110 pound

Zoo Visitors are Strange

I work as an “Animal Interpreter” for the local zoo. My job is to choose an exhibit and tell people about the animals there. I share interesting facts, explain misconceptions and basically just act friendly with the visitors. This is my second year doing so, and I wanted to share some of the strangest things I’ve seen or heard about.

•One young lady, a stereotypical White Girl™, complained to me that the red pandas weren’t getting enough exercise. Red pandas are active at dawn and dusk, and ours prefer to play out of human sight. I explained this to her, and she told me that in the wild, our red pandas would be running 100,000 miles a day in search of food. Bullshit. Oh, and the kicker? This animal rights chick was wearing sheepskin shoes!

•Twice I’ve been mistaken for a boy. I’m a cis female with a VERY feminine face, and the only thing masculine about me is my flat chest.

•My favourite place to work is with the snakes. I have a bit of a humourus speech about how snakes are rather similar to humans in that they only want to sleep, be warm, be left alone and eat. This usually goes over well and makes people laugh, but it got a little weird when a middle-aged man (with his wife right there!) said “sounds like my brother-in-law…if snakes were neo-Nazis”, and then jokingly invited me to his family reunion. He was nice and he wasn’t very creepy or anything, but how the fuck do I respond to that?!

•It’s not uncommon for people to point at an ostrich egg and ask if it’s a zebra egg. We also get asked if our lorikeets are anamotronic, and if the sloth in the aviary is plastic.

•One man- a middle aged man with a child!- decided that our fruit bats weren’t flying enough and started POUNDING on the glass. He did the same thing to one of our boas a few seconds later. What the fuck??!

•I’ve been asked multiple times if I handle our anaconda. Our anaconda is 14-16 feet long and about 220 or so pounds. I’m five foot four and weigh 110 pounds, and I’m incredibly scrawny, not to mention the fact that he’s, you know, a giant fucking constrictor snake. Why would you think I’m his handler?

•There are wild geese living on our grounds. Guests often try to pet them or pick up the goslings, and a lot of them let their children chase the geese. Most of them get confused or angry when we tell them to leave the geese alone.

•Apparently last year, security was called because a “naked two year old was chasing the geese”. I have no idea how that happened.

•And on a final and just amusing note, one gentleman described Eastern Diamondbacks as “eight feet of NOPE!”. He was a pleasure to talk to, quite nice and listened well.

erai-crabantaure  asked:

I am so glad you share my opinions on compound bows. It's cheating, if you can't draw the weight of the bow you don't deserve to shoot it. Start with a different, easier to draw bow and work up to it. It's not impossible. I am a tiny skinny person and back when i regularly did archery, I could draw up to 45. Sadly I'm out of practice, so I've gone down to 35 now

Like. Honestly. 

“Oh you only shoot a 45 pound bow? Mine’s 110 pound” NO STEVE YOU DRAW LIKE 10 POUNDS ON THAT AND NEED A LASER SIGHT TO HIT ANYTHING A FIVE YEAR OLD CHILD COULD DO THAT GIT GUD OR GO HOME

This is Andy! He’s just about two years old, 110 pounds, 28 inches high at the shoulder, and about 40 inches long. I know he’s border collie mixed with something, but I have no idea what the second part could be. All I know is that I love him, and that he’s my little clown.

110 Pounds of Love

A/N: A follow up to Frank the Tank after they’ve had Frank for about a year, and they’ve just had a baby. Fluffy cuteness. Is this what you had in mind @quirkiest-turtle? ;) @coveofmemories

                                                             —–

With little Spencer Jr. chilling out in the Boba baby wrap, you walked outside to start doing some of the dishes. Spencer claimed he was going to start on dinner after he finished reading and walking the dog, your 110-pound brown pitbull Frank a.k.a. Frank the Tank, but when you walked out of the bedroom, you saw a giant brown blob sitting directly on Spencer’s lap. 

“I can’t get up,” he laughed, craning his head to see you and baby Spencer walking out of the bedroom. “He thinks he’s a lap dog.” Frank was curled up, fast asleep, right on Spencer’s lap. He’d been reading his book, using the dog as a place to rest his hands, but now that he wanted to make dinner and walk him, he couldn’t manage to get him up. When that dog was asleep, he was completely dead weight. Frank was fast asleep. “Help me.”

You smirked as you walked into the kitchen and turned on the sink, waiting for the water to come to a comfortable temperature. “I think you might be out of luck,” you replied. While the water warmed, you pulled out your phone and walked over to Spencer. You needed a picture of this giant lump of dog pinning your husband to the couch. 

Just as you clicked the picture, you heard a knock at the door. That would be JJ, Will, Henry and Michael coming over for dinner. JJ and Will got a chance to hang out with mini Spencer, while Henry and Michael fawned over Frank. The Tank took to the boys immediately, so you were confident he’d be a great companion for the baby as he grew up. “Hello loves,” you said, watching as Frank happily jumped off Spencer’s lap and went to go kiss the boys. 

“Frank!” they screamed, placing their arms gently around Frank’s big, burly neck. “Feck!” Michael attempted to yell fetch, but considering he was only three it came out more like fuck so you all had to try not to laugh. While the boys ran around the apartment, Spencer was finally able to get up, lifting Henry and Michael up off the ground and rough-housing with them until you asked him to walk the dog. 

“How would you like to come with me to walk Frank?” he asked the happy-go-lucky children. 

“I’ll come with you too,” Will drawled. “Then we come back, wash our hands and get ready for dinner okay? Y/N and Spencer have been nice enough to invite us over.”

“It’s no problem,” you said. You got a little extra help with the baby from JJ and Will, and the boys absolutely adored Frank. It was a win-win all around. “Have fun with Frank, babies.”

As soon as they walked out the door, you sighed. You loved your boys, both adult and child, human and dog, but there was never a quiet moment anymore. JJ knew and said nothing as she helped you start dinner. Hopefully, Spencer and Will would take their time with the boys.

                                                              —–

“Slow down, boys!” Will called, watching as Henry and Michael walked ahead, big brother holding on to little brother’s hand. “Frank wants to catch up!” They looked back and ran toward the dog, arms outstretched as he slobbered them in kisses. “Can’t run too far ahead. You gotta stay near the adults.”

In the proceeding year, Spencer’s arm muscles had bulked up considerably. All thanks to the tank. Trying to wrangle the 110-pound pitbull proved more difficult than he had ever thought; Frank wasn’t mean at all, he was just very excitable. “Woah, calm down Frank,” Spencer said, grabbing tighter onto the leash as Frank got a peek at a squirrel. Will laughed as Frank started barking at the creature that ran lightning speed up the side of a tree. “He really likes squirrels.”

“Honestly,” Spencer said, “he wants to play with them. He has no idea how big he is.”

“Yea, JJ was telling me he thinks he’s a lap dog.”

“Apparently. I’m constantly cold though, and he’s a walking, barking furnace, so he keeps me warm.”

They four turned the corner to start heading back toward the apartment when another squirrel crossed Frank’s path. He lunged forward, causing Spencer to lose his grip and drop the leash. Frank ran forward, past the boys to follow the squirrel, but thankfully he was a very good listener. “Frank! Stop!” he screamed, running in front of Henry and Michael to the dog who’d stopped in his tracks. “You can’t go running off like that, you’ll hurt yourself.” Breathing heavy from excitement, Frank just wagged his tail and licked Spencer’s face. “Let’s get back upstairs.”

                                                             —–

About 15 minutes later, you and JJ heard the unmistakable stampeding footsteps of your boys. “Thank you for the complete and total silence JJ, I love you.” Leaning over, you kissed JJ on the cheek. Spencer Jr. had been asleep the entire time, so you got some much deserved silence.

“No problem,” she laughed quietly. “Silence is golden.”

“And rare.”

The door flew open, revealing one barreling pitbull, two boys with an endless amount of energy, and two very tired dads. “How was your walk?” you asked.

“Frank here really likes squirrels, doesn’t he?” Will laughed. “Go wash up boys!”

Frank really did love his squirrels. “He ran in front of me after one,” Spencer said, “But he stopped as soon as I yelled.”

“Good boy,” you said to Frank as he sniffed at mini Spencer. You handed him a treat and he got his nose right near the baby’s butt, moving back almost immediately. “Oh, I think Frank is telling us we have a dirty diaper.”

Considering where he was hanging, JJ did as all mothers do, bending down to do a sniff test on the baby. “Oh yea,” she laughed, “he definitely needs a change. Want me to get him?”

“Gods, yes,” you said. Having friends over really took the pressure off.

Peed my Pants While Tech Supporting A Friend!

You know the drill. This happened to me, I wrote out the experience for omorashi.org, I’m reposting it here. But this one is actually fairly recent!

————————————

Hi everyone! It’s me, Kozmo. Its been awhile since I’ve written anything here or done any lottos, I’ve been having a weird go of it in life lately. For example, I just moved away from my home I grew up in, into the city! New apartment, new life, still getting the hang of it (I’ve lived here a little over a week now) but I think I’m doing okay. The long and short of it is, I’ve been busy like I’ve never been busy before. Almost as if fate was detecting the negligence in omorashi activities to share with you all, I had an…incident, the other day. Right here in my new apartment, no less, so it could be considered a christening.

