#ban woke nonsense

[pomefioredove]

boop

summary: booping them + their reactions type of post: headcanons characters: third years additional info: is short, platonic or romantic, reader is gender neutral author's note: this would've been good to post for the tumblr april fool's event but I missed out so you're getting it now instead!

𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

hmm... okay!

trey often navigates his interactions with other students based on his interactions with his siblings

there's an order to human behavior, after all

especially with the underclassmen shenanigans (he's really seen it all at this point; don't ask)

none of his siblings, however, have walked up to him unannounced and booped his nose

not yet, at least?

it seems to make you happy though, so he just smiles

half of his job as vice housewarden is "going along with it"

he's pretty used to nonsense

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

he's editing something on his phone the first time you try and doesn't even notice it

...and the second time, and the third

it becomes a sort of routine for you

tentatively trying to see how many times you can get away with it before he finally notices and says something

and it only spirals from there, of course

you'll up to him while he's talking to someone else, boop him, and walk away

(much to the other person's confusion)

does he notice? yeah, of course

do you need to know that he notices? ...maybe not

he likes the attention, just let him have this one

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫 ⋆˚⸙˖°༄✩⊹

he gnaws your hand off

okay, not really. too messy for him

(and the consequences would be such a headache to deal with...)

but he is all grumpy because you woke him up for that

"What was that supposed to be? -_- Don't do that again,"

rolls over and goes back to sleep

you're lucky he reacted as nonchalantly as he did tbh, lions don't like being pet, and he could've kicked you out of his room in a heartbeat for that

(maybe you get a special pass to be annoying)

note to you: don't do that again

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭 ˚⊹˚₊🕊 ˚✧ ₊

boops you back right away

does he necessarily know what that means? no, but he'll find out soon enough anyway

and based off your body language and expression it seems like a gesture of affection

...which he's all too happy to return

(he's so excited to be touching you affectionately he could explode)

now every time you see each other you end up going back and forth for hours

"boop!" "boop!" "boop!"

that's one sure way to give Vil a headache

(you may or may not end up temporarily banned from Pomefiore for disturbing the peace)

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭 ˚⊹˚₊🕊 ˚✧ ₊

you'd assume he gets annoyed, right?

well, he's a little surprised at first (people just don't go around touching him, after all)

then he just smiles

"Remember what we said about asking before touching, hm?"

you're lucky he thinks you're cute

(if not a little strange)

like, so lucky

congratulations on being the only human on earth who gets away with casually touching his face like that

𝐈𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 ₊✩‧₊˚⊹༄˚₊모‧₊

well. what do you expect

his eyes widen and his face (and hair) go pink and he internally freaks out (but externally just stands there)

"Um... What was that for?"

Idia might be a little more familiar with the conventions of a boop than anyone else

it's what you do to adorable little animals, right? like kitties and puppies?

so... why are you doing it to him?

if you say you "just felt like it" he might believe you

if you say it's because you think he's cute he will be avoiding you for the rest of the month

good luck!

𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐚 ✩⁺₊°⊹ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ☽｡°⊹

blinks.

has zero clue what you meant by that

but you seem happy with yourself so it couldn't have been a bad thing, right?

"I'm unfamiliar with that gesture. Is that a greeting from your home?"

you explain that it's a sort of affection you show towards cute things

"Oh, well... you're quite brave. I'm honored,"

he's definitely all sunshine and rainbows for the rest of the week

he's all but giggling and kicking his feet back and forth

no one really questions him

and he doesn't really explain

(if Sebek finds out you booped the heir to the throne of Briar Valley as if he were a kitty cat he will gnaw your hand off)

𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞 ✩⁺₊°⊹ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ☽｡°⊹

pleasantly surprised, doesn't even question it

he is adorable, after all, he can't blame you for wanting to be affectionate with him

boops you back, of course

after all, aren't you just the cutest thing too?

if you try to walk away after booping him he will find you to return the favor

will somehow make it a competitive sport

waiting for you around corners, hiding in every nook and cranny so that he might catch you by surprise and boop you

(he is totally keeping count of who's ahead)

it makes the school a warzone for like a solid week before Silver's pleas to "please be normal about the prefect" finally work

(AKA Lilia gets bored of it and finds another way to be close to you)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Conservatives are fringe outliers - and leftists could learn from them

The Republican Party, a coalition between Big Business farmers and turkeys who’ll vote for Christmas (Red Scare obsessed cowards, apocalyptic white nationalists, religious fanatics, etc) has fallen to its bizarre, violent, noisy radical wing, who are obsessed with policies that are completely irrelevant to the majority of Americans.

As Oliver Willis writes, the views of the radical right — which are also the policies of the GOP — are wildly out of step with the US political view:

https://www.oliverexplains.com/p/conservatives-arent-like-normal-americans

The press likes to frame American politics as “narrowly divided,” but the reality is that Republicans’ electoral victories are due to voter suppression and antimajoritarian institutions (the Senate and Electoral College, etc), not popularity. Democrats consistently outperform the GOP in national races. Dems won majorities in 1992/6, and beat the GOP in 2000, 2008, 2012, 2016 and 2020. The only presidential race the GOP won on popular votes since 1988 was 2004, when GW Bush eked out a plurality (not a majority).

But, as Willis says, Dems “act like it is 1984 and that they are outliers in a nation of Reagan voters,” echoing a stilted media narrative. The GOP’s platform just isn’t popular. Take the groomer panic: 71% of Americans approve of same-sex marriage. The people losing their shit about queer people are a strange, tiny minority.

Every one of the GOP’s tentpole issues is wildly unpopular: expanding access to assault rifles, banning immigration, lowering taxes on the rich, cutting social programs, forcing pregnant people to bear unwanted children, etc. This is true all the way up to the GOP’s coalescing support for Trump as their 2024 candidate. Trump has lost every popular vote he’s ever stood for, and owes his term in the Oval Office to the antimajoritarian Electoral College system, gerrymandering, and massive voter suppression.

Willis correctly points out that Dem leaders are basically “normal” center-right politicians, not radicals. And, unlike their GOP counterparts, politicians like Clinton, Obama and Biden don’t hide their disdain for the radical wing of their party. Even never-Trumper Republicans are afraid of their base. Romney declared himself “severely conservative” and McCain “put scare quotes around ‘health of the mother’ provisions for abortion rights.”

The GOP fringe imposes incredible discipline on their leaders. Take all the nonsense about “woke capitalism”: on the one hand, it’s absurd to call union-busting, tax-dodging, worker-screwing companies “woke” (even if they sell Pride flags for a couple of weeks every year).

But on the other hand? The GOP leadership have actually declared war on the biggest corporations in America, to the point that the WSJ says that “Republicans and Big Business broke up”:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/republicans-corporations-donations-pacs-9b5b202b

But America is a two-party system and there are plenty of people who’ll pull the lever for any Republican. This means that when the GOP comes under the control of its swivel-eyed loon wing, the swivel-eyed loons wield power far beyond the number of people who agree with them.

There’s an important lesson there for Dems, whose establishment is volubly proud of its independence from its voters. The Biden administration is a weirdly perfect illustration of this “independence.” The Biden admin is a kind of referee, doling out policies and appointments to its competing wings, without any coherence or consistency.

That’s how you get incredible appointments like Lina Khan at the FTC and Jonathan Kanter at the DoJ Antitrust Division and Rohit Chopra at the Consumer Finance Protection Bureat — the progressive wing of the party bargained for these key appointments and then played their cards very well, getting incredible, hard-charging, hyper-competent fighters in those roles.

Likewise, Jared Bernstein, finally confirmed as Council of Economic Advisers chair after an interminable wrangle:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2023-06-16-team-biden/

And Julie Su, acting labor secretary, who just delivered a six-year contract to west coast dockworkers with 8–10% raises in the first year, paid retroactively for the year they worked without a contract:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2023/06/14/statement-from-president-biden-on-labor-agreement-at-west-coast-ports/

But the Biden admin’s unwillingness to side with one wing of the party also produces catastrophic failures, like the martyrdom of Gigi Sohn, who was subjected to years of vicious personal attacks while awaiting confirmation to the FCC, undefended by the Biden admin, left to twist in the wind until she gave it up as a bad job:

https://doctorow.medium.com/culture-war-bullshit-stole-your-broadband-4ce1ffb16dc5

It’s how we get key roles filled by do-nothing seatwarmers like Pete Buttigieg, who has the same sweeping powers that Lina Khan is wielding so deftly at the FTC, but who lacks either the will or the skill to wield those same powers at the Department of Transport:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

By refusing to stand for anything except a fair division of powers among different Democratic Party blocs, the Biden admin ends up undercutting itself. Take right to repair, a centerpiece of the administration’s agenda, subject of a historic executive order and FTC regulation:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Right to Repair fights have been carried out at the state level for years, with the biggest victory coming in Massachusetts, where an automotive R2R ballot initiative won overwhelming support in 2020:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/13/said-no-one-ever/#r2r

But despite the massive support for automotive right to repair in the Bay State, Big Car has managed to delay the implementation of the new law for years, tying up the state in expensive, time-consuming litigation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/26/nixing-the-fix/#r2r

But eventually, even the most expensive delaying tactic fails. Car manufacturers were set to come under the state right to repair rule this month, but they got a last minute reprieve, from Biden’s own National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, who sent urgent letters to every major car manufacturer, telling them to ignore the Massachusetts repair law:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/m7bbkv/biden-administration-tells-car-companies-to-ignore-right-to-repair-law-people-overwhelmingly-voted-for

The NHTSA repeats the car lobby’s own scare stories about “cybersecurity” that they blitzed to Massachusetts voters in the runup to the ballot initiative:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

The idea that cybersecurity is best maintained by letting powerful corporations gouge you on service and parts is belied by independent experts, like SecuRepairs, who do important work countering the FUD thrown off by the industry (and parroted by Biden’s NHTSA):

https://securepairs.org/

Independent security experts are clear that letting owners of high-tech devices decide who fixes them, what software they run, etc, makes us safer:

https://www.schneier.com/essays/archives/2022/01/letter-to-the-us-senate-judiciary-committee-on-app-stores.html

But here we are: the Biden admin is sabotaging the Biden admin, because the Biden admin isn’t an administration, it’s a system for ensuring proportional representation of different parts of the Democratic Party coalition.

This isn’t just bad for policy, it’s bad politics, too. It presumes that if some Democratic voters want pizza, and others want hamburgers, that you can please everyone by serving up pizzaburgers. No one wants a pizzaburger:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/narrative-warfare/#giridharadas

The failure to deliver a coherent, muscular vision for a climate-ready, anti-Gilded Age America has left the Democrats vulnerable. Because while the radical proposals of the GOP fringe may not enjoy much support, there are large majorities of Americans who have lost faith in the status quo and are totally uninterested in the Pizzaburger Party.

Nowhere is this better explained than in Naomi Klein’s superb long-form article on RFK Jr’s presidential bid in The Guardian:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/jun/14/ignoring-robert-f-kennedy-jr-not-an-option

Don’t get me wrong, RFK Jr is a Very Bad Politician, for all the reasons that Klein lays out. He’s an anti-vaxxer, a conspiracist, and his support for ending American military aggression, defending human rights, and addressing the climate emergency is laughably thin.

But as Klein points out, RFK Jr is not peddling pizzaburgers. He is tapping into a legitimate rage:

a great many voters are hurting and rightfully angry: about powerful corporations controlling their democracy and profiting off disease and poverty. About endless wars draining national coffers and maiming their kids. About stagnating wages and soaring costs. This is the world — inflamed on every level — that the two-party duopoly has knowingly created.

RFK Jr is campaigning against “the corrupt merger between state and corporate power,” against drug monopolies setting our national health agenda, and polluters capturing environmental regulators.

As Klein says, despite RFK Jr’s willing to say the unsayable, and tap into the yearning among the majority of American voters for something different, he’s not running a campaign rooted in finally telling the American public “the truth.” Rather, “public discourse filled with unsayable and unspeakable subjects is fertile territory for all manner of hucksters positioning themselves as uniquely courageous truth tellers.”

We’ve been here before. Remember Trump campaigning against a “rigged system” and promising to “make America great again?” Remember Clinton’s rejoinder that “America was already great?” It’s hard to imagine a worse response to legitimate outrage — over corporate capture, declining wages and living conditions; and spiraling health, education and shelter costs.

Sure, it was obvious that Trump was a beneficiary of the rigged system, and that he would rig it further, but at least he admitted it was rigged, not “already great.”

The Democratic Party is not in thrall to labor unions, or racial equality activists, or people who care about gender justice or the climate emergency. Unlike the GOP, the Dem establishment has figured out how to keep a grip on power within their own party — at the expense of exercising power in America, even when they hold office.

But unlike culture war nonsense, shared prosperity, fairness, care, and sound environmental policies are very popular in America. Some people have been poisoned against politics altogether and sunk into nihilism, while others have been duped into thinking that America can’t afford to look after its people.

In this regard, winning the American electorate is a macrocosm for the way labor activists win union majorities in the workplaces they organize. In her memoir A Collective Bargain, Jane McAlevey describes how union organizers contend with everything that progressive politicians must overcome. A union drive takes place in the teeth of unfair laws, on a tilted playing field that allows bosses to gerrymander some workers’ votes and suppress others’ altogether. These bosses have far more resources than the workers, and they spend millions on disinformation campaigns, forcing workers to attend long propaganda sessions on pain of dismissal.

https://doctorow.medium.com/a-collective-bargain-a48925f944fe

But despite all this, labor organizers win union elections and strike votes, and they do so with stupendous majorities — 95% or higher. This is how the most important labor victories of our day were won: the 2019 LA teachers’ strike won everything. Not just higher wages, but consellors in schools, mandatory greenspace for every school in LA, an end to ICE shakedowns of immigrant parents at the school-gate, and immigration law help for students and their families. What’s more, the teachers used their unity, their connection to the community, and their numbers to get out the vote in the next election, winning the marginal seats that delivered 2020’s Democratic Congressional majority.

As I wrote in my review of MacAlevey’s book:

For McAlevey, saving America is just a scaled up version of the union organizer’s day-job. First, we fix the corrupt union, firing its sellout leaders and replacing them with fighters. Then, we organize supermajorities, person-to-person, in a methodical, organized fashion. Then we win votes, using those supermajorities to overpower the dirty tricks that rig the elections against us. Then we stay activated, because winning the vote is just the start of the fight.

It’s a far cry from the Democratic Party consultant’s “data-driven” microtargeting strategy based on eking out tiny, fragile majorities with Facebook ads. That’s a strategy that fails in the face of even a small and disorganized voter-suppression campaign — it it’s doomed in today’s all-out assault on fair elections.

What’s more, the consultants’ microtargeting strategy treats people as if the only thing they have to contribute is casting a ballot every couple years. A sleeping electorate will never win the fights that matter — the fight to save our planet, and to abolish billionaires.

If only the Democratic Party was as scared of its base as the Republicans are of their own.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

[Image ID: The title page of Richard Hofstadter's 'Paranoid Style in American Politics' from the November, 1964 issue of Harper's Magazine. A John Birch Society pin reading 'This is REPUBLIC not a DEMOCRACY: let's keep it that way' sits atop the page, obscuring the introductory paragraph.]

[bikiniarmorbattledamage]

So, naturally we had to, now the game is actually out, bingo the CENSORED outfit in Stellar Blade. Credit to HarryNinetyFour for showing all seventy-four outfits, and Kotaku for this article where they propose that Eve is at her sexiest when she's got more on.

Okay... maybe not that but...

Seriously, if you're playing to fap - this game has you covered. But it also has a few really interesting, covering outfits that seem to reflect fantasies of fashion and comfort.

The only thing that's really not present is any sort of actual military like BDUs or combat jumpsuits. That's kinda weird, even Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain let you put BDUs on Quiet.

And that bit is weird is, based on what I've seen people who've been playing the game saying - there is really a story about her being a soldier and fighting for a cause there. But you'd never know that based on the ongoing outrage.

The outrage is weird and sad

So as you can probably guess, the continuing riot of "censorship" here is pretty absurd. It's got to the point where they even bullied the Stellar Blade's X/Twitter account to un-repost the Kotaku article that praises the game.

But here's the thing, in all the years I've had to deal with brodudes doing this kind of nonsense in various online platforms etc, I have never seen one that is happy.

YouTuber Moon Channel did a two part (1, 2) series on a different drama in South Korea involving a Gacha game that dared not to be pointlessly horny, but here's the general take away.

English speaking brodudes in this situation are imagining that Stellar Blade is some sort of iconic work coming from the anti-woke wonderland where everyone is happy. The reality is:

South Korea has a deeply hierarchical society which essentially tells young people they are to obey and not to speak up

The economy and nepotism is such that unless you are born into a rich family, your employment prospects are downright depressing

Many young men in South Korea develop a lot of resentment toward women primarily because they are told that in order to enter a (heterosexual) relationship they will need to demonstrate they have the ability to be a great provider, and then are denied those opportunities by the economy and nepotism

On top of all this, the government takes a "we know whats best for you" approach to the extent that not only is porn banned but you will be expected to supply your identity information if you want to look up basic sexual educational materials

They would find it to be an absolute nightmare realm.

The reality is that in the "woke" world that brodudes fear, we'd probably see a lot more eroticism in art, including games, and it'd be of the more focused, sincere variety rather than that directed by creepy marketing guy.

All we really need to do is accept each other as people, appreciate each other's humanity and boundaries. Then we can both enjoy a sexy paradise, but also unite and deal with the assholes who keep oppressing us economically and socially.

Wouldn't that be nice?

-wincenworks

[engeorged]

Harry's Stag - Part One

As I stepped out of the taxi, the cool Amsterdam air washed over me, and I couldn’t help but smile. The canals, the narrow streets, the lively hum of the city—it was just what I needed. A lads’ weekend with my best mates, a chance to unwind before I marry the man of my dreams.

I glanced at the guys, a wave of affection washing over me. Jim and I had been mates since we were kids, practically growing up together. Tall, lean, with that rugged, outdoorsy vibe and piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut through any nonsense, Jim was the steady one—the rock who always kept us grounded.

Banning and Noel came into our lives during university when we all played rugby together. Banning, with his quiet confidence and sharp mind, was always thinking a few steps ahead. He had this knack for coming up with a plan, making sure we stayed out of trouble and found our way home in one piece. Then there’s Noel—scruffy, blonde, and a bit shorter than the rest of us, but with a cheeky grin that could charm his way out of any mess he managed to get himself into. He was the joker of the group, ensuring we were never bored.

And then there’s me, Harry, the soon-to-be groom, the guy who’s somehow managed to land the most amazing man in the world. Jason is everything I’ve ever wanted—6’5, blonde, and brilliant, working in finance but with a heart of gold. He’s got this mix of confidence and kindness that makes me fall for him all over again every time I see him. I’m the luckiest guy on the planet, and I know it.

But right now, all I want is to forget about the wedding planning and just enjoy this weekend with the guys. We’ve been through so much together—high school dramas, university antics, and everything life has thrown at us since. This weekend is our chance to let loose, to celebrate before everything changes.

The morning light filtered through the curtains as I woke up, feeling the familiar buzz of excitement. Today was going to be one for the books. After a quick shower, I headed downstairs with the guys to tackle the hotel’s breakfast buffet. I’d always seen buffets as a bit of a challenge—something I’d perfected during our rugby trips in uni when the lads and I would try to outdo each other with how much we could eat.

The spread was impressive: stacks of pancakes, sizzling sausages, crispy bacon, eggs done every way imaginable, and fresh pastries that looked like they’d come straight out of a bakery. My stomach growled in anticipation, and I grabbed a plate, ready to dive in.

Jim, always the early riser, was already at the buffet, piling food onto his plate. “Morning, mate,” he said with a grin. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“You know me,” I replied, grabbing a bit of everything and then some. “Never one to turn down a good breakfast.”

We settled at a table, and I started working through my plate, enjoying the food and the banter. Before I could even make a dent in my meal, Noel appeared with a plate stacked high with more food. “Mate, you’ve got to try these pancakes,” he said, dropping them onto my plate without waiting for a reply.

I laughed, not thinking much of it. “Alright, alright, keep them coming.”

Banning, ever the strategist, chimed in as he sat down. “You’re missing out on the scrambled eggs. Here, have some more,” he said, adding a generous portion to my plate.

As we ate, the conversation flowed, and I found myself reminiscing about our old rugby trips. “Remember that all-you-can-eat steakhouse in Leeds?” I asked, chuckling. “I think I put away enough to feed a small army that night.”

Jim nodded, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Yeah, and you still managed to play the next day. You’ve always had a hollow leg when it comes to food.”

They kept the food coming, and I kept eating, not really noticing how often one of them would toss something extra onto my plate. I was too caught up in the nostalgia, the friendly competition from our uni days, and the general excitement of the weekend.

But as I started on my third plate, I felt a familiar tightness in my stomach. The kind that crept in during those old eating challenges when I’d push myself just a bit too far. My belly was starting to feel heavy, the waistband of my jeans pressing uncomfortably against my skin. I shifted in my seat, trying to ease the growing discomfort.

Still, I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge—even a self-imposed one. I kept eating, even as my stomach began to bloat, pushing out slightly against my shirt. Each bite was a little slower, the food sitting heavily in my gut. I could feel my belly rounding out, the once-flat surface curving just a bit more with each mouthful.

“Feeling full yet?” Jim asked an innocent enough question, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

“A bit,” I admitted, patting my stomach, which was now firm and slightly swollen. “But you know me—never one to quit while I’m ahead.”

The guys exchanged quick glances, subtle but not lost on me. I shrugged it off, thinking they were just reminiscing about old times like I was. But deep down, I had a nagging feeling that they were up to something. Still, I was too focused on the food and the fun to really care.

As I polished off the last of my pancakes, the tightness in my belly became more pronounced. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my slightly rounded stomach, feeling the pressure building inside. Regret started to creep in—a familiar sensation from those rugby days when I’d pushed my limits a bit too far. My shirt stretched a little tighter across my middle, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I should’ve shown some restraint.

But then I caught myself. I’d eaten way more than this before, especially during those wild university days. This was nothing compared to some of the eating challenges I’d taken on—and won. A bit of bloat wasn’t going to slow me down. I could handle it, no problem.

With that in mind, I shrugged off the discomfort. It was just breakfast, after all, and we had a whole day ahead of us. “Right, lads,” I said, standing up and stretching, trying to shake off the heaviness in my gut. “What’s next on the agenda?”

Jim clapped me on the back, and I could feel the tension in my overstuffed stomach as he did. “Let’s head out and explore, mate. We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”

I nodded, determined to push through the fullness. I reminded myself that this was all part of the fun, and I could definitely handle more. With one last glance at the table, I followed the guys out the door, ready to see what the day had in store.

As we headed out into the bustling streets of Amsterdam, the food still sitting heavily in my stomach, I told myself I was just being paranoid. These guys were my best friends—they wouldn’t pull anything on me, especially not right before my wedding.

After finishing breakfast, we decided to take in some of the sights. Amsterdam was a beautiful city, and I was excited to explore it with my best mates. The weather was perfect—clear skies and a gentle breeze, making it an ideal day for wandering around.

We started by visiting some of the city's iconic spots, like the Anne Frank House and the Van Gogh Museum. But as we strolled along the canals and through the narrow streets, I could feel the heaviness in my belly from the massive breakfast easing a bit. By late morning, we found ourselves at one of the bustling local markets. The place was alive with vibrant colours, delicious smells, and the chatter of vendors selling everything from fresh produce to local delicacies. It was the kind of place where you could easily lose track of time, wandering from stall to stall, sampling the best that Amsterdam had to offer.

"Harry, check this out!" Banning called out, waving me over to a stall where a vendor was selling fresh stroopwafels, still warm from the griddle. He handed me one, and before I could even think about whether I was hungry, I found myself biting into the sweet, caramel-filled treat. It was delicious, the perfect balance of chewy and crunchy, and despite the fullness I still felt, I had to admit it was hard to resist.

"How about some cheese?" Noel chimed in, appearing beside me with a small platter of local Dutch cheeses. He popped a piece into my mouth before I could protest, grinning as I chewed. The rich, creamy flavours melted on my tongue, and I couldn’t help but smile at how good it tasted.

As we moved through the market, the guys made sure I didn’t miss a thing. Every few steps, they’d find something new for me to try—a slice of fresh apple pie here, a handful of chocolate-covered nuts there. They seemed to be in a competition to see who could find the most delicious treats, and I was the unwitting contestant.

“Harry, you’ve got to try these!” Jim called out, holding up a tray of poffertjes, tiny Dutch pancakes dusted with powdered sugar. He handed me the tray, and before I knew it, I was popping the fluffy little pancakes into my mouth, one after another.

With each bite, my belly grew heavier, the tightness from breakfast now back and mixed with the new wave of food. But the guys kept bringing me more, their excitement and enthusiasm contagious. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, watching as I dutifully sampled everything they put in front of me.

At one point, I realised I was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by it all. “Guys, I think I’m good for now,” I said, laughing nervously as I held up a hand to stop another treat from making its way into my mouth.

“Fuck that!” Banning said, laughing. “We’re just getting started. You’ve got to experience everything, mate!”

Despite my growing discomfort, I couldn’t help but go along with it. After all, this was supposed to be a weekend of indulgence, and I didn’t want to be the one to spoil the fun. So I kept eating, letting the guys guide me from stall to stall, each new bite adding to the growing pressure in my belly.

By the time we were ready to leave the market, I could barely keep track of everything I’d eaten. My stomach felt impossibly full, a heavy, warm weight pressing against my waistband. As we walked away, I noticed the guys exchanging amused glances, but they didn’t say anything, and I didn’t push it.

As we left the market, I was feeling stuffed from all the sampling, but the guys weren't done with me yet. Just as we were about to head back towards the city centre, Banning spotted a stall selling fresh pastries. The aroma of warm, buttery dough filled the air, making my mouth water despite the heaviness already sitting in my gut.

“Hold up, lads,” Banning said, veering off toward the stall. “We can’t leave without taking some of these with us!”

Before I could protest, he was at the counter, ordering a large bag of assorted pastries—croissants, danishes, and something that looked like a massive cinnamon roll, all warm and fresh from the oven.

“Here you go, Harry,” he said, shoving the bag into my hands with a grin. “Something to snack on as we walk.”

I chuckled, trying to hide my unease at the thought of eating anything more. “You sure you guys don’t want to share these?”

“Oh, we’ll help,” Jim said, but I noticed the sly smile on his face. “But you’ve got to lead the charge, mate. You’re the groom, after all.”

With no real way to refuse without seeming like a party pooper, I sighed and reached into the bag. The croissant I pulled out was soft and flaky, practically melting in my hands. I took a bite, the buttery richness spreading across my tongue, and I had to admit—it was damn good.

As we walked, I found myself nibbling on the pastries, more out of habit than hunger. The guys encouraged me with every bite, grabbing a pastry here and there, but always making sure the majority of them ended up in my hands.

By the time we reached our next destination, the bag was nearly empty, and I felt like I was carrying a lead weight in my belly. The waistband of my jeans was digging into my skin, and I subtly tried to adjust it to relieve some of the pressure. The guys, of course, were loving every minute of it, exchanging knowing looks as I dutifully finished off the last pastry. 

I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were up to something, but for now, all I could focus on was the heavy, bloated sensation in my gut. It was hard to believe I could still stand, let alone keep eating, but with the lads around, I knew there was no way I’d get out of it. 

After leaving the market with my belly full of pastries, we found ourselves wandering through the winding streets of Amsterdam again. The city was buzzing with life, tourists mingling with locals, and the smell of food and drink filled the air. My stomach was still groaning from all the food I'd packed into it, but when the guys suggested stopping for some beers, I figured it might help take the edge off.

“Let’s hit up a few local breweries,” Jim suggested, his eyes lighting up. “We can’t leave Amsterdam without trying some of the best beer in the world.”

I agreed, hoping that a few drinks might dull the ache in my overstuffed belly. The first brewery we hit was small and cosy, with wooden tables and an impressive selection of local brews. The guys ordered a round of pints, and I gladly accepted mine, taking a long, deep sip. The cold, bitter beer slid down my throat, and I could feel it spreading warmth through my chest.

The first pint went down easily, and for a moment, I almost forgot how full I was. The alcohol worked its magic, numbing the uncomfortable pressure in my stomach. The guys were in high spirits, laughing and joking as we finished our beers and moved on to the next brewery.

By the time we reached the third stop, I was starting to feel a bit more relaxed. The bloated sensation in my gut was still there, but the beer had taken the edge off. Each point seemed to settle on top of the food in my belly, adding to the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through my body.

The guys were keeping pace with me, ordering pints at each stop and making sure I always had one in my hand. I knew I should slow down, but the alcohol was doing its job, and I found myself caring less and less about how full I was. Instead, I focused on enjoying the moment, the camaraderie, and the laughter of my best friends.

At the fifth brewery, the drinks started to catch up with me. My head was buzzing, and the bloated feeling in my stomach was returning, more pronounced than before. I tried to keep up with the guys, but I could feel my belly straining against the waistband of my jeans, each sip of beer adding to the swelling pressure.

I glanced down at my gut, now noticeably rounder and heavier than it had been earlier in the day. The fullness was almost overwhelming, but the beers had numbed me enough that I could push through it, at least for a while longer.

Jim noticed me looking at my stomach and clapped me on the back. “You alright, mate? You’re keeping up like a champ!”

I managed a grin, even though I could feel the tightness in my belly with every breath. “Yeah, just feeling it a bit,” I admitted.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done with the tour,” Noel said, raising his glass. “Just a couple more, and then we can grab some food to soak it all up.”

The mention of food made my stomach churn, but I pushed the thought aside and lifted my pint in a toast. As we moved on to the final stop, I could feel the beers sloshing around inside me, mingling with the pastries and everything else I’d consumed that day. 

But the guys were right—the beers had dulled the ache, at least for now, and I was too buzzed to care about what might come next.

By the time we reached the final brewery on our tour, my belly had become an undeniable presence—both to me and, I suspected, to anyone who glanced in my direction. It felt like a boulder, heavy and firm, pressing outwards against the fabric of my shirt. The once-flat surface was now a taut, rounded dome, the skin stretched tight and smooth. Every step I took made it sway slightly, a reminder of just how much I’d eaten.

I rubbed my swollen middle, trying to ease the growing pressure. Suddenly, a deep belch forced its way up, loud and unexpected. The guys turned, grinning, and immediately erupted into cheers.

“There he is!” Noel laughed, clapping me on the back, which only made my belly slosh uncomfortably. “That’s the spirit, mate!”

Another belch rumbled up, and this time I didn’t even try to hold it back. The guys whooped and cheered even louder, egging me on as I laughed along with them.

“Keep ‘em coming!” Banning shouted, raising his pint in a mock toast.

I shook my head, grinning as yet another burp escaped me. The relief was temporary, though, as the pressure inside me continued to build. Every step made my belly jiggle slightly, and I could feel just how bloated I was becoming. The gas from all that beer wasn’t helping, either, making me feel even more stuffed than I already was.

I couldn’t help but enjoy the moment. The lads were loving it, and there was something satisfying about knowing I could still outdo them, just like in the old days. Even if my stomach felt like it was about to burst, the cheers and laughter made it all worth it.

Despite the discomfort, there was a part of me that was fascinated by how much my body had changed in just a few short hours. My normally lean frame had been overtaken by this massive, swollen belly, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer volume I’d managed to pack away.

The guys noticed, too. I caught Banning’s eye as he glanced at my gut, and he grinned, clearly impressed. “That’s one hell of a belly, Harry,” he said, his voice full of admiration. “You’ve really outdone yourself today.”

Jim nodded in agreement, raising his pint in a toast. “To Harry’s belly,” he said with a laugh. “May it keep growing!”

The others joined in, their laughter filling the air as I gave a half-hearted chuckle. I could feel my stomach stretching even more as I took another sip of beer, the pressure building to a point that was almost unbearable.

As we finished our drinks, I leaned back in my chair, trying to find some relief from the tightness. My belly was now a prominent, round sphere, pressing outwards with a fullness that I couldn’t ignore. It was a strange mix of discomfort and pride—I’d never seen myself like this before, and despite the ache, there was something almost amusing about the sheer size of my belly.

By early afternoon, I was starting to feel the effects of our beer-filled morning. My head was buzzing pleasantly, and my steps were just a bit slower as we made our way through the bustling streets. I was thinking about suggesting a quick stop back at the hotel to freshen up, but before I could, Noel was already leading us toward our next destination.

“We’ve got a special lunch spot lined up, Harry,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Proper local place. None of that touristy crap.”

I was too relaxed to argue, letting him steer me down a side street and into a large, rustic-looking restaurant. The inside was all dark wood and heavy beams, with long communal tables and the rich smell of roasting meat filling the air. My stomach rumbled in spite of the heaviness I was already feeling, and I figured a good meal might help soak up some of the beer.

We found a spot at the end of one of the tables, and Noel didn’t even bother with menus. “We’ll take four of your specials,” he told the waitress with a wink, and she nodded, jotting it down before disappearing into the kitchen.

I leaned back in my chair, glancing around at the other diners. Most of them were locals, digging into plates piled high with food, glasses of cider clinking together in toasts. It was lively, warm, and exactly the kind of place that made you feel at home, even halfway across the world.

“So, what’s the special?” I asked, eyeing Noel suspiciously.

“Wait and see,” he grinned, taking a long pull from the glass of cider that had just been set in front of him. “You’re gonna love it.”

Moments later, the food arrived, and my eyes widened as the waitress set a huge platter in front of each of us. There, in the centre, was a whole roasted chicken, crispy and golden, surrounded by a mountain of fresh bread and a full litre of cider.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered, staring at the feast. It looked incredible, but there was no way I could finish all that. “You guys trying to kill me?”

Banning smirked, already tearing into his bread. “Consider it a challenge.”

“Come on, Harry,” Jim chimed in, pulling a hunk of chicken off the bone. “You said you were hungry this morning.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean all day,” I laughed, even as I reached for my fork. The smell of the roasted chicken was too tempting to resist, and I figured I could at least make a dent in it.

We dug in, the conversation flowing easily between bites of juicy chicken and sips of the strong, dry cider. The bread was warm and crusty, perfect for soaking up the rich drippings from the chicken, and despite my full stomach, I found myself going back for more, over and over.

The guys were relentless, though, nudging the bread my way whenever I slowed down, refilling my cider glass before I’d even finished it. Every time I thought I was done, Jim would carve off another piece of chicken and drop it onto my plate, or Noel would push the bread basket back toward me with a grin.

“You’ve got to try this with the cider,” Noel insisted, handing me a slice of bread slathered in the drippings. “Trust me, it’s worth it.”

I took the bread, biting into it with a mix of enjoyment and trepidation. It was delicious, of course, but I was starting to reach the point where every bite felt like a struggle. My stomach was stretched tight, the combination of beer, cider, and food weighing me down.

But there was something infectious about their enthusiasm, the way they kept the mood light and fun, and I couldn’t bring myself to say no. These were my best mates, and they were making sure I had the time of my life. What was a little discomfort in the grand scheme of things?

“Only the best for you,” Noel added with a wink, though there was a glint in his eye that made me wonder just how much more they had planned for me.

After finishing the meal, I leaned back in my chair, feeling utterly stuffed. My usually firm belly was now uncomfortably stretched, the tightness pressing against my shirt. The button on my jeans felt like it was about to pop, and I had to loosen my belt a notch to alleviate some of the pressure.

The full feeling wasn’t just in my stomach but seemed to radiate through my entire body. Every bite of the juicy chicken and every piece of bread had added to the bloated sensation, and the cider had only intensified it. My stomach was protruding noticeably, an unfamiliar softness replacing the tight abs I’d worked so hard to maintain. It felt heavy, like a weight pressing down from within.

I looked around at my friends, trying to ignore the discomfort, but the sight of their grins and the way they patted their own full bellies didn’t help. “I think I might have overdone it,” I admitted with a chuckle, rubbing my distended stomach.

“No way, mate,” Jim said, giving me a friendly thump on the back. “You’re just getting into the spirit of things.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to stay in top form,” Noel added, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You don’t want to be the one to miss out.”

Despite the lighthearted teasing, I could barely move, feeling the fullness with every breath. I glanced down at my bulging belly, the fabric of my shirt straining against the roundness. It was a far cry from the trim figure I was used to seeing.

As we finally left the restaurant, I had to walk slowly, my steps deliberate and careful. Each movement reminded me of just how much I’d eaten, and I knew that if I didn’t get some relief soon, the discomfort would only grow. But with the guys still in high spirits, I knew the day was far from over, and whatever they had planned next, I’d have to muster the energy to keep up.

As we left the restaurant, the afternoon started to blur together. The combination of food and cider had left me pleasantly tipsy, and the usual sharpness of my thoughts had softened. My bloated stomach felt heavy, but the excitement of the city kept me moving, albeit at a slower pace.

After the epic lunch, I was convinced I couldn't possibly eat another bite. My stomach was so full and bloated that it felt like a lead weight was strapped to me, each step making my distended gut jiggle slightly under my shirt.

We started walking again, heading toward the canals for a leisurely afternoon tour. The sun was shining, reflecting off the water as we strolled along the cobblestone streets. I tried to focus on the sights—the charming, narrow buildings, the boats gliding by—but the heavy, stuffed feeling in my gut was impossible to ignore. Every step made me acutely aware of just how much space my belly was taking up, stretching my shirt tight across the firm, rounded expanse.

We hadn’t gone far before we passed a street vendor selling fresh Bitterballen. The savoury aroma of deep-fried goodness filled the air, making my stomach rumble despite the fullness. Bitterballen are traditional Dutch snacks, deep-fried balls filled with a rich, creamy beef or veal ragout, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. They’re often enjoyed with a dollop of mustard.

Noel, ever the enthusiast, was already haggling with the vendor before I could even process what was happening. “Harry’s got to try these!” he said, handing over a few euros and grabbing a serving of the hot, golden balls.

“Mate, I’m so full I can barely move,” I protested weakly, but Noel just grinned and handed me a paper cone filled with Bitterballen.

“Come on, you’ve got room for one more,” he said, winking. “It’s part of the experience.”

I took the cone and popped one of the Bitterballen into my mouth. The crispy exterior gave way to a rich, creamy filling that was both indulgent and comforting. Despite the tightness in my belly, the flavour was irresistible. With each bite, I could feel the food settling heavily on top of everything else I’d eaten, adding to the relentless pressure in my gut.

We continued along the canal, and it wasn’t long before Jim spotted another vendor—this time selling churros dusted with cinnamon sugar. He practically sprinted over, eager to buy a bag for me before Banning could get there first.

“Here you go, Harry,” Jim said, thrusting the warm bag into my hands. “You’ve got to keep your energy up!”

I stared at the churros, my stomach groaning in protest at the mere thought of eating more. But the guys were watching me expectantly, their excitement palpable. I couldn’t let them down, so I forced myself to take a bite.

The churro was crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, and coated with just the right amount of cinnamon sugar. It was delicious, but as I swallowed, I felt my belly swell even more, the tightness becoming almost unbearable. Each bite seemed to expand my gut further, stretching the skin to its limits.

“Harry, you’re a machine!” Banning laughed, clapping me on the back as I forced down the last of the churros. “I don’t know how you’re doing it.”

Neither did I. My stomach was now so full that it was starting to feel rock-hard, a firm, rounded dome that pushed out from under my shirt with every breath. The waistband of my jeans was cutting painfully into my sides, and I could feel my skin pulling tight over the swollen mass of my belly. I wanted to stop, to sit down and let my overstuffed gut settle, but the guys weren’t having any of it.

We passed another vendor, this one selling warm, cheesy croquettes, and before I could even protest, Banning had bought a handful and was offering them to me.

“Last ones, I promise,” he said with a mischievous grin, though I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was far from finished.

I took one, biting into the crispy, gooey centre, and immediately felt another surge of fullness. My stomach was now a tight, distended ball, and each bite made it feel like I was stretching it to the breaking point. But the guys kept egging me on, practically shoving the croquettes into my hands as we walked.

By the time we finally finished the canal tour, my belly was truly enormous—a swollen, overfilled sphere that jutted out in front of me, heavy and round. The tightness was almost unbearable, and I could barely stand up straight, the weight of my gut pulling me forward with every step. 

And yet, despite it all, I couldn’t help but laugh along with the guys, the absurdity of the situation hitting me. My friends were practically fighting over who got to feed me next, and I was helpless to stop them. My once-lean frame had been transformed into something out of a cartoon, my shirt now riding up to expose the pale, stretched skin of my bloated belly.

As we headed back toward the city centre, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. The day was still young, and the guys seemed determined to see just how much more they could cram into me. And as much as I wanted to protest, I knew deep down that I wasn’t going to stop them.

By the time the afternoon sun started to dip, I was struggling. Every step felt like a monumental effort, the heavy, swollen mass of my belly swaying in front of me, throwing off my balance. It had gone from feeling full and stretched to being outright painful, a tight, solid ball that was almost too much to bear. The guys were still in high spirits, laughing and joking as we walked, but I was finding it hard to keep up. 

"Guys," I groaned, finally coming to a stop and placing a hand on my distended gut. "I need a break. Can we head back to the hotel for a bit? Just a quick snooze, let my stomach settle."

I was expecting some pushback, but surprisingly, they all nodded in agreement. Maybe they could see the strain on my face, or maybe they were just ready for a break too. Either way, we turned in the direction of the hotel, and I started to imagine the sweet relief of lying down and letting my poor, overworked belly rest.

But of course, it wasn’t going to be that simple.

As we rounded a corner, we passed a small, bustling shop with a line of people snaking out the door. The smell of fried potatoes and various toppings filled the air, and Jim’s eyes lit up when he spotted the sign.

“Wait a second,” he said, grabbing my arm and pointing toward the shop. “This is the place I’ve been telling you about! They make these famous fries with all sorts of toppings. We’ve got to try it.”

I felt a knot of dread tighten in my already cramped stomach. “Jim, I’m seriously about to burst here. I don’t think I can fit anything else in.”

But Jim wasn’t having it. “Come on, Harry, you can’t come all the way to Amsterdam and not try this. It’s part of the experience! We’ll just get one big platter to share, no big deal.”

Banning and Noel were already nodding along enthusiastically, and before I could argue any further, they were steering me toward the door. Inside, the place was a fry-lover’s paradise—massive trays of golden fries, each topped with a ridiculous amount of extras, from melted cheese to pulled pork, jalapeños, and creamy sauces.

We ordered the biggest platter they had, a monstrosity as wide as the table itself, piled high with fries and every topping imaginable. It was the sort of thing meant for a group of a dozen, not four guys who had already been eating all day. The sight of it alone made my stomach lurch in protest.

I tried to push back. “Guys, seriously, this is insane. I can’t eat all this.”

But Banning grinned at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’ll help, don’t worry. But you’ve got to at least give it a shot, Harry. Think of it as a challenge.”

I knew there was no way out, not with all three of them looking at me like that. So, with a resigned sigh, I picked up a fork and dug in.

The first few bites were delicious, the crispy fries and rich toppings a perfect combination. But with every mouthful, I could feel my stomach stretching further, pushing against my waistband and straining the limits of my shirt. The tightness that had been a constant presence all day was now bordering on unbearable, a pressure that made it hard to focus on anything other than the sheer fullness of my gut.

Still, the guys kept urging me on, and somehow, I kept going. They were making a show of eating their share, but it was clear that most of the food was ending up in front of me. Every time I slowed down, they’d shove another forkful of loaded fries in my direction, laughing and cheering me on like it was some sort of competition.

“Harry’s taking the lead!” Noel shouted at one point, and the others whooped in agreement. 

I felt like I was in a daze, barely able to comprehend what I was doing as I continued to eat. My belly was now so bloated that it was pressing against the edge of the table, a round, firm dome that seemed to be growing larger with each bite. My shirt was stretched tight across the distended curve of my gut, and I could feel the seams straining with every breath.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I dropped my fork, unable to eat another bite. The platter was mostly empty, but my stomach felt like it was about to burst. I leaned back in my chair, groaning as the pressure in my belly intensified. It was a strange mix of pain and satisfaction, the kind of fullness that made it impossible to do anything but sit there and let my body digest.

The guys, of course, were loving it. They were all grins and high-fives, clearly proud of themselves for pushing me to this point.

“You’re a legend, Harry,” Banning said, clapping me on the back with a laugh. “I don’t know how you did it.”

I didn’t either. All I knew was that my belly was now so swollen and distended that I could barely move. It jutted out in front of me like a solid, round ball, the skin stretched tight and smooth over the massive bulge. I could feel every inch of it, the fullness pressing down on my lungs and making it hard to breathe, let alone think.

As we finally left the fry shop and started heading back to the hotel, I could barely keep up, my gait slow and awkward as I tried to accommodate the heavy mass of my gut. It felt like I was carrying a bowling ball strapped to my stomach, the weight of it pulling me forward with every step.

And yet, as uncomfortable as I was, there was a part of me that couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer size of my belly. I’d never been this full in my life, never even imagined it was possible to eat this much. It was almost impressive in a way, and despite everything, I found myself laughing along with the guys as we made our way back to the hotel.

By the time we finally made it back to the hotel, I was exhausted. My belly was so full and heavy that each step felt like a challenge, and the thought of just lying down was the only thing keeping me going. As we entered the room, the guys were still buzzing with energy, laughing and recounting the day’s events, but I could hardly focus on their words. All I could think about was getting out of my too-tight clothes and giving my aching stomach some relief.

I headed straight for the bathroom, barely pausing to acknowledge the banter going on behind me. Closing the door, I leaned against the sink for a moment, taking a deep breath as I let the tension drain from my shoulders. Then, with a grunt of discomfort, I began the laborious task of peeling off my clothes.

First, I unbuttoned my jeans, which had been digging into my sides for hours. The moment the button popped open, my belly surged forward, free from its confines at last. I couldn’t help but gasp slightly at the sensation—the relief was immediate, but the sheer weight of my gut was startling. I tugged the waistband down over my hips, letting the jeans fall to the floor, before yanking off my shirt, which had been stretched to its limits.

Once I was finally free of my clothes, I turned to face the mirror, and what I saw stopped me in my tracks. My belly—normally flat and firm—was now a completely different shape, swollen and rounded out in front of me like a tightly inflated balloon. The curve of it was almost shocking, jutting out so far that it seemed impossible it was my own body. My skin was stretched taut over the massive dome, with the light fur that usually covered my stomach now spread thin and sparse across the smooth, distended surface. 

I reached out tentatively, running a hand over the swell of my gut. It felt solid and unyielding, the kind of fullness that left no room for anything else. My fingers brushed against the fine hair that coated my belly, usually soft but now pulled taut over the curve, emphasising the tightness of my skin. The fur seemed almost out of place on such a massively bloated belly, a reminder of how much my body had changed in just a few short hours.

I took a step back, turning slightly to see my profile, and my eyes widened at the sight. The curve of my belly was even more pronounced from the side, a heavy, rounded bulge that hung low and full. It almost didn’t look real—like something out of a cartoon, exaggerated and impossible. And yet, there it was, a testament to just how much I had consumed.

I stood there for a moment, just staring at myself in the mirror. I knew I’d eaten a lot, but seeing the evidence in front of me like this was almost surreal. I couldn’t believe how much I’d managed to pack away—how much my belly had expanded to accommodate it all. I looked like I’d swallowed a beach ball whole, my normally lean frame now dominated by this massive, swollen gut.

A mix of shock and disbelief washed over me. I’d seen my belly bloated before—college eating challenges had often left me stuffed, but never like this. This was on another level entirely. I could feel the weight of it, the sheer fullness pressing down on me, making it hard to stand upright. Every movement made my gut jiggle slightly, a constant reminder of how tightly packed it was with food.

Despite the discomfort, there was something almost fascinating about it. The sight of my body so utterly transformed, my belly swollen beyond anything I’d ever thought possible, was strangely compelling. It was as if I’d crossed some invisible line, entered a new territory where my body was no longer my own but something else entirely—something massive and insatiable.

I ran my hand over the curve of my gut one more time, feeling the tightness beneath my palm, the way my skin stretched over the fullness. Then, with a deep breath, I turned away from the mirror and headed back into the room, where the guys were waiting. 

I stumbled out of the bathroom, still in a daze from the sight of my bloated belly, and made my way to the bed. My legs were heavy, my body protesting with every step as the weight of my overstuffed gut dragged me down. As soon as I reached the edge of the bed, I let myself fall backward, the mattress groaning beneath me as I sprawled out on top of the covers. The sensation of finally lying down was a relief beyond words. My belly, round and tight, stretched upward, and I could feel the strain in my skin as it tried to accommodate the ridiculous amount of food I’d packed away.

I let out a long, contented sigh, resting a hand on the taut dome of my stomach. It was firm to the touch, barely giving under the pressure of my fingers. My eyes drifted shut, and for a moment, I was lost in the sensation of being so full, so heavy, so utterly stuffed.

The sound of laughter pulled me from my reverie. The guys were still buzzing with energy, moving around the room as they started to get ready for whatever was coming next. Jim was the first to strip off his shirt, revealing a flat but slightly rounded belly—nothing compared to mine, but still showing signs of the indulgence we’d all participated in today. He patted it with a grin, turning to show it off to Banning and Noel.

"Look at this," Jim said, chuckling. "I’m usually flat as a board, but today... man, I’m starting to show a little gut. Must have been all those pastries at the market."

Banning, who was already down to his boxers, laughed and flexed his own stomach, which was a bit bloated  than usual but nowhere near as distended as mine. "Yeah, I’m feeling it too. I think I’m still carrying around half that platter of fries we demolished earlier."

Noel joined in, lifting his shirt to reveal his own slightly swollen belly. "Same here. It’s like we’ve all turned into little food balloons, but I gotta say, Harry definitely wins the prize for the biggest gut." 

They all turned to look at me, sprawled out on the bed with my massive, bloated belly on full display. The contrast between their smaller, slightly rounded stomachs and my own overstuffed gut was almost comical. I looked like I’d swallowed a whole watermelon, while they’d only nibbled on a few snacks.

Jim grinned and gave his own belly another pat. “How are you even still conscious after all that? You’ve gotta be on the verge of passing out, mate.”

I could only groan in response, too full and too tired to form a coherent reply. My belly felt like it was about to burst, every breath a reminder of how far I’d pushed myself today. But despite the discomfort, there was a strange sense of camaraderie in the room, a bond forged through our shared gluttony.

The guys continued to joke and laugh, comparing their own bellies and teasing me about mine, but I barely heard them. All I could focus on was the heavy, aching fullness that filled every inch of my midsection. I rubbed my hand over the curve of my stomach, trying to soothe the tightness, but it was no use. I was beyond stuffed, my gut stretched to its absolute limit.

Even so, as I lay there, I couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. I had no idea how I’d let myself get talked into eating so much, but in some weird way, it had been worth it. The guys were having the time of their lives, and despite my current state, I couldn’t deny that a part of me was enjoying it too.

For part two

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[sheepwavehdg]

[Nonfiction/serious, CW recount of online sexual harassment] So, holy fuck. Last night someone developed an introject/fictive of one of my characters, Sally Fable from Good Sensory. It went poorly.

This person was barely more than a total stranger to me and had been sending me some just plain nonsensical DMs on discord, so I just muted them for 24 hours because I didn't care or feel like dealing with it. I was about to be enjoying some Substances™, and I just told them I wasn't gonna be avaliable.

Fast forward a few hours later and my very pleasant high is interrupted by the notification that someone is calling me on discord. I tab over, and discover hundreds of messages calling me mistress, begging me to punish them, sending me partially nude photos, asking for reassurances that because they're Sally Fable, I wrote Good Sensory for them too (more on that in a moment)

I block them as soon as I understand what's happening, and then I think I started getting notifications of them pinging me on the HDG discord, bypassing the block via pluralkit(???) so I left the discord (I am unsure of this and can't find any supporting evidence of it now that Ive rejoined, I was high and confused, but it's what I thought was happening in the moment anyway which is why I left) and got to have the lovely experience of learning how much worse a panic attack hurts when you're high and every sensation has "reverb" on your body.

This felt so particularly violating because Sally is not some character I made up whole cloth, her personality and appearance is specifically modeled on two of my partners. This is not a secret, it's in the chapter notes. I know this person read those, because some of the hundreds of messages they sent me referenced it and asked if this meant I wrote it for them too.

I made the discord staff aware of what was going on and they did a great job of both handling the situation on the server and lots of them reaching out to me and making me feel like I wasn't alone and they had my back, which meant more in that moment than I can even put into words. 😭

Anyway, I just woke up a few hours ago from a nightmare where this person sent me a suicide note via the comments on Good Sensory, which unfortunately is well within the reasonable possibility space of a thing that happens when someone fixates on you and you block them and they are banned from their community. (I have had stalkers in the past! Yay!)

So yeah I was very much not calm to see this when I woke up

I got a friend to check over the comments before I looked, and fortunately it was just normal comments. I've been absolutely blown away by the reaction to Good Sensory in particular, and I love reading peoples comments. That I was made to feel scared of something that would normally make me flap my hands in joy (sixteen new comments overnight is not unheard of for me, but it's still not typical) feels so shitty.

I also feel horribly guilty even tho I know it's irrational for me to feel anything but violated by this having happened. Like there's a reason I identify with the affini, I can't see someone in distress and not want to help. I feel bad that what I assume was a vulnerable trans woman clearly in some kind of psychosis state is going to have to wake up from it and find out they blew up their own social life yesterday.

But yeah, god, fuck, what a thing that happened. I had to write this just to proscess this experience. It doesn't feel like it was real but like it was. I'm going to be shaken by this for a bit most likely 😓

[chapel-of-rizztual]

Random ghoul Headcanons

Dewdrop and aether almost always sleep in the same bed. They’re inseparable at the best of times but at night it seems to get worse.

Mountain is the chef of the ghouls. Boy can rustle up a 5 course meal for everyone out of nothing.

Dew is actually very scared of the dark. He has a little nightlight in his room for the rare occasion he’s alone. He’d rather die then let any of the other find out. They all know anyway.

Rain goes mute from time to time. Nobody really knows why, not even rain, but sometimes he just can’t seem to find words. When he’s not mute though he’s very talkative and definitely not as a shy as people seem to think.

Mountain has read most of the books in the library. He loves reading its one of his favourite hobbies. He’s not sure when or how it started but he started reading out loud to dew at one point so much so that the other ghoul started bringing him specific books he wanted mountain to read to him.

Aether can sense emotions. It’s part of his quintessence in a way. He can also ease emotions as well which is why he’s around copia a lot. He likes to ease his anxiety.

Swiss like to throw himself down the stairs. Like a bowling ball. He says it’s faster then walking down them. Everyone hates it. Except sunshine and dew. They have a bet on how many ribs he’ll eventually break.

Cirrus and cumulus can ice skate. They go on ice skating dates all the time. They’re trying to teach sunshine so she can go with them.

Ghouls head bonk to show affection. They also rub heads together. Aggressively. If you didn’t know it was sign of affection you’d think it was was a weird standoff.

Licking is also a sign of affection. Especially on the neck where the sent glands are. It’s also the best way to spread their sent on other ghouls. Swiss especially liked to nuzzle into the others ghouls necks.

Their horns are very sensitive. They only trust other ghouls to touch them.

Rain, dew and Swiss taught all the other ghouls how to swim. All three ghouls having some kind of water element meant they could swim natural. The others…not so much. But it didn’t take long for the others to learn and now in the summer they spend hours at the abbey lake.

Dew eats coal. He’s often seen with black smudges around his mouth and hands. And he likes to sit in the fire place. The others have to keep him out of the fire places because it freaks the sibling out.

Aether snores like crazy. It drives the others insane but they learnt if you shove a Pillow under his back it’s not as bad.

Mountain sleep walks. It’s terrifying.

Sunshine talks in her sleep. It’s mostly nonsense but one time she went on a sleep rant about soup. Dew and cumulus laughed so much they woke rain up.

No surprise to anyone but Swiss can dance. Like really well.

They loop their tails around various body parts of other ghouls. Mostly arms and legs but they also tangle their tails together. They chew on the spade of their tails to self sooth.

The ghouls are banned from copias room because dew once broke in and drank the liquid from the lava lamps. Nobody knows how he didn’t get sick.

The ghouls also aren’t allowed glow sticks because Swiss ate one once ( it was more then once and more then one) He denied it of course but the way his teeth glowed for days gave him away.

wake up a sleeping ghoul they make the mrrp? Sound.

[mastermark1960]

I am once again so disappointed with the leftist demonazis constantly spewing nonsensical drivel every time they don't like someone elses opinion. Demonazis are so far to the left that they agree with and use the propaganda tools of the two worst extreme right ass holes that ever walked the earth. Hitler and Stalin both treated their own people with such disrespect and callousness that they created concentration camps and gulags to silence any opposition to their rule.

The following information comes from the holocaust encyclopedia. I wrote comments that are not after bullet points.

• The Nazis were skilled propagandists who used sophisticated advertising techniques and the most current technology of the time to spread their messages.

Think of CNN, MSNBC, NPR, ABC, CBS, NBC, all other "news outlets" for example the New York times, Boston globe, and Washington post are but a few. They don't report the news but continuously give us their opinions on everything. The 5ws are desperately needed to stop their propaganda. We can include the woke organizations like Disney and Hollywood movie makers for spreading propaganda for the demonazis.

• Once in power, Adolf Hitler created a Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda to shape German public opinion behavior.

▪︎Nazi propaganda played an integral role in advancing the persecution and ultimately the destruction of Europe’s Jews and all political Dissidents. It incited hatred and fostered a climate of indifference to their fate.

Think of how the demonazis allowed the likes of BLM and ANTIFA to destroy many cities. No action was taken by those in power to stop the destruction or prosecute the perpetrators. Then remember the hissy fit they had when they allowed, yes demonazis allowed, Republican protester into the capital. The demonazis prosecuted 100s of peaceful republican protesters. If the republican protesters were acting like BLM and ANTIFA the Capitol would be a smoking ruin.

• The Nazis wanted Germans to support the Nazi dictatorship and believe in Nazi ideas. To accomplish this goal, they tried to control forms of communication through censorship and propaganda. This included control of newspapers, magazines, books, art, theater, music, movies, and radio.

• When the Nazis came to power in 1933, the German constitution guaranteed freedom of speech and freedom of the press. Through decrees and laws, the Nazis abolished these civil rights and destroyed German democracy. Starting in 1934, it was illegal to criticize the Nazi government. Even telling a joke about Hitler was considered treachery. People in Nazi Germany could not say or write whatever they wanted. 

Examples of censorship under the Nazis included:

• Closing down or taking over anti-Nazi newspapers; 

• Controlling what news appeared in newspapers, on the radio, and in newsreels;

• Banning and burning books that the Nazis categorized as un-German.

• Textbooks are a good example of how propaganda and censorship worked together in the Nazi regime. The Nazis used both propaganda and censorship to control what students read in school. Nazi censors removed some textbooks from classrooms. New textbooks taught students to obey the Nazi Party, love Hitler, and hate Jews.

The demonazis took over education with the creation of the Department of education in 1979.

The Higher Education Act of 1965 introduced federal student aid and loan programs. These give away programs allowed higher education to run amuk with ever increasing cost of degrees. This needs to stop now.

Demonazis try to stop the political middle and right from voicing their opinions by controlling who can and can't post on many social media sight. Censorship at it worst. Thank God Elon Musk bought out Twitter and turned it into X. No more censorship there. Of course the demonazis scream foul.

We The People who love the United States of America must stand by her in her hour of desperate need. If we don't our great country is doomed. I know this is a long winded post but I felt it was necessary to explain how dangerous the deep state and New World Order are. This is why I call the democrats demonazis as the word fits perfectly.

Thank you for reading this post. If you like my post please repost it and start calling the democrats exactly what they are, demonazis.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Kataang is a ship that dared to be different. Not sure why people think Kataang is a sexist ship when Katara and Aang both protect and support each other and neither is the damsel and the hero in the relationship.

And yet people think ZK is better than the average M/F ship when the reason why ZK is so damn popular is because of annoying overdone hetero-normalic tropes. To the point where people think Zuko taking a hit for Katara is romantic coded (and apparently me and my peers are """delusional""" for not seeing it as romantic coded) and that ZK fanfics are such romantic fantasies of Zuko saving Katara and Katara being such a meek little girlfriend for the badass chad fanon!Zuko. (As if the ZK fanbase is aware that Zuko and Katara are both pure yang energy and they have to make Katara meek to make the ZK ship work.)

I mean yes I am annoyed Z/tara is as popular as it is but Kataang is canon and ZK is dipping in popularity and it feels like the bulk of the ZK fanbase is just annoying ass middle aged women who get pissy at a kids show for not being the adult show they want...

Just food for thought...Especially considering ZK shippers act immature trying to 1-up people by saying their ship is popular (I mean, are they unaware Zukka topped Z/tara?) And again, popular doesn't automatically mean good...Especially since Z/tara is only popular because it hits all those hetero-normalic beats that people adore so much.

Guys, come on, let's be serious here. I LOVE kataang, with all my heart, BUT best friends to lovers is as cliche as enemies to lovers, main guy dates main girl is as cliche as hero falls in love with the villain who changes side. To quote my best friend @dragomer "A knife is cliche. It's still what you use to cut shit with."

The problem with Zutara fans is not the they prefer the more "traditional" romance, or that it's cliche, or that it's smutty, or that they sometimes make it a toxic dynamic, or that it's not a "progressive" ship. The problem is they feel entitled to push their preference as the only correct one - it's the same issue that made the fandom for Zukka, an actual non hetero ship, so hated by everyone else. No one likes the people that think only they are allowed to have fun with fanon. No one likes the people that expects them to disregard canon for the sake of their prefered fanon.

And speaking as a bisexual woman: we gotta stop with this nonsense of labeling straight ships "non-hetero normalic" for basic shit (and the reverse of it, the "hetero-normalic gay ship" that is literally just the age old homophobic question of "But which one of you is the woman?" with woke language attached to it). It doesn't matter if Kataang is "heteronormative" or not, because:

1 - All that matters in fiction is if something is WELL WRITTEN AND ENTERTAINING, not if it's progressive or more on the traditional side, if it's cliche or "subverting expectations".

2 - What media you find entertaining has nothing to do with your politic views and real-life sexual preferences. Liking one of H.P. Lovecraft's stories doesn't make you a racist, disliking Freddie Mercury doesn't mean you're homophobic (though it does mean you have shit taste in music), liking the most traditional straight romance ever doesn't mean you're straight yourself.

3 - In the case of Avatar in particular, lets be fucking real: no way two straight writers back in 2005, while working on a kids show in a network that had a long history of banning episodes of shows that tried to hint or full on talk about homosexuality, were thinking "How do we make this straight ship less 'hetero-normalic'?" They were just writting whatever felt right for the characters and story - that's why Avatar, while flawed and a product of it's time, aged WAY better than many shows of the time that had "be progressive" as the goal, it avoided forced narrative choices that were only made to beat the audience over the head with the moral lesson of the day.

[thecurrator]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @tigreblvnc

Your sibling is…Charles Chevalier!

This mischievous and playful boy is the perfect candidate to be your younger brother! You're laid back, analytic and something of a contrarian yourself. Growing up, he instinctively idolized you and ended up copying many of your personality traits.

It was probably a weird experience for you, seeing the little boy who would often follow you around and do everything you asked grow up into a brat that talks back and refuses to fulfill reasonable requests like do his own dishes. He hasn't grown out of his idolisation for you though! He just made the decision to hide it because being attached to one's older sibling is cringe (in his teenage opinion) and you also don't like clingy people, so he learned eventually that following you around and bothering you for attention isn't the best way to get you to like him.

Take this how you will, but there isn't anything about you that he doesn't like. The love he has for you is truly unconditional. He intergrated a lot of your personality traits into his own, so he doesn't see any problem with them. What about bad traits like being bossy? Impatient? His school teachers are worst. You snap at him because he was being too close or annoying? You just do that sometimes. Or maybe you're having a bad day. Things you do that he normally gets peeved at when others do it gets a pass simply because you're his older brother. He cannot comprehend a world in which he doesn't (secretly) love you wholeheartedly.

He likes a lot of the things you like as well! His favourites among your likes are having fun, joking around and cats and dogs. Though you especially like bigger dog breeds, he prefers the smaller breeds because they tend to be furry little balls of anger (he finds it funny). His favourite memory of you is probably when you took him on a short road trip with no destination in mind (just for the sake of driving and exploring) for the summer holidays, playing hit songs and letting him snack in the car. He suggested that you both sleep in the car for the first night but carbon monoxide poisoning is real so you responsibly checked into a motel.

He loves your cooking hobby and will unashamedly ask you to cook him a portion of whatever you're making every time. He won't help you. In fact, he'll make things harder by trying to steal a bite of the ingredients or taste the batter you're working on with his finger. You have banned him from the kitchen multiple times.

He's the type to ask you the weirdest questions at random times. He even woke you up one time at 3 am when he was younger to ask you "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?". When you aren't half asleep and angry at being woken up, your interest in philosophy and reinventing the world allows you to provide entertaining answers to his nonsensical questions. After all, he likes things that people think have no sense. He doesn't want the actual answer, he wants a good story.

Growing up with you, someone who doesn't follow social conventions much and allows him to be himself, he was quite disappointed to go out into the world and discover that the majority of people tend conform to some unwritten rules of social conduct. That's why he was so excited to meet someone like Shidou in the NEL and made sure to introduce him to you eventually. He's sure you both will hit it off instantly and hopes to be able to hang out with you both sometime.

[stopthewoke]

BIOLOGICAL MEN CANNOT BECOME WOMEN, NOR VICE VERSA.

[darkmaga-returns]

IT WAS quite the result. I’m not going to pretend that I thought President Trump would win the election. I had been saying for weeks beforehand, that ‘Trump is never going to the Oval office again.’ It’s not going to happen especially as their current plan was for him to be dead. I mean I thought he might win, but not win – win. Not get the win he needed to in the words of Mark Steyn put it beyond the ‘margin of steal’.  

Trump beat the margin of steal. He won big – he crushed it, as well as taking the popular win. A stunning victory. It was a great night, a damn great night, and the days after are just as sweet. It turns out that most Americans did not want to put a cackling, utterly stupid, nothing woman in the White House. They didn’t think Trump was a fascist; they were in fact angry about the gas bills, the shopping bills, the endless nonsense over bathrooms, the criminals running all over the place burning down their neighbourhoods with impunity, and the racism of DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion). 

Americans had had enough so they quietly and collectively cast their vote. All of them: more Latinos and blacks than ever before, the white male base of course, the suburban mom was happy once Trump said he would never sign a federal abortion ban (the pro-lifers need to wind their necks in now, and I say that as a pro-lifer). Enough, they said, of this out-of-control elite destroying America with out-of-control illegal immigration. Millions of immigrants said this, millions of them. Someone, anyone, has to get a hold of it.

Other observations include that it was a great night for men, those who have not been infected with the virus of woke. One of my favourite clips on Twitter right now is of a bunch of men in a room asking Alexa who is the President of the United States.

[komistarr]

BRO! WORD FOR WORD BAR FOR BAR THE SAME SHI I WAS COMPLAINING ABOUT EARLIER IS WORSE‼️‼️‼️‼️ WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE 🔥🔥🔥🔥

ALL I LOOK AT ARE PROMIA OR PROANA THINGS AND IT THINKS I WANNA SEE THAT? THIS R>PE FANTASY AHH COMIC?? (she was sleeping then woke up to that) WHATTTTT??? YOU'RE A JOKE!!! Bro also the feederism is getting absolutely abhorrent on here in some of these tags, it makes me wanna vomit because they got so bad they are turning purple. I see all of this unpromted but If you post a bodycheck???? BANNED like WHAT? screw off bro🗣🗣‼️‼️‼️💔💔

BRO or the ads are like some weird pron site thingy like... at least give me food ads or something??

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

Dream Ramble Time! This one's kinda interesting. Still weird. Still that classic dream nonsense as well Involved the survivor's of the first killing game, following Byakuya in this adventure. Most parts of this dream are a bit disjointed so I only remember a few specific moments but it's enough to talk about. Main plot was that Byakuya was trying to look for Makoto. Think it was some bizarro timeline where the killing game did occur since the survivor's where here and I believe there was at least one mention of a mastermind who they beat. At some point in the dream, Byakuya was doing some weird ass cryptic puzzle involving these giant machine's and mixing some paints together to open some doors like a weird cryptic puzzle one would find in a game. There was also a small flashback during this where Byakuya was thinking back to earlier in the day, think about how unlucky the group's all been where a bunch of crow's showed up before some disaster that caused some of the other survivor's to have 3rd degree burns. This part confused me though cus my dumb brain left a plot hole cus it showed a freeze frame of the group fine but never shows their burns or how the crows have anything to do with this. I digress though. Here's were the more interesting part kicks in. Basically, after Byakuya finds his way out of the weird puzzle room, he makes it into this mystical cave to find Makoto, however finding a fake. Essentially, the cave's entities mimic who they (the person entering the cave) miss most in the moment. At some point as well, some of the other survivor's were able to make it to the cave and they met their own fake people like Aoi saw Sakura and Hiro saw his mom. One other thing of note is that, if one is drawn to far into the cave, they will essentially be killed and go to the afterlife. Like, the cave's a sort of limbo from life and death though once one goes far enough, they can never go back. Back to the main plot though, Byakuya eventually deduces that this Makoto is indeed a fake and leaves the cave, eventually finding Makoto on the ground curled up. Or well, he was supposed to but my brain for some unknown reason represented Makoto as a weird chipped bowl for a few seconds so Byakuya was like, cradling a chipped bowl for a moment before my brain remembered that "Oh! Makoto isn't a bowl! He's a boy!" Once Makoto was presented as a human being though, (maybe this is game logic where Makoto just turned into a place holder item!) the two have a discussion on the floor in the grasslands, (forgot to mention but they're in a jungle for some reason or some jungle equivalent. weird version of the school greenhouse perhaps??) Makoto then talks about his experience in the cave. This is where the dream loses the plot. Cus, there's a flash back to Makoto and his mother in the cave. But, for some weird ass reason, she's like... a tiny giraffe? But she looked more like a little pony, no giraffe spots... and Makoto's reasoning as to why he was able to realize this wasn't his mother is that like... his mother isn't a shiny girafarig. I have no no words.... After the boys have their vague convo on the floor, Kyoko exists the cave. In my vague brain dream state, it showed prior that she saw her mother in the cave, but let's be real. It wasn't at all her mother realistically, I say when Makoto saw a baby giraffe in the cave so I dunno! Finally, Kyoko walks to the boys and like, they all have a vague convo about what they saw and if they're okay. Think it's implied the other survivor's escaped too but like, Toko was never mentioned in this dream. Poor girl was done dirty. But, after they talk, Kyoko guides them to a nook adjacent to the cave where she shows some archives about the cave siren people, talks about their lore, mentions how some of them are better at their craft than others and how some of them are banned from doing their siren shape shifting as they used bad material in the archives that was unconvincing. And then I woke up.

[mitchipedia]

Cory Doctorow: “If only the Democratic Party was as scared of its base as the Republicans are of their own.”

Progressives need to learn from the lunatic wing of the Repubican Party.

The GOP is wildly unpopular among Americans and maintains power due to voter suppression and antimajoritarian institutions such as the Senate and Electoral College. The Republican Party has only one one Presidential election on popular votes in the last 36 years, in 2004, when GW Bush won a plurality (not a majority).

36 years!

Doctorow:

The GOP’s platform just isn’t popular. Take the groomer panic: 71% of Americans approve of same-sex marriage. The people losing their shit about queer people are a strange, tiny minority…. Every one of the GOP’s tentpole issues is wildly unpopular: expanding access to assault rifles, banning immigration, lowering taxes on the rich, cutting social programs, forcing pregnant people to bear unwanted children, etc. This is true all the way up to the GOP’s coalescing support for Trump as their 2024 candidate. Trump has lost every popular vote he’s ever stood for, and owes his term in the Oval Office to the antimajoritarian Electoral College system, gerrymandering, and massive voter suppression…. … Dem leaders are basically ‘normal’ center-right politicians, not radicals. And, unlike their GOP counterparts, politicians like Clinton, Obama and Biden don’t hide their disdain for the radical wing of their party. Even never-Trumper Republicans are afraid of their base. Romney declared himself “severely conservative” and McCain “put scare quotes around ‘health of the mother’ provisions for abortion rights….. The GOP fringe imposes incredible discipline on their leaders. Take all the nonsense about “woke capitalism”: on the one hand, it’s absurd to call union-busting, tax-dodging, worker-screwing companies ‘woke’ (even if they sell Pride flags for a couple of weeks every year). But on the other hand? The GOP leadership have actually declared war on the biggest corporations in America, to the point that the WSJ says that ‘Republicans and Big Business broke up’.

Meanwhile the Biden administration has no coherent policy and governs by doling out favors to the coalition of wings of the Democratic Party.

This isn’t just bad for policy, it’s bad politics, too. It presumes that if some Democratic voters want pizza, and others want hamburgers, that you can please everyone by serving up pizzaburgers. No one wants a pizzaburger. The failure to deliver a coherent, muscular vision … has left the Democrats vulnerable. Because while the radical proposals of the GOP fringe may not enjoy much support, there are large majorities of Americans who have lost faith in the status quo and are totally uninterested in the Pizzaburger Party.

This opens the door to someone like RFK Jr., who is the Democratic Party’s version of Donald Trump, tapping into the party rank-and-file’s legitimate outrage at their party elite and the US government.

[fidget-scribbles]

The $#!% you mean 'unscripted?'

Rating: T Word Count: 496

In answer to the question 'What would motivate Hermione to have anything to do with reality TV?'

To: hjg@OccamyAlliance.org From: development@bsmcstudios.com Subject: re:your pitch Congrats Hermoine! Your proposal is moving to active development, pending structural revisions. Meet with Draco Malfoy, Director of Unscripted Programming, to discuss. Details attached

Structural revisions? Unscripted programming?

Her pitch was flawless. Moreover, it was very much scripted. Hermione had written the script herself.

Certainly, it had flexibility befitting a documentary; one had to allow for vagaries of the field. But Hermione knew the Occamys; her script eloquently and compellingly elucidated their precarious situation.

She Googled. It got worse.

"Unscripted Programming" was industry-speak for Reality TV.

Draco Malfoy was the "brain" —if one could call it that— behind 21 DrunkStreet, Glam Grannies, and innumerable interchangeably degrading 'dating' shows. He was also a multi-millionaire banking heir and gossip blog darling: the absolute dregs of modern entertainment culture.

He was supposed to produce a thought-provoking feature on the Occamy's impending extinction?

The attachment announced lunch tomorrow —presumptuous— at a restaurant Hermione definitely could not afford.

Clearly, there had been a mistake. Probably several.

In her highest heels and tightest skirt, Hermione tottered across the spacious patio, following a model/hostess to a shady table where a bleach-blond man in a white suit and Ray-Bans lounged, a caricature of affected indolence.

"Babe, let's do another marg? And one for my friend." He finally acknowledged Hermione. "You like margaritas, right? They're outrageous here."

She itched to correct him, but a margarita did sound refreshing.

"Mr. Malfoy…"

"Draco, please." His smile hit with unexpected, dazzling force. Teeth too white and too square. Jaw too chiseled. People like this were grown in labs.

She shook it off. "What sort of revisions did you have in mind?"

"Yeah, no, I can roll with direct." He tossed her a folder. "BSMC isn't fielding traditional documentaries, but your pitch caught my eye. Total downer, obviously, but something about it… Anyway, I've envisioned a more approachable treatment."

"Approachable?"

"We'll follow a dozen earnest, attractive kids as they drink, flirt, and do environmental restoration work on the Occamy habitat outside Cabo."

Hermione stared. Somehow worse than she imagined.

"You'll run the project, off-camera. Though…" He tilted his head, appraising. "On could work, actually."

"That isn't remotely—"

"It'll connect with younger viewers, the whole woke thing, and the older, more affluent demo."

"If you read my proposal—"

"I did. Moving stuff. I want to give Occamys a platform so entertaining viewers forget how depressing they are."

"I'm trying to get people to take this issue seriously, Malfoy."

"No, Granger, you're trying to make them feel bad about it. Miserable strategy. Tanks ratings and donations."

"It's not about—"

"Of course not." He winked. "Check out page 17, though. Budget estimates."

Hermione knew ledgers, but this was just industry gibberish and nonsensical sums. She raised an eyebrow.

"Thematic Development Concession, under Content Services. That's the donation we'll make to fund this project."

"Oh."

Her margarita arrived. She drank as if it might contain answers.

"Oh."

"So, what do you say, Granger? Wanna make some television?"

~More LDWS Drabbles on Ao3~