling the heat from the concrete baking up through the soles of her Vans. She was thinking of nothing but getting home to the air conditioned coolness and sitting in a dim room to draw. She had an idea for picture she wanted to do, and it had been burning in her brain all afternoon. There was a crowd gathered at the bottom of the steps, huddled in a rough circle, but in her artistic daydream she didn't register them, and before she had time to fully realise what she'd done, she'd plunged into the midst of the mass. Emily recognised both boys. Being ignored had made her more observant, and she'd learned names and characters as a coping mechanism. The huge guy on the left was Brent Chambers, a walking cliché - complete Jock, tall, muscular, tanned and blond. Captain of the football team, dating some scuzzy cheerleader. She stood of to one side, blowing bubbles with her gum and watching the events unfold with malicious interest. The boy on the right was Lucas Baker, and he was the complete polar opposite of Brent. From what Emily could gather, he lived on the edge of the bayou - she'd heard people call him Swamp Boy - and he was tall and skinny with an unfortunate beak of a nose and an air of permanent discontent. They were facing off, an unlikely match, and Emily shuddered at the thought of what the bigger boy would do to poor Lucas. The two of them didn't notice her sudden appearance, and Emily tried to back out of the arena, but the wall of people had closed behind her and she was trapped. “You better fuckin’ apologise to my girl, Baker. I'm tellin’ ya now!” Lucas sneered. “I ain't fuckin’ apologisin’ for somethin’ I ain't done!” he retorted. “You were fuckin’ touchin’ her, you pervert!” said Brent, outraged, and a murmur of excitement rippled around the crowd. “I bumped into her!” corrected Lucas, helpless frustration written plain on his face. “She should look where she's fuckin’ walkin’!” Brent snorted. “Bumped into her and touched her ass,” he said. Lucas shrugged. “Her ass was in the way. I can't help that. It's fuckin’ big enough.” Brent’s girlfriend - Brandi, was that her name? - gasped, her mouth hanging open, her wad of gum a pink lump on her tongue that looked like a tumour. Brent shook a thick finger in the skinny boy's face, the tip nearly brushing the end of that big nose, and Emily saw a snarl start to twist Lucas’s mouth at the imposition. For a second he looked like he was about to bite the digit right off. “Nobody touches my girl's ass an’ gets away with it!” “You sure about that?” asked Lucas. “I mean, from what I heard, she's pretty much fucked the entire football team……” “Oooh!” The combined syllable swelled from the assembled crowd. They were hungry for blood, and now it was sure to be shed. Emily was jostled from behind as people attempted to get closer, and though she dug in her heels she was shoved forward. Brent had raised his fist, ready to land the first punch, but Lucas hadn't moved, standing his ground, defiant. He lifted his chin as if daring the bigger boy to go ahead, and in that instant Emily saw his profile outlined against the burning orb of the sun - proud, unafraid, and about to be destroyed. Holy shit, she realised - he was beautiful….. Without even considering the hazard to her own person, and before she'd even realised what she was doing, Emily leapt between them. Ragged chatter broke out in the onlookers. Surprise, laughter, amazement. Emily looked up at the bruiser towering over her, his fist still raised but slowly drooping in bewilderment. “What the fuck…..?” he began, and trailed off. “Leave him alone, you wanker!” yelled Emily, adrenaline flooding her system and speaking the words for her. Brent frowned, and looked over at one of his wingmen, a smaller jock who just shrugged. The football captain adjusted his expression. “Now listen up, girlie - “ he started, but Emily was on a high now and tore on ahead. “No, you listen up, you massive twat! Just fuck off, right!” She put two hands against his broad chest and attempted to push him away. It was like trying to move a wall. For a moment, Brent looked like he might just shove her aside, but there were a lot people watching, and he evidently didn't want to be seen manhandling a girl. “This don't concern you, whatever-the-hell-your-name-is, so just get the fuck outta the way. This is men's business.” “My name is Emily, and you're not a man - you're a dickhead. And a fucking bully. So just piss off.” She folded her arms across her chest and stood, glaring up at him. Somewhere in the busy 60 seconds since she'd leapt to Swamp Boy’s rescue, the wave of adrenaline she'd been riding had reached the shore and washed up onto the beach in a tame little dribble, and now she was stranded and out of her depth. But she couldn't back down now. Brent had faltered, the moment was lost, and people were already starting to drift away, the spectacle no longer holding their interest. Trying to save face, the jock snorted. “Fuck this shit. I ain't got time for this.” He looked over the top of her head at Lucas, who still stood behind her. “We'll settle this another time, Baker. When yer little bodyguard ain't around.” Dropping an insulting wink, Brent turned away and strolled off, putting his arm around his girlfriend as they went. Possibly-Brandi shot Emily a confused glance over her shoulder. The gathering dispersed, leaving Emily and Lucas standing alone. Lucas hadn't moved throughout the entire altercation, and now she turned to him, her face burning. He was looking down at her with an expression of pure amazement, apparently lost for words, and Emily took the opportunity to examine his features close up. He wasn't conventionally attractive by any means, but he had good bones in his narrow face and the bluest, most piercing eyes she'd ever seen. She wondered if she had a paint in her palette that would do the shade justice. “Why d’ya do that?” he asked finally. Emily had no good answer, so she improvised. “Dunno. I was worried he was gonna break your face, and I wanted to draw it before it got smashed to shit.” It was the truth, she suddenly realised, although she hadn't known it till this second. “You wanna draw ma face?” He sounded incredulous, but he was blushing, she realised - not like she did, with colour rising in her cheeks, but in his ears, the upper rims reddening as she watched. She shrugged, somewhat reassured that he was apparently feeling as awkward as she was, and for a few seconds they both stood there, blushing in their own way. “Well, whatever,” he said eventually, looking at the ground. “But I coulda taken him, ya know.” “I know,” she lied. “But I didn't wanna risk it.” She paused. “So, can I, then?” “”Can ya what?” “Draw you.” Lucas shrugged, an angular, lopsided gesture that tried to convey the idea that he didn't give a shit whilst actually conveying how self-conscious he was. “Guess I can't stop ya if ya wanna. Free country.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and for a second Emily felt a thrill shoot through her belly, an almost painful sensation that began somewhere under her ribs and ended up near her groin. “I ain't sittin’ still so’s you can do can do it, though,” he cautioned. “Don't like bein’ stared at…..” “That's ok,” she said. “I think you're in my head now, I can draw you from memory.” She winced internally at her words. Christ, Emily, do you think you could sound a bit more weird…..? Lucas looked at her strangely but said nothing. He took a step away. “I gotta go. See ya round, I guess.” He slouched away, Emily watching him go. Snapping out of her reverie, she began to hurry home. The picture she'd planned on drawing before was forgotten, but there was another she just had to put on paper. Emily was exhausted. She'd been up most of the previous night working on her idea, and she hadn't gone to bed until it was finished. The finished work was in the folder she carried, practically burning a hole in it, and she intended to show Lucas if she could work up the nerve. She needed to get him alone - laughable really, as he never seemed to be with anybody. But the school was a busy place, and it was difficult to find any solitude. She spotted him at lunchtime, sat far away from everyone else, slumped on the ground under a tree, long legs stretched out in front of him. He appeared to be reading. Come on, Emily. It's now or never. If he really hates it you can always avoid him for the rest of your life….. Giving herself the dubious pep talk, Emily made her way over to where he sat. Tired as she'd been that morning, she'd made an effort to look good, attempting to tame her wild hair and wearing her favourite cut-offs, but as she walked towards him she could almost feel her hair rebelling, fighting itself out of its straightened lengths and into a wavy snarl. He saw her coming long before she got there, and she had to endure the painful ordeal of being watched as she approached, feeling more self-concious with every step. Her mind tortured her with images of her finally reaching him only to be told to fuck off. He didn't, though. He merely regarded her curiously, one long slender finger marking his place in the battered Stephen King novel. “Hey, Emily,” he said cautiously. She managed a smile, and his mouth twitched in return. He obviously wasn't used to smiling at people. “I did it,” she blurted. He raised his eyebrows. “The drawing, I mean. Of you.” She fumbled in the folder, nervous fingers tweezing the paper from within. Now the time had come, she was embarrassed for him to see it. He sat up straighter, watching her, and she took a deep breath before passing him the picture, painfully aware of her fingernails, bitten down to nothing, as she held it out for inspection. Lucas put his book aside and accepted from her, holding it by the edges with a certain amount of reverence. She watched his face as he scrutinised it, but his expression was unreadable. He hates it! Screamed her brain. Abort! Abort! The drawing was done in coloured pencil, and depicted how she'd seen him in her moment of epiphany yesterday: His profile, set against the sun, his chin high, the light touching the tips of his ears and glowing around his head. She'd exaggerated the illumination, colouring it more brightly than it had really been, creating a kind of halo around him. Emily’s heart beat hard in her chest as his gaze travelled over the paper, going from top to bottom then climbing back up again, but his attention to the drawing meant she could study him at her leisure. There was the faintest peach-fuzz of stubble along the line of his jaw and above his upper lip, softening the hard angles, and the sight of it made her feel inexplicably weak. In a moment of pure insanity she envisaged herself running her hand along it to see how soft it was. His forehead was high, his hairline set back - he would start balding prematurely, she predicted - but the buzzcut he had was starting to grow back in, and the hair on the back of his head looked almost as unruly as hers, sticking up at odd angles. It looked fluffy, though, and now there was another thing she wanted to touch. Feeling odd towering over him, Emily crouched down next to him, watching his eyes scan back and forth. His bottom lip was jutted out slightly in concentration, and Emily felt her face grow hot as she wondered how he would taste. Like cigarettes, most likely - she'd seen him puffing away on more than one occasion. There was a little wrinkle between his eyebrows, a small tuck in the flesh as he frowned, and she let her gaze wander from that to the prominent jut of his nose, lingering over the little bump on the bridge. She wondered it the bump had been caused by an old break. She looked up to his eyes again, blissfully feeding her hunger, but to her horror they were looking right at her, the pale blue circles piercing her. He looked taken aback, though whether it was from his reaction to the picture or to her attention, she couldn't tell. His lips parted, and she found herself biting on her own in response. “This….uh….this is real good, Emily.” He sounded awed, and that feeling she'd had yesterday returned, coursing through her belly, giving her a pleasant little twinge. “‘Cept I don't really look that good in real life,” he said. “You do to me,” she said without thinking, and cringed. He looked startled for a minute, then suspicious, perhaps expecting derision. It was clear he wasn't accustomed to compliments. Emily fought hard to keep her own face open and frank, but she'd embarrassed herself with her sudden admission. He stared at her for an uncomfortably long time before his mouth finally turned up at the corners. “You're a strange one, Emily. But that's ok. I don't mind strange. You wanna sit with me a spell?” Unable to speak, she merely nodded, and sat gingerly alongside him, her back against the same broad trunk. She was careful not to touch him, not just out of fear of any imposition, but because she wasn't sure how her body would react if she did. “Here,” he said, holding the picture out to her. “It's real good. I like it.” She made no move to take it back. She had fully intended to take it home and pin it on the wall above her bed, but seeing his evident satisfaction in it she made a spur of the moment decision. “You can keep it. If you want,” she offered. He frowned. “I can't keep it. Must o’ taken you hours!” “No, really! You can. I can - “ she choked off the words. I can draw another one, she'd been about to say, and she would, but she didn't want him to know that. The next one would be forward facing - a portrait. She wanted to try and capture the ice in his gaze, though whether she'd be able to do it justice she didn't know. He was such an interesting subject. Not pretty in any way, but different enough to stand out in this place where everyone tried to fit in and look the same. Not to mention the fact that she had developed a substantial crush on him in so short a time. Slowly, he pulled the paper back toward him. “Well, if yer sure…..” he said. He looked at it again, the pleasure plain on his face, and just the knowledge that she'd produced something that made him happy in even a small part made Emily feel better than she had in a long time.