Also, it’s been awhile, so I might have a fair amount of new readers! Hi, I’m KozmoFox, things happen to me a lot and I write about them here. I occasionally put on fun lottery games to allow some lucky winner to pick the next omorashi scenario I deliberately put myself in so I can write about it here.

Obligatory description phase!

I don’t change much :P. I’m in the upper-mid 5ft range and too lazy to measure myself exactly, and I fluctuate between like 100-110 pounds. Yes yes, I know, too skinny. I’ve been doing workouts to try and build some actual muscle mass, but not too much, I like being really lean and thin, I just don’t like being called a twig like its an insult :(. I’m 22 years old as of last wednesday. Long dark hair, a nose stud, and several tattoos ranging in areas from my chest and collarbone areas, wrists, back, and ankles. Not telling what they are! They are super identifiable and I’m not looking for stalkers. I’m also as pale as a snowy winter day.

On this particular day I was wearing a black star wars T-shirt, grey pajama pants that kind of looked like sweatpants, a pair of white panties, and a pair of super aesthetic black socks with rainbow stripes.

Now to tell you about my day!  It was a day just like any other in my new apartment, essentially just sitting around playing video games all day. It was warm, and I was having a lot to drink. Like, a LOT. Mainly because for some weird reason, I had a headache and I was out of Tylenol but drinking cold water was making the headache a lot more tolerable. I’m no doctor, but if it works I keep doing this. Eventually, as logic dictates, I needed to pee. Because you know, that’s what happens. I didn’t INTEND to do a hold that day but fate had other plans in store for me, as when I reached the squirming-and-about-to-leak stage after refilling the pitcher I had at my desk, I moved to get up again so I could use the bathroom….BUT. I received a call on Discord.

Meet Kaylee. Kaylee is getting into the PC gaming scene. However, her PC is a toaster. However x2, she doesn’t know the first thing about basic computer operation. Kaylee bought CS:GO. Kaylee tried to change her resolution low when her monitor is actually a 16:9 TV and had no idea why her screen was suddenly black when she tried to play the game.

Meet me. The poor sucker that was about to get sucked into tech support duty.

You see, this wasn’t as simple as telling her what folder her config file was in. This is like, your grandparents level of needing tech support. I also didn’t know where it was by default given I’m not a big CS:GO player, so it was bound to be an adventure.

“Kaylee I’ll help you, but I’ve REALLY gotta pee, I’ll be right back.”
“No no! This will only take a few seconds and I wanna play :(”

You see friends, what you have right there is an excuse for an omo-fanatic to torture themselves. A normal person would have told Kaylee to fuck off for 20 seconds. I just took a sip of my water to ease my head pain and said “Fine.”

First I got her to screenshare so I could see her screen. I could see CS:GO but she couldn’t, because it was her tv not supporting the resolution that was the problem, not the system. For about 10 minutes I tried to guide her mouse. Wasn’t working. By the end of that I was sitting on my heel, rocking back and forth in my rocking chair gritting my teeth. I was slightly irritable from the growing pressure in my bladder and far too impatient for something so meticulous. Around this time I might have brought up my situation in the site chat. I finished my glass of water, and poured another. Counter-intuitive to holding it in until we were finished the call, yes, but my head hurt and the water helped. But god I had to pee.

Next step was to try and find the config folder that every game on earth has. But lo and behold, couldn’t find one in the general location. Her steam wasn’t in her program files.

“Where did you install Steam?”

“I dunno. :D”

I was so frustrated I leaked. That’s not even an exaggeration, the eyeroll at the ceiling and the distraught groan took enough off my senses that I felt my panties grow warm. Like a flash I had my hand between my legs, and feeling it against my fingers was enough to tell me it had made it through to the pants. I wiped my fingers off on my knee, but went back to pressing the heel of my hand against my crotch while rocking in my chair. At this point I was literally sweating from the effort of holding it in, once or twice using my right hand to wipe off my forehead while holding myself with my left. The feeling in my bladder was ridiculous, and I could feel the muscles in my pelvic floor wavering, LITERALLY wavering like when you’re holding something heavy and your arms start to shake. I had no choice but to battle through it.

“Kaylee, listen I need to go to the bathroom like right now so I’ll be ba–”

“Nooo! One more second we just need to find the file right? And change it and we’ll be done.”

Fast forward a few more agonizing minutes, and I find her steam is installed to her desktop.

Her DESKTOP. It was a mess. I’m pretty sure some things were outright missing. It was like looking at a massacre. A literal massacre. I was so frustrated I could scream, and I needed to pee so fucking BADLY I could cry. Frantically looking around her desktop for the thing I was looking for, my entire body tensed up, and I could feel my bladder tightening and tightening trying to let something out. You know the feeling I mean, where you literally lock down as hard as possible just tensing, and your bladder is fighting back against you to force it out, and more often than not manages to leak it out? That happened to me and I quickly shut my mic off momentarily as I loudly groaned in protest, feeling a sizable leak painfully force its way out of me and into my pants. Looking down, I saw the grey darken, and could feel a bit of warmth pooling in my underwear and pants around my rear end. I clutched myself with both hands and waited for the wave to pass.

Then it hit me like a freight train, how stupid I was. I told her to open Steam, right click CSGO, go to properties and go to local files. I was so distracted by needing to piss like a racehorse that I forgot the easiest solution on earth. I had her go to the cfg folder and start clicking around. I was on the brink, I needed to have this done now or never. Bouncing up and down in my chair I started getting mad, none of the cfg files that were there had graphic and video settings. It dawned on me dreadfully. These were all for control settings. All of them. And my bladder was seconds away from giving out, I could feel it tensing up again ready to spill and I knew I wouldn’t be able to properly fight it this time.

“Kaylee I’ll be rig–”

“But–”
“Kaylee I’m about to piss my fucking pa–”

I clicked my mic off, tossing my headset aside and shooting up before I could finish my sentence. I couldn’t hold it. I COULDN’T hold it. I make a lot of noise when trying to hold it, so I switched my mic off in advance of the self begging.

“Oh god fuck fuck noplease fuck no”

It started to force its way out. Through me, through my panties, through my pants, into my fingers. I slapped a hand over my mouth as I started violently moaning and lurching, bouncing and trying to hold it back. It didn’t help, it just made it worse. The leak became a stream that almost hurt to try and stop, and I could feel my pants quickly growing warm and sopping. Realizing my chair was fabric, I jumped out and landed on my floor, on my knees. One hand gripping my desk, one hand on the floor, both keeping me upright. Upon hitting the floor, my bladder DROPPED and I full on exploded. I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t, it was like unscrewing the cap on a firehydrant. PSSSSSSSH. My pajamas were soaked in seconds, and I had a huge puddle expanding underneath me at a rate that it might as well have been my own personal tsunami. I continually shuddered and lurched and loudly moaned (I’m very vocal when I lose it) until I was empty.

Eventually I managed to get upright, wiping my hand that was overtaken by the lake on the front of my absolutely destroyed pants; I had managed to soak them completely, front and back, as is usually the case with me. It was hard to find a dry spot. Cleaning this up would end up sopping an entire towel. I put my headset back on and told Kaylee that I had to suddenly leave anyway because I had to rush across the apartment to answer my phone. I stayed kneeling in my pee puddle and soaked pants until I had solved her issue. The CSGO graphics cfg is in userdata, not the install folder. I was so goddamn angry. So. Goddamn. Angry. Had her change the resolution to 1600x900 and all was good.

“Okay [Name Redacted], sorry for being so impatient and keeping you here and bothering you so much! You can go pee now!”

“Oh don’t worry I did all that when I went to go get the phone.”
“Kay! Talk to you later!”

And that was that. I cleaned up the mess, tossed my pj’s in the clothes basket, and watched some JoJo’s after taking care of various other needs, like [redacted] and food.

I hope you all enjoyed! Thank you for reading! Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message or whatever, I love you all! <3

When it happens.

When I was in the seventh grade I was in the percussion closet. My friends were with me and so were the two boys that I liked at the time. We were all just talking and one of my ‘friends’ commented on my weight. I thought I was normal so I said that I was perfectly fine. In the seventh grade I told those boys and my friends that I weighed 110 pounds and that was too much. The boys said, “Woah! You’re fat!” Cause they were in the seventh grade and didn’t know much better. They knew it was rude but didn’t think it would hurt my feelings. It did. That was the very first time I Googled calories and weight. I regret ever googling those things. Those simple comments were what me learn to hate my body. I’m a sophomore in high school now three years later and those words are always in my head. I regret everything.

By May 26, 2017:

I will weigh 110 pounds
I will have a bubble butt
I will look good in crop tops
I will have prominent collar bones
I will have a bikini bridge
I will have a thigh gap
I will be able to see the veins in my hand
I will have long thick hair
I will work out every day
I will be skinny and pretty
I will do whatever it takes
I will NOT have a muffin top
I will not jiggle
I will not have to suck in
I will not need high waisted jeans to hide my fat
I will not have to wear baggy clothes anymore

I was messing around with my new camera, and this is the only one where Andy stopped rolling around long enough to get a good picture. I love how his spotty paws look here! He’s a Border Collie mixed with something BIG (110 pounds, 36 inch chest, almost 38" noot to butt, and roughly 28" at the shoulder. My father says he’s a BC/Clydesdale cross).

Imagine You're A Pregnant Prisoner (AKA: Don't Push)

Imagine you’re a pregnant teen, who was imprisoned by her insane boyfriend when he found out you got pregnant. The whole ordeal started out fairly generically. In a night of passion (passion not entirely being accurate, sex with him wasn’t all that great, to be honest) you both forgot a condom. And you forgot to get more birth control pills. Anyway, a few weeks after your tryst, you began waking up to bouts of horribly intense nausea followed by hours of puking into your toilet until you dissolved into dry heaving. After the third instance this, you decide to bite the bullet and take a pregnancy test. You awaited nervously for a result until… positive. Fuck. Well, you didn’t necessarily want to become a mother at the age of 19, but you decided you should tell your boyfriend and talk about all the options.

           When you arrive at his house (at the time, you didn’t find it odd that at the age of 20 he already owned a relatively large multi-story house) he senses your nervousness. You both walk into his living room and you decide then and there to just say it. “I’m pregnant,” you exclaim. He starts. He looks nervous. He rocks back and forth on his heels. Finally, after a horrific silence, he says he needs to leave the room. So, he does, and you resolve yourself to nervously pacing the room. By your fourth revolution you feel a rag pressed to your face wet with something… but it doesn’t matter anymore, you already feel your consciousness slipping.

          You wake hours (at least, you assume it’s been hours) later on a bed in a dimly lit room. You notice the walls are… padded? Yes, they’re padded, with squares of corrugated foam arrayed in an alternating pattern. You recognize it, it’s the kind of foam board used to dampen sound in recording booths -oh no… Oh nonononono. It comes back to you in a rush. Going to your boyfriend’s house, admitting your pregnancy, then someone coming up behind you and pressing a cloth to your face. This can’t be happening, you think. You panic at first… then you convince yourself to calm down and take deep breaths. For the first time, you actually take stock of what’s in the room with you. You’re shocked to see its fairly well furnished, for a prison cell. The bed you find yourself sitting on is incredibly comfortable. There’s a desk, with a reading lamp and digital clock (reading 3 AM, you note). Next to the desk is a bookshelf, full of books of various genres. Suddenly, a voice comes over some hidden intercom.

           It’s your “boyfriend”. He explains that he’s wanted to try something like this for years, only he’s just now found someone that fits one criteria in particular. He was looking for someone with uncommonly wide hips. It’s true, your hips were wider than most. Forcing you to wear embarrassingly large pants to accommodate your ample hips and ass. Even though you were in all other respects, rather petite, at not an inch over five feet tall and around 110 pounds.  He goes on to say that despite what you might expect for someone in your situation, you wouldn’t be mistreated, but that attempting escape or active disobedience to any of his commands would be harshly punished.

           A routine was quickly established, but strangely, catered to you somewhat. You woke up… whenever you wanted, though if you slept in past noon an alarm would eventually go off. You then would eat breakfast, which, oddly enough, was always delicious and incredibly balanced, nutritionally speaking. Then you’d have a few hours of free time, which you would spend reading or drawing. Next was… very strange… always, you would be led to another room filled with exercise equipment and told to exercise until you were ordered to stop. You tried to resist once, and you hated the result. You were dragged into another room, chained to a wall, and… spanked on the ass with a paddle. You hate pain. In school, they mocked you for it, calling you sissy, pussy, girly, etc. This was the only instance where you actively disobeyed. You hated pain, yes, but it was worse than that. It was humiliating. So you obeyed all orders given from then on out. After exercise was lunch, which was again, delicious and highly nutritious. Then followed by an indeterminate amount of free time. Which was quickly followed by another round of exercise, always different from your first round. Then came dinner. Again, delicious, nutritious, etc. And finally, more free time in your cell, after which you’d fall asleep, wondering why all of this was happening.

           As days turned into weeks, then weeks to months, you started noticing something strange, something you nearly forgotten. You noticed one day, that your stomach was oddly hard. While you did exercise daily, it wasn’t enough to actually improve your physical condition. You remembered with a start that you were pregnant. In all this… you had forgotten. You put it from your mind. It would only make you feel even more melancholy then you already were. But you couldn’t forget it, no matter how hard you tried. Because it seemed like your pregnancy was progressing too quickly. One day, you asked your captor if he had been adding some kind of supplement to your food. He just smirked, and said it was about time you caught on. He told you that he’d been adding special pre-natal vitamins to your food. He exclaimed it was having the effect it he was hoping for. Then he barked that any more questions would be met with punishment. Though incredibly worried, you shut up, and went on with your exercise.

           As the months rolled by, you got more and more worried. By month the fourth month, you had looked to be around six months pregnant. By six months, you looked to be nearly full term. You risked asking your captor if accelerated growth meant that you’d give birth early. He laughed, and said of course not, you’d carry your offspring to full term. He also told you, that no, you weren’t carrying multiples. The pre-natal vitamins were just ensuring that your baby would be nice and large. He laughed as the color drained from your face. Then he barked that further questions would be met by punishment. It was around this time that the exercise regimen stopped.

          In its stead came an… intensely uncomfortable, yet incredibly comfortable, new regimen. He’d enter the room, and slowly strip you down to nothing. Sometimes he’d sit on the bed and order you to strip yourself. Then he’d tell you to lie down on your back. He’d splash some scented oil onto your gravid middle, and slowly, tenderly, lovingly, massage you. He’d start at your belly, rubbing slow, lazy circles all over your stomach. Each time, one hand traveled lower and lower, until he barely brushed the top of your clit. You gasped and moaned, arching your back. It had been months since anyone has intimately touched you like that. You nearly came at that slight brush against your sensitive nub. He giggled and slipped his hands fully between your legs (which you unconsciously spread) and began at first just teasing you. Ever so lightly brushing your clit, until you begged, pleaded, cried out at the top of your lungs, for more. And more he gave. He slipped a few fingers into your folds, again, causing you to nearly cum. Then he began slowly pumping his fingers. By the third rather shallow pump, you came. Gasping and moaning, you thrust your hips into his hand and to your surprise, squirted a not inconsequential amount. But he didn’t stop. Instead, he drove his fingers ever deeper, brushing his fingertips against your spot. All the while using his other hand to tweak and brush your clit. It was too much. Too much! You quickly came again, and again, and again, in quick succession. Each time the pleasure never abating, but building upon itself again and again and again until… You shrieked, bucking your hips wildly, pussy squirting liquid almost across the room. Your eyes rolled back, and you passed out from the blinding, white-hot pleasure. Your last conscious thought was that you could get used to this. You noticed though, that not once had he tried to actually fuck you with his dick, as much as you now craved it. You begged for it, over and over. But always he ignored you. And that was your new routine, for a few months, at least.

           Your gravid stomach continued to grow. And grow. And grow. It got to the point where moving was becoming difficult, and you were confined to your bedroom, no, prison cell, you reminded yourself. You could barely wrap your arms around it as it is, and you still apparently had more to go. Eventually you noticed your belly seemed to “drop” and now it hung much lower than before. This drove you into paranoia. Every twinge in your stomach made your blood run cold. Every time your baby moved, you’d stop whatever you were doing and wait… hoping against hope that wasn’t what you thought it was. At one point, you asked when It was going to start. Your captor shrugged his shoulders and simply said it’ll happen eventually. And eventually, It did. But not in the way you expected. You woke one night, to a slightly sharp instance of lower back pain. It wasn’t localized in your stomach, so you discounted it and went back to sleep. Then, later, how later you didn’t bother to look, it happened again. But you simply (but with slight difficulty) wiggle your hips and go back to sleep. Then it happened again, but the pain seemed to last for a few more seconds, and was ever so slightly more sharp. You froze. You remembered reading somewhere that some women mistake lower back pain for the earliest of contractions. You yell out, screaming that Its happening. Your boyfriend- no- captor, rushes into your room-no- cell asking how bad the contractions are. You say you aren’t even sure they’re contractions, but your lower back hurts periodically and it’s getting worse. He nods, confirming that you’re indeed in very early labor. Then he leaves, saying he’ll be watching, but he won’t be sticking around for the “boring part”, whatever that meant. You yelled for him to come back, to get help, to get medicine or something. But he ignored you. And in any case, you had bigger things to worry about.

           You supposed that you should use the digital clock to time your contractions. But… after waiting for nearly ten minutes, you got bored and decided to at least read to pass the time. As you got up, you felt it. The first pain localized in the expanse of your womb. It wasn’t that bad, and didn’t last that long. But nonetheless, you were terrified. You checked the clock, and it read 1:37 AM. You decided to stick with your plan of reading, not only to pass the time, but to get your mind off of It. And so, you read, every once in a while, stopping to stroke your belly as you felt it tighten. You’d mark the time of each contraction, and note their length and intensity. Eventually you gave up reading, finding yourself reading the same line over and over again, anxiety building for the next pain. This went by for hours, until the intensity and length of the pain got severe enough for you to grunt out loud, and breath heavily after they stopped. Eventually you gave up marking them down, as they increased in intensity, though you noted that it had officially crossed the three hour mark since your labor began. Then your grunts became growls and moans. You bent over the bed, wiggling your hips as your belly tightened, feeling as hard as steel to you. For the last dozen or so contractions, you felt pressure in what you only assumed was your cervix, only for it to abate as the contracted ended. But now the pressure was ever present, building and building with each contraction. You were so wrapped up in your pain, that you didn’t even notice that your captor was in the room with you until he was moving your panties out of the way of your now throbbing and engorged pussy. You felt him thrust his fingers into your pussy, fingertips brushing against your cervix, back and forth, left and right, up and down. You moaned, and not in pain this time. He reported that you were nearly five centimeters. Then he left, once again. And once again, you begged for meds, for him to stay, for any help whatsoever. But he was gone.

           If you thought the pain was bad before, it was nothing compared what you anguished over now. His ministrations in your birth canal seemed to stimulate something, and your contractions went from merely agonizing to utterly, unbearably excruciating. You started squatting, using the bedposts as support. With each contraction, you’d drop from a slight squat to as low as you could go, trying to force your colossal baby out of you. And it was huge. You always knew it was very, very large. The massive expanse of your womb was a testament to that. But now you could feel it, literally feel it, against your cervix and against your womb. Every contraction your baby would flail a bit, adding to your agony, but you could now see obvious little details. An arm, a leg, an elbow… and you could vaguely tell… This baby would be monstrous…

           As your next contraction built, you felt something else. Something new. Some fresh hell for you  to suffer. You felt an urge… an urge to… you couldn’t even think it… It was so frightening and so painful. But yes, you felt it… the urge to push. Some other women would welcome this urge. It was a sign that you could actively start working towards the end of this horrible ordeal. That soon, it would be over, and the happy mother would get to meet their lovely baby. But not you. You hated what this meant. You dreaded what would come, the inevitable burning, the stretching, and God forbid, the tearing. So you resisted, for a while. You think you resisted for maybe five or six contractions (which now lasted for upwards of a minute and with barely 20 seconds between them). Each time, the agonizing pressure built. You practically see it in your mind’s eye, your womb crashing in on itself, nearly imploding. Your baby within, its poor head being squashed against your barely yielding cervix. And your cervix itself, stretching, straining, its still too small opening bulging. You could only resist for so long before… “Ugh…ha… ha… ha.. Urgh… Ha… Ha…Urrrghhh… Ahh… Ahhh… Aaaaaahhhh…. AAAAUUUUUGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” You tried barely grunting pushes first, punctuated by panting. Followed by one slightly protracted push, and near yelling. You wanted to take it easy at first, but he pressure was so great, your next push was long and loud and… FUCKING HELL IT FUCKING HURT!!!! You imagined your baby battering through your cervix, massively stretching your birth canal before causing your tiny, sensitive opening to cruelly bulge into a hideous full crown.

           Again, you didn’t notice your captor let himself in. You barely noticed when his probing fingers plunged into your aching hole. You only noticed him when he said

“Don’t push. You aren’t ready yet. Your water hasn’t even broken. Hell, your cervix is barely at nine centimeters. You don’t want to tear it. Trust me.”

What? That couldn’t be. No…. No… NOOOOO! You had so far left to go. You were already crying, but now you started sobbing

“What do you mean, don’t fucking push? I feel it… I have to! I HAVE TO! I tried not doing it before… didn’t work… couldn’t last.  No… No… NO! NOT ALREADY, I’M NOT READY! I NEED REST!” you sobbed, cried, and begged.

          But you’d get no reprieve, you sobbed “I have to push… I HAVE TO PUSH! Ha… Ha.. HA! HA! HAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! PUUUUUSHHHHIIIIIIIINNNGGGG!!!!!”

           Your captor seemed to get really, angry at that, and he hissed in your ear “No, babe. We can’t have any of that, not yet. I told you, not yet. Now you need to be punished”.

           He pushed you onto your back, and grabbed both of your legs, tucking them under one arm. You were so shocked and in so much pain that you couldn’t resist. He produced a roll of duct tape and began wrapped it round your thighs just under your hips. Then around your knees. Ankles too. You begged, pleaded, screamed, shrieked, but to no avail. Then he got both of your hands and bound those above your head. Then he got a rope and tied your ankles to the bottom left bedpost, and tied your arms to the top right. You couldn’t move. You could do nothing to get out. And worse of all, he tied your legs together so tightly that pushing would do absolutely nothing.

          It also didn’t help that you couldn’t change position to alleviate a tiny fraction of the pain. You just had to lie there. Moaning as each contraction built, shrieking as you pushed with each contraction. Somehow, they were coming even faster, and even harder. You weren’t lying when you said you couldn’t resist the urge. Worst of all the pressure kept building and building, and now pushing did nothing to relieve it. Eventually your captor produced some scissors, and started cutting your nightclothes off you. You begged for your captor to rip open your womb and just take the baby out, or to otherwise just kill you already. He just laughed. You noticed he hasn’t left either. Apparently, this was the “exiting” part. Finally, mercifully, you felt a pop, and felt hot liquid cascade out of you. It was a blessing, as much as it was a curse.

           Your captor decided it was a good time to cut the tape around your thighs and knees to check your progress. As soon as you were able, you spread your thighs as far apart as possible. You wanted to push while you could, but this was the time between contractions, and you knew that pushing now would do less than nothing.

“Ah, finally. Twelve centimeters. I think you’re ready to start pushing of real, babe,” gleefully exclaimed your now definitely ex-boyfriend.

“Tw-twelve? But I thought… Oh… noooo…. Its that big? ITS THAT BIG?!?” you cried in anguish.

          He laughed so hard at that he nearly fell of the bed. And as he laughed, you sobbed, for you felt another contraction build. And you knew that now you’d be pushing for real.

“Hooo…. Hoooo…. Hey! Gotta push… Uh… Uh… Ugh… Let me out… Gotta PUUgghhh… Hey! Heeey…. Heeey… Pushing! Puuuuuuuusshhhhhiiiiiiing!!!! PUUUUUUUUUSSSSSHHHUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAARRRGGAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!” You tried to get his attention so he’d cut you free and you could push in a more comfortable position, but he was still laughing at something you thought couldn’t be farther from funny. He noticed when your grunts of “pushing” turned into a long shriek, thank goodness.

He cut you free and told you that you could get in whatever pushing position you wanted. Instinctively you went down on your hands and knees. He laughed with glee and told you that you chose his favorite.

You ignored him and tried to focus on your hellish task. You yelped when he once again plunged his fingers in your birth canal. He told you that he reckons the baby’s head is finally past your cervix. Initially the news make you feel good, then you realized just how far you had left. It hurt so much, but you hadn’t even got the head to your opening. You couldn’t think of that any more however. You felt another hideous contraction building.

“Oooooh nooo…. Hoooo… hooooooo… haaaurghhh…. Haaaaaauuuuuuuurggggghhhhh… ha… ha… HAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!! Ooohhhh…. Oooohhh…OOOOooooooooohhhhhh….” You pushed with your previous strategy, it felt right to you. Two short grunting pushes, followed by a long, loud one. You felt it do something, the baby slipped agonizingly slowly down your birth canal. Your “ohs” were because you felt two things. First, the baby’s head virtually at your opening, and second, the shoulders were starting to tease your cervix now.

As soon as he knew your contraction ended, your captor tried to finger your birth canal again. Tried, because he could only go about two knuckles in before running into your baby’s head. He whispered in your ear how good you were doing and that the hardest part was about to begin. Then he sat behind you, eagerly waiting to see the first signs of the head.

Again, like clockwork, you felt another hideous contraction build, and you slowly went from your hands to your elbows, and stuck your butt out, trying to lean into your pushes.

“HmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMAAAAAHHHH… Haa…. Haa…. HaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAUUUUUGGHHHH… Uhhhh… Uhhhggg… UuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!! MOTHERFUUUCKKAAAAAAOOOOOHHHHWWWW!!!!”

You tried to make your first two pushes easy, and the last one hard, but your body wasn’t letting you do that anymore. The first two were really hard, and the last you could only describe as “fucking really fucking hard”. You felt the head crash into your opening, stretching it out agonizingly far. You were probably stuck at the widest point now, all you had to do was wait for the next contraction and you’d have the head out.

“Good job, babe. I can see the head now. I think there’s maybe a nickel sized patch of head visible. A couple more pushes and you’ll start feeling a full crown. Then the real fun part starts”, explained your single audience member.

What? WHAT?! That couldn’t be! Oh noo… Oooooh noooo… You did nothing. You might as well have accomplished nothing! The head was barely visible, and already you felt like you were gonna tear in half. No. No. You can’t continue. You decide it’s better to just wait to die. You won’t push anymore. You can’t. The last one felt like it was gonna kill you. Don’t push. Don’t push. Don’t. Push. This becomes your mantra as the next contraction builds.

“Don’t push. Don’t push. Dooon’t. Puuuushhh.. Haa… Ha… Nooooo…. Puuuushh… Hooooo… Hoooo…. Huuuurgh… Ahhh…. Can’t… Push… Agaaaiin… Huuuurrrtssss…. TOooooo… Muuuuuuhhhh… Ohhhh…Preeeeessuuuure! No! I’mpushingI’mpushingI’mpusuuuushhing! OW! Can’t… puuuuuush… Goooootttaaa… stoooop… Puuushing! Nooooo! Don’t puuuushh… Doooooooon’t… Puuuuuuuush… DOOOOOON’T… PUUUUUUUUUUUSH!!! NO! I’MPUSHINGI’MPUSHINGI’M…. PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH!!! AAAAAAAAOOOW! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!”

           You tried. You honestly tried to not push. But, almost as if your body anticipated what you were trying to do, the contraction seemingly wouldn’t stop, the pressure just built, and built, and built, until you couldn’t take it anymore and you pushed! And with the push came the searing pain of the stretching, which would shock you into stopping. Then you’d tried again, but like before, the pressure became too great and you gave in, this time, pushing hard. Really hard. You felt the searing stretch slowly ramp up and up and up until…

You suddenly stopped. You couldn’t take it anymore. And besides, the contraction seemed to end. Your lover -no- captor giggled to you “I know what you’re were thinking; that if you didn’t push, then it won’t hurt as much, right? Wrong. Your body will make you push. And you really do have to push. Normal babies would make progress with a contraction, whether or not the mother pushes. But this one is really big, and your contractions need to be boosted by your pushes to do anything. So, next time, bite the fucking bullet, and push, will ya?”

No! No! No more pushing! It hurts so bad. You steel your resolve. You’ll never push. You’ll never let the baby be born. You will die, and the hurting will stop. Your resolve was never stronger.

“Don’t Push. Don’t Push. Don’tpushdon’tpushdon’tpushdon’tpush! Preeeesssuuuuurreeee…. NOOOOOOO!!!! Don’t. Push. Haa… Haaa… Haaaa… Don’t… Puuuuuuush…Hooo… Hoooooo… HOOOOOO… BREATHE! DOOOOOOOON’T… HAAAA… HAAAAAA… HAAAAAAA!!! PUUUUUUSSSSSHHHHH!!!!”

You were doing it! Or in this case, not doing it. Uh, both maybe? In any case, you weren’t pushing. The pressure was agonizing, and kept building… and building… But you weren’t pushing! You felt the contraction ebb… You did it! Until…

“Haaaa…. Haaaa…. Haaaaaaaaa…. Don’t…. Ha…. Push… Aaaaaaauuugghhh…. AAUUUUUGGHHHH!!!! NOOOOO!!!! PREEEEESSSSSSUUUUUUUGGGHHHHH!!!! I’M PUUUUUUUSSSSSHIIIIIINNNNGGGG!!!!! CAN’T STOP! I’M PUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!! IT’S OOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUT!!!!!HAAAAA…. Haaaa! Haaa…. It’s out….”

Out of nowhere, another contraction crashed into you. You had no warning, no break, no buildup. It just happened. You wouldn’t even call it a contraction. It was more like your uterus was trying make itself implode. It felt like your womb was constricting so tightly that it was trying to squish its contents until it created nuclear fusion, and let all the pressure explode outwards. Except it didn’t go outwards. It got focused on the opening of your poor, tight little pussy. It got forced open, bulging out hideously. Stretching murderously, tearing open agonizingly, but mercifully letting the baby out, head shoulders, and all… No… Wait… Ooooooohhhh Fuuuuuuckkk! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! WHY DOES IT STILL HURT SO MUCH! OOOOOOOOHHHH FUUUUUUUUUCKKKKK!!!!

And malignantly, your captor answers your question. “It’s out? No, it’s not You’ve nearly got the head to a full crown, but you’ve still got a long way, babe.  Though, I understand your confusion. If this was a normal baby, say, seven to eight pounds, you would have the head out by now. I’m amazed you didn’t tear with that last push. That was a monster. But, I can’t have you tearing. So, do me a favor, babe? Absolutely no pushing on your next contraction, kay? Let your body get used to the stretch. Remember your ‘don’t push’ chant? Well. Don’t. Push. If you do… well… You’ll tear… and if you think it hurts now, just wait until then…”

Tear? TEAR?! It hurts this much and you haven’t even torn yet? It could get WORSE?! The thought makes you nauseous. You actually do start dry heaving, and your captor springs up and brings you a bin to throw up in. The convulsions of your stomach seem to start a contraction. You feel it build, mercifully, slowly this time. And you once again steel yourself. Don’t. Push.

“Don’t. Push. Hooo… Hoooooooo… HoooooOOOOOOO… Dooooon’t… Puuuuuuuusssshhhhhh… Preeeeeeesssssuuuuuurrreeee! DOOOOOON’T… HA! HAAAA! HAAAAA! PUUUUUUUSSSSHHHH! AAAAAAAUUUUUGHHH! MOVING! IT’S MOOOOOVING! Uuuuughhh… Gon’tear… GON’TEAR! TEEEEAAAARIIIINNNGGG!!!!”

You didn’t push at all. Even when the pressure built above and beyond that last contraction, you held, and didn’t push. Even when your body started violently trembling and shaking from the pain, you didn’t push. Even when your vision started to go dark around the edges, you held, and didn’t push. But it didn’t matter. The force of the contraction moved the baby anyway. Your opening was stretched as far as possible. To stretch even a millimeter more meant tearing. But still, your baby came… and just as you felt that a tear from your pussy to your ass was imminent, your savior-no- captor slapped one hand to your over-stretched pussy, and braces the other hand against your spine, thus stopping the destruction of your perineum.

“UUUUUUUuuuuuuuhhhhhhggg… Thank…. You… Hoooo… HoooOOOO… HOOOOOO! Contrac…tion… still… going… I… can’t… anymore… gotta… PuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHssshhh… Goooottaaaa… PuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHssssshhhhh… GOOOOTTAAAA… PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGHHH! NOOOOO!!!!! LET IT COOOOOOOOMMEEE!!!”

The contraction never abated, and you eventually gave in to the insidious pressure. You pushed once. Twice. Three times, each harder and longer than the last. You want it out, now that it’s so close. You want it over and done with. You don’t care about the pain of tearing anymore. The pressure you’ve been enduring must be worse. It has to be. IT HAS TO! But the baby won’t come. You’re pushing as hard as you can, considering what strength you have left. But it’s not… wait. You realize he’s holding it in. You scream at him to let it come out… But you know he won’t. There only thing you can do is…

“Let… It… Come… Out. LEEEEEET… IIIIIIIIT… COOOOOOOOME… OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTTTTTT! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII”

Somehow, you push harder than ever. Probably harder than all of the other pushes combined. So, hard, that your hips start violently shaking. His hands slip, just a little, just enough. The head moves a millimeter… your pussy bulges almost comically out and with a cascade of amniotic fluid and a nearly audible pop, the head squeezes out to its eyes, then ears, then finally, to its chin, letting your pussy elastically snap around its neck like a choker made of your most sensitive slit. As the head rushed forward, your vision went bright white. And mercifully, the pain and pressure causes your consciousness to slip away.

You wake later, how much later, you don’t know. You initially think it’s over, all that pain, pressure, stretching near the end. That means it’s over. Then… as your vision fully clears and you gain more of an awareness of yourself and your surroundings you feel an incessant tug against the stinging, sore, and still moderately stretched, opening of your pussy. And with it, an all too familiar feeling in your womb…

“Come on… Come on… Wake up! Wake up, cunt! You’re not out of the woods yet, bitch. You still gotta squeeze out these shoulders. Come ON! You push, I’ll pull!”

You recognize the voice of your ever-present antagonist. Oh… noo…. It’s not over. He’s right. Even as he says that you start pushing again.

“Uuuuuuuuuuuugh… UuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRGHHHH! UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!”

With your pushing, you feel… nothing… The pressure is mounting again, more and more, but you don’t feel any movement besides your ‘assistant’ occasionally lightly pulling one way or another in an effort to get a shoulder to at least start being visible. The pressure is getting worse… The contraction is really starting to ramp up. Your body must know that the ordeal is almost over. But that is no conciliation to you, as you start to panic. It’s nowhere near the level when the head was being forced out, but you can feel the pressure increasing exponentially.

Just when you start another desperate push, when your attendant flipped you on to your back. You cried out in absolute agony the shift in weight made your birth canal stretch in a new way, opening up yet another fresh hell to you. But that wasn’t the worst of it. That… utter… fucking… scum… He waited for the signs of another contraction building, then, he put his hands on the upper swell of your slightly less gravid orb, and pushed down in the direction of your birth canal.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGHH!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!”

You nearly passed out again, the pressure and pain was that intense. What’s worse, is the fuckers little plan worked. You could feel your opening start to stretch again, this time with one of the shoulders. It didn’t come out all the way, unfortunately. It was stuck with the clavicle just barely still inside your pussy. You wanted to curl up and die, the stretch was very nearly worse than the crowning. But it only got worse from there.

“Huh. Well. Looks like you’ll have to tear to get this big kid out. Your hips are wide enough, that’s for sure… but it looks like the limiting factor in this case is your pussy’s ability to stretch. Oh well, can’t be helped.”

What was he doing? Oh God… Oh God no… You felt him somehow twist his fingers between the baby and your overstretched opening. He slowly pulled them down, working them to the lowest point of your perineum, and the most… tearable… point. Then… he slowly, ever so slowly, began to pull them diagonally apart until…

“STOP IT! STOP IT! STOPITSTOPITSTOPIT!!! NOOOOOOO!!! STRETCHING!!!! I’M STREEEEETCHING!!!! NOOOOOOOOO!!! IIII’MMM STREEEEEETCHIIIIING!!!!!! I CAN PUUUUSH IT OUT! LET ME PUUUUUUUSHHH!!!! I CAN PUUUUSH IT OUT! PLEASE!!! LET MEEEEEE PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIII- TEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAARRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNG! Uuuuuuughhh…”

Farther and farther you stretched. It became obvious to your torturer that indeed, you could push it out, if given enough time. But no, he was growing impatient. He wanted to see his baby now. So, he kept pulling, wrenching, stretching. Slowly, agonizingly slowly… until he saw the barest hint of a tiny tear forming at the base of your perineum. Then he tugged. Hard. And in one instant, that tiny tear ripped through the flesh of your perineum. Down and down it went, until it reached your sphincter… and tore that too. And thus, two holes became one.  The pain… the searing, blinding, white-hot pain… of course, you only actually felt so much. You passed out the instant the pain from his hard tug transferred to your brain. It was too much, and once more you slipped from consciousness.

Reasons why Hades kidnapped his wife that one time:

1) “Bro, listen, chicks dig guys who take charge of the situation, just ask Hera! Now, go there and haul her off to the underworld, I’m sure she’ll LOVE IT!”

2) Wanted to start a normal conversation with her but got too nervous to talk, didn’t want her to think he was a creep or something, panicked, and decided the only logical way for him to salvage the situation was to kidnap her.

3) Hades was taking his complimentary stroll trough Enna when he finds himself with 110 pounds of a woman in his arms. “Quick, she’s not looking, bring me ANYWHERE BUT HERE!” The woman orders, and Hades can’t help but comply.

4) He was taking his dog outside for a walk, met Persephone, and she fell in love so much with them she simply HAD to follow them to the underworld. And For them, I mean Cerberus.

5) Persephone was making flower crowns in the clearing by making flowers sprout and then start weaving them herself. Hades, not to be outdone, joins her and start doing the same. Except he can’t grow flowers for shit and starts growing precious gems instead. Kore discovers Hades is Also a god associated with wealth other than being a huge dork who weaves flower crowns made out of rubies in the form of flowers, and from that moment she’s #SOLD.

6) Hades and Persephone knew each other from before, and already felt something for one another. Hades asked permission to her father to marry her, as it was custom, which he granted, and then partook in the ancient ritual of the kidnapping of the bride.

Peed my Pants While Doing Photography (And possibly trespassing)

Once again posting one of my experiences that has happened to me, as per usual I wrote this one for omorashi.org back in the day. This one is actually pretty special; when I posted this, the owner of HDWetting (If you’re an omorashi fan I know you know what that is), contacted me asking if he could adapt this experience of mine into a video, which of course I said yes to. An HDWetting video exists based on this experience of mine, so I’m still really happy this happened to me and that I wrote about it.

——————

So as some of you might not know, I enjoy taking pictures quite a bit. I live in a very woodsy area of Canada, and nature here is so great, whether it be ice on the trees in the winter, various wildlife in the summer, the sun coming through the trees, there’s always a shot to grab, and semi-recently, around the time the snow finally got around to leaving like a month ago, I was looking for just that shot. Of course, this story being on the site its on, you might guess I end up in a sort of predicament. If you’ve read my stuff on here you know its not uncommon for me, I almost do it subconsciously. Some times more consciously than others. Ahem. Anywho.

Obligatory description paragraph. I’m a young woman, I actually just hit 21 years of age! I’m not very big, I’m like 5'5-5'7 and around 110 pounds last I checked. Pale enough to blind people I’m told but I think that’s moreso emphasized by the fact my hair is long and very black, so its like a contrast thing I guess? On this day I was weariiiing I THINK a white Deadpool shirt, light blue snugly fitting jeans with one of my cuter belts (with a nice shiny buckle!) a red bra and panties set, and one of my leather jackets (I have 3). The shirt is the only bit I’m unsure on but I know for a fact it was white. White sneakers too, if that matters, and black socks.

So like I was saying, I was out trying to grab a picture, one I had been waiting for the end of the season for. There’s a wind turbine or two around here, you know the kind, the big pretty power windmills. One is in a lot out in the forest, and I wanted to get some up close shots of it from below, to the sides, from the trees, in different lighting and whatnot. Basically a photo op just for the windmill, and liable to take course over a couple of hours if I wanted to grab shots in certain lighting’s I wanted. Of course I was okay with this, while most days I don’t leave my house, let alone my room, this day was an out-day, and I was excited for it. Of course this windmill was technically on like government property or private property or SOMETHING but given the plot of land was quite literally a big empty space in the middle of the woods I didn’t really expect it to be guarded; I had cased the place multiple times, and it never was.

I woke up that morning, and did morning things. Got up, used the bathroom, took a shower, blah blah boring stuff. Watched some Netflix while I drank my morning tea to wake myself up (psyched for OITNB season 4 in a few days!!) and put together my outfit I described above while I drank another cup of tea (I love tea, these 2 in particular were a cup of earl grey, and a cup of english breakfast) before packing up a water bottle, my camera, etc. in a small satchel and setting off. It wasn’t somewhere I was driving to, moreso walking across this very small woodsy town. After an hour of trekking I was nearly at my destination, well the path leading there anyway, but first I wanted to pick up my planned breakfast. Nearby there was a small food stand, you know the kind, the little wagons. I got myself a large fries and a coke. Don’t assume I eat healthy, because most days I don’t, especially during my off time like I have now. I sat down at a bench to consume those, bought another small coke for the road, and continued on. Of course I’m not an idiot, I realized my odd thirst that morning would lead to situations later on, but I was like man I’m going to be in the middle of the woods, the world is my oyster and my bathroom if I need it to be, I’ll deal with it when it becomes an issue. Plot twist: It became an issue! Shock!

The stretch of road I ended up on is mostly empty; very few houses, and cars passing through is rare. It is on the side of this road though, that a path lies. It leads through the woods, and intermingles with multiple ATV tracks, walking trails, etc. One of these trails passes by a gate. Not like a big fenced gate, rather the kind that’s like 2 or 3 bars obviously meant to bar vehicles and things; a normal person could easily hop it or walk around it. I wasn’t taking the trails, for I did not want people to see where I was going. Luckily for me, I know these woods like the back of my hand, and the quickest path to any destination is a straight line. So I walk through the woods and arrive at this gate in a manner much quicker than taking the stupid paths. Of course I begin to feel the caffeine in my body filtering liquid rather rapidly, but it wasn’t a problem and I ignored it. I glanced at the gate and read the sign that said something about trespassing but I couldn’t tell you what it actually said, because in reality I read all of two words before vaulting over it. Shh don’t tell on me.

Continuing down this horrible forbidden path lead me to a completely unguarded clearing with my subject of the day. I looked up at the windmill and just kind of took it in for a bit before getting to work. I laid down at the base of it, my head against it before taking some shots straight up, some angled shots from the sides, just about every which-way you can imagine. I’d stop to take breaks and let nature progress (in multiple ways) and gnaw on things I had brought with me, like a granola bar or two, along with my water and some extra tea in a thermos (CHAI THIS TIME!) and as the day went on and on I had even grabbed a shot from up in a tree as the sun had reached just behind the head of the windmill. I had memorized every bit of it and was very happy with the shots I was getting. Of course by this time I had consumed many a liquid, and had them in me for many, many hours. It got to the point where I reaaaally needed to pee, but being an Omo enthusiast I was like…nah, I’m under control, let’s put it off just a bit more (I do this almost every time, and every time it ends up being a bad decision. I never learn). I laid down under a tree and enjoyed the feeling of needing to go, because you know why not, I was alone and whatnot. Issue is, I was so excited for this day that I had not gotten enough sleep the night before, and I ended up dozing off in that position for the better part of an hour or more. When I woke up the sky was orange, ripe with sunset.

Obviously, the moment I woke up I realized I was bursting. Like, I was on the verge. The precipice of explosion. The pipes were about to leak. Poseidon was about to wage war on the land. The kraken was to be released. I was about to piss my pants is what I’m trying to get at here. My legs were trembling and I immediately grabbed my thigh, digging my nails in and grinding my teeth a little, letting the wave settle. I stood up and was unbuckling my belt when I got an idea for another photo experiment. If you’re familiar with slow shutter speeds you might get what I was thinking here..Basically fast shutter speeds are used to take pictures of someone say, running, without a blur, at the cost of lack of good quality exposure. Meanwhile, slow shutter speeds get a better quality photo, but your subject must be still or it will blur and the like. Meanwhile if you want to get creative you can set the shutter speed really slow and try some fancy shit with the slow exposure, like say, those photos you see where someone sets the shutter speed to be as slow as possible and waves a flashlight around as the picture is being taken, basically creating a light-drawing. See what I mean?

The idea here being, I was desperate. Very desperate. As a result, I was shaking and trembling, like a bad shiver. Anyone else would have been like “I NEED TO PEE RIGHT THIS SECOND”, meanwhile I was here like, “You know, I’m shaking in just the perfect way so that if I focus the windmill in the center at an up-tilt angle with a slow shutter, I might be able to produce a sort of blurred after image effect picture or two..” And that’s exactly what I did. Manipulating my shaky state, I got a few shots in and they ended up exactly how I thought they would. I got really into it and kept taking shots until I felt myself…lose a little. A spurt hit my panties and I froze like…shiiiit. I checked and my pants were dry, but I could feel the dampness of my underwear against me. I was thinking to myself that it was time to pee and head back home, and moved to do just that before, the worst possible thing ever happened. I heard a voice behind me.

“Excuse me ma'am? What are you doing here?”

I turned around and there was some sort of young man. I assume he was a wilderness ranger or something. Not a cop but he had a uniform of some sort. I didn’t give a rats ass at the time, all that mattered is that I wasn’t supposed to be here, and he looked like it was his job to know that I wasn’t supposed to be here. Being quite literally about to wet myself, this is the last thing I wanted. I hobbled towards him, gave greetings. He gave the usual chatter, do you know this is a restricted area, what exactly are you doing, you’re trespassing, etc. I pleaded ignorance, trying not to shake TOO bad. He asked if I was alright, I told him I was getting a chill from the breeze. I was waiting for a specific moment, one I knew that was coming (NOT THAT IVE BEEN IN THIS SORT OF SITUATION BEFORE. HEH..HEHE…) and prayed it would come soon, and it did. He gave a nod, and turned to the right, looking away from me to speak quietly into the walkie talkie on his shoulder. Like I totally hadn’t done multiple times in the past, I dashed past him on the other side of him where he wasn’t looking. By the time he noticed I was too far gone, because I can run like the wind. I ran down the trail, and attempted to vault over the gate again, completely forgetting that I was one bad movement away from wetting my pants. A bad move such as trying to hop a gate and bumping your lower abdomen into said gate in the process. Halfway over I felt it start to leave me, a faint psssh as I landed on the other side. I looked down to see the denim darkening. I shoved my hand into my crotch and gripped for dear life, managing to regain control after a moment, not without a sizable patch however. The wet feeling between my legs made it hard to not let go right then and there. I heard thudding footsteps coming in my direction, so I took the same way back where I knew he wouldn’t think to follow me; straight through the woods, in the direction I knew would take me to the road. Running wasn’t easy on my, and although I pleaded with my body, I leaked a few times on the way, each time feeling my thighs grow slightly warmer, and the wetness traveling further down inch by inch. I could feel the muscles wavering, feeling like they were giving out only to hastily close back up at the last second. I could finally yank my pants down and pee if I could just get away..

I eventually burst out of the trees onto the road. I didn’t have any time. I looked back and forth. No cars. No houses. I just needed a place to pee…But at that point it was too late. The moment I felt it I shoved my hand back between my legs, into the damp fabric, but I couldn’t stop it. I started losing control, a soft hissing sound accompanying the rapidly darkening denim. I remember clapping my free hand over my mouth to stifle the moans and squeaks, uttering something like “Oh fuck, oh god no”. I locked my legs, crossing them and uncrossing them, gripping my crotch tighter, everything I thought I could do I did, but my hand just got wetter and wetter, going from bursts of pee to a full on firehose as my control was just completely lost. When the damn entirely broke even my hand couldn’t stop the moan, the feeling of my muscle control just dropping and the back of my pants around my ass going from dry to sopping in an instant. I stopped trying to keep myself quiet, groaning pathetically as I used my other hand to try and assist in stopping the flow but I was at the point of no return, I could feel it running down my legs, a warm river very surely soaking me, the sound of me whining and liquid pitter pattering onto the pavement the only sounds present as I peed in my pants in the middle of the empty street. I fell to my knees and let go, opting to just grip both my upper thighs as I rode it out, the back of my pants now absolutely drenched as a puddle grew underneath me. I tried another futile effort to clench back up…My muscles wavered, and immediately dropped out again, causing me to lurch forward from the sensation, my lurching causing the wetness to begin crawling forward down the front of my pants as well, bursting forth from the crotch area

. It was around then I realized I had completely peed myself and there was no coming back, the damage was done. Even my knees were heavy with dampness, a small river having grown around me, filling in the cracks in the yellow lines on the pavement. The stream became a trickle, and then it was over. I recomposed myself just in time to see headlights approaching off in the distance, and I heard an ATV coming up from the trail (likely that of the guard), so I ducked back into the woods again. I heard the ATV come out to the street, stay there for a few moments, and turn back around before heading down the trail again. I decided to take the most scenic of routes back, a tread through the forest all the way home. At one point I was almost in some persons back yard, but again, I know these woods like the back of my hand. I got back into my house, stealthy as a raccoon, and got changed, did my laundry, uploaded my pictures onto the computer, and watched more Netflix for the rest of the day. I am the master of escape tactics.~

companion appearance headcanon

so, i saw one of these the other day and i thought it was a great idea for reference and all, so i decided i’d make my own. (i didn’t do codsworth but, if someone asks i will add him)

cait: 5'7 or 5'8. scary af. looks like she could literally fight a deathclaw with her bare fists. probably has never washed her hair or shaved, couldn’t care less about her appearance. covered in freckles from head to toe. (especially on her back) and has extremely rough skin, plus plenty of scars from her past. weighs a steady 140-150 and is hella muscular. 

curie: 5'2 or 5'3. small woman with little dimples in her cheeks. very petite, but one hell of a fighter. her hair always looks freshly washed and she is always fully groomed. cares a whole lot about her appearance. she keeps her hair short for her own protection. literally, has perfect skin. smooth milky white with a few freckles around her chest and always has silky smooth hands. everyone thinks she has a secret lotion stash. around 105-110 pounds, once again, small af. 

danse: 6'2 or 6'3. tall and thicc af. probably has the nicest ass out there (you can’t disagree). surprisingly barely any blemishes, but is littered in battle scars all over his body. shaves on a daily basis, or he’d look like more of a bear than he already does. has extremely rough hands and a few burns from laser weapon malfunctions. has some hella cute back dimples. perfect for big hugs. covered in body hair that requires a ton of effort to keep short. around 180-190 pounds. mostly muscle. hot damn.

deacon: 5'9 or 5'10. tries to keep himself as unnoticeable as possible. a natural ginger, but shaves his head and wears a black wig to blend in better. there’s no dye in the commonwealth, so his eyebrows remain ginger. has some rough skin, probably from all the surgeries. tries to keep himself cleanly shaved, not only for the obvious reasons but also because he enjoys personal hygiene. weighs around 140-150 pounds. bases his whole diet around staying in an average shape. has absolutely no ass, once so ever and has a really adorable chin dimple. never takes off those goddamn sunglasses. not now, not ever. 

dogmeat: 3'2 or 3'3 on all fours. covered with the softest and cleanest fur ever, and is completely untouched by radiation (surprisingly). has a scar on his leg from before he met sole and is always well fed. weighs 75-80 pounds. also, has a super wet nose he’ll nudge into anyone who is up for cuddles

hancock: 5′6 or 5′7. tiny af, just like maccready. has absolutely no curve. his skin is really cratered and rough. eyes are completely jet black and his skin is a crimson red. can’t really tell if he has scars or not because of his irradiated skin. he doesn’t have to shave anywhere around his body for an obvious reason. he weighs around 125 pounds, mostly because he’s all skin and bones. but, he is filled personality. looks aren’t everything folks. 

maccready: also 5′6 or 5′7. probably has the worst teeth you will ever see in the commonwealth. (besides anything with no teeth.) he has extremely calloused hands, along with a reoccurring bruise on his right shoulder because of his work as a sniper. plenty of scars scattered across his body after his work as a merc. weighs around 135 pounds (a bit more than hancock since he’s not irradiated and all). has a super cute chin dimple. super dirty hair and rarely shaves.

nick valentine: 5′11 or 6′0. for some reason all gen.2 synths are pretty tall. lanky but looks like he could take on a fight. dull grayish skin that feels like leather. exposed robotic parts in all different places. glowing yellow “eyes” and wrinkles around his eyes. weighs around 165-170 pound (with a little added weight since ya know, he’s made of metal.) 

piper: 5′7 or 5′8. A tall and curvy woman with long black hair. Freckles litter her face and back and she has an almost perfect hourglass figure. has some pretty thick thighs and has gained some muscle after being out with sole for so long. weighs around 150-155 pounds. her skin is mostly clear despite a few wrinkles. tries to keep herself as clean shaven as she can but, when she is out with sole for a long time she starts to grow some hair. 

preston: around 6′0. broad shoulders and a generally large body. super smooth skin with freckles that litter his shoulders and the top of his back. has a general baby face and has little blemishes or wrinkles. has some muscle from his work with the minutemen, and has started gaining some healthy fat from finally having a abundant food supply at sanctuary. weighs about 170-175 pounds. pretty healthy as his time with the new minutemen continues.

strong: 6′8 or 6′9. a tower of foul smelling green skin. extremely rough skin because of the FEV exposure. not too much to say about him besides big and green. weighs about 345-350 pounds.

X6-88: 6′0-6′1. super tall and built like a goddamn brick wall. not a single scar nor blemish because of the institute’s programming. has very light body hair, so he doesn’t have to shave very often. great for piggy back rides (if he allows(which is never)). weighs around 175-180 pounds. built like a fuckin’ brick wall.

this literally took me a month to write. i’m pretty happy with it though, and i think you can guess who my favorite is.

Meeting New People

I met my cousins girlfriend yesterday. We all went to eat at olive garden (disgusting, I know) and I ordered a never ending pasta bowl and some soup. I ate one breastick, 1 bowl of soup, and 1.2 bowls of pasta. I felt disgusting and I was absolutely stuffed. She ordered 1 plate of mozzarella sticks that cost five dollars. There are seven on a plate and she ate 3. She said she was full after 2.5 and I’m calling bullshit on that. This girl was about 5'4 and 110 pounds but she looked tiny. I’m 5'6 and about 160 pounds and I’m fat as fuck. I saw her eating only that much and I don’t know what happened. I went to the bathroom and I just threw up everything. My family probably didn’t even realize I was gone that long but it took about 7 minutes. My stomach and my mouth were burning. I can’t explain it, but it that moment I envied her more than I ever had anyone else in my entire life. I hate when you meet people and without even trying to they trigger you or make you take a hit to your self considence. Meeting her literally ruined my weekend and she wasn’t even mean. I was supposed to be restrictions anyways, but I binge and then threw it up. I just wanna cry. This weekend sucked.

anonymous asked:

I'm not American and I take that Elvis Duran is a well known radio personality in the US. He seems like a sweet, and decent and professional guy, as are his team. Always nice with all our boys. Can you explain his legend status. I'm just in awe and grateful for his interview with Louis that I want to know more about him as a listener.

I did not know anything about him: here’s a wiki bio:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elvis_Duran

In short, Elvis Duran is incredibly influential. His show, through the Z100 station in NYC, is syndicated and heard across many American markets, and it’s the number 1 syndicated Top 40 radio show:

“Duran’s show is now heard live in over 80 markets including New York City, Philadelphia, Miami, Cleveland, Atlantic City, Fort Myers, Syracuse, Des Moines, Quad Cities, Madison, New Haven, and Richmond.

The show also airs on XM Satellite Radio, iHeartRadio.com, and the iHeartRadio mobile app.”

The show is syndicated through parent company Clear Channel.

Elvis Duran was also the first to tweet about “Sign of the Times,” before the television ad aired, fueling interest for Harry’s solo album.

“Duran currently lives in New York City with his longtime boyfriend Alex Carr, a zookeeper at the Staten Island Zoo. Duran lost 110 pounds by undergoing bariatric sleeve surgery in 2014. Duran, who came out as gay during a 2010 broadcast, was grand marshal of the Miami Beach Gay Pride Parade in 2016.”

anonymous asked:

was there ever a reason given as to why Dick's weapon-of-choice became escrima sticks? either in-comic or by Dixon?

(Batman #700)

I can’t remember an official reason ever being given; this is probably the closest we have from the Nightwing Secret Files (1999).

Since I’m a martial artist, I’m going to try to speculate this for you. I’m a pretty small person. 5′6 and 110 pounds. When Dick became a crimefighter, he was an even smaller kid, and that makes aikido a fitting emphasis for Dick. Aikido turns an opponent’s strength against them; it uses very little of your own energy and strength. Even if you have 20 people coming at you at once, aikido can be used to weave through your opponents, continually dropping or throwing them to the ground. (One time my sensei did this to me. I was focusing on taking down a couple people, and he kept instructing students to stand up and come at me until I suddenly realized I was throwing down approximately ten people.)

It’s an interesting style, and I think Dick’s escrima sticks complement it well even though escrima sticks aren’t formally used with aikido. I’m sure you’ve heard of the expression, “A weapon is an extension of yourself.” In kung fu, I was instructed to think of my short staff as a very long arm and part of myself. With this in mind, Dick is basically doubling his reach on both sides. It keeps his weight balanced (like while flipping, jumping or running), and it also extends his “circle of influence” further than just his arm’s reach. As an acrobat, I have a feeling Dick would feel off-balanced if he constantly used just a single-hand weapon. He’s a master of various weapons and you sometimes see him using a staff, but I think being a dual wielder makes more sense for him because his balance and center of gravity are refined in a way that carrying two escrima sticks only complements that.

Sometimes in aikido we use our jos (staffs) to perform joint techniques. When someone grabs the end of the jo, I can turn it over their wrist in such a way that they’re forced to their knees. I find it much more difficult to do with a weapon versus with my hands, but Dick is a master martial artist and this technique is bound to come easily to him. Dick can probably perform some aikido throws and joint locks using his escrima sticks from a distance, which is safer for him compared to being in close proximity to an opponent (who may have a knife, etc).

Dick is known for his speed in a fight. Dick is very strong– he can lift hundreds of pounds– but against superpowered opponents, Dick relies on his speed and flexibility more than strength. The escrima sticks give Dick a mechanical advantage, which I’ll try to explain using physics.

“Levers can be used to exert a large force over a small distance at one end by exerting only a small force over a greater distance at the other.”

A lever amplifies an input force to provide a greater output force. Angular velocity also plays a role here, since martial artists are constantly in motion, turning their bodies and redirecting their flow of energy. Wielding two escrima sticks offers a structural advantage that amplifies Dick’s force, momentum and power. He can exert a smaller amount of force for a greater amount of damage.

anonymous asked:

Update us on your journey!!!

Hi Hi Hi. Well, I’m happy. I’m constantly changing into a different person with so many road blocks every couple of months. But then again, who doesn’t? It has been an up and down journey but I am finally back UP.  Just life doing its thing. 

Spark notes…

- started my blog 4 years ago when I was living in Savannah. Was in College and lost the 110 pounds. Started to share my progress with you guys around 60 pounds down. 

- Graduated and moved back home to Long Island. Got a job in the city and commuted into Manhattan. A  2 hour journey there and a 2 hour journey back home everyday. Started binging on NYC Pizza and ice cream from the misery. Did that for a year and gained 30lbs. Struggled with my new found freedom to go and do whatever I wanted with a new set of friends in the industry. Plenty of cocktail parties and steak dinners with clients. Then back on a train to Long Island at 12am just to come back into Manhattan at 7am the following morning. Absolutely no balance in my life. 

-  Moved to Brooklyn but continued to go out/ eat out a lot. Started dating and fell off my journey almost entirely. Went to the gym but was essentially just working off the weight I was gaining every weekend. Fell in love with soul cycle. Met some assholes while trying to put myself out there romantically. Had a lot of learning experiences. Met a great guy- fell in love. Life was getting so busy I stopped investing in my own health. Blog fell to the waste side sadly.  I felt like a fraud. How could I give advise or reblog healthy tips when my lifestyle was very much the opposite?

- 1.5 years ago -  Bought a condo as an investment in Jersey to avoid insane rent. Fell out of love. Got a new job that required 70 hours a week and little sleep. Went to the gym every other week but wasn’t making any true progress. Was then up 40 pounds. Was absolutely miserable. Tried to pack lunch and “start over” every week but I was in an endless cycle of work, work, work, work and oh yea.. work. I couldn’t come up for air and my weight became my last priority unfortunately.  

- 6 months ago - cried myself to sleep a lot and knew I needed to make a change so I took a “eat pray love” trip to Bali. Hiked a mountain at 1am to watch the sunrise over a active volcano and decided I was going to quit. Was surrounded by beautiful and empowered women at a health retreat, and decided to really focus on my happiness.  Came back to NY and quit my job. I chose happiness and my mental health over my high paying salary in the city. 

- 4 months ago - listed my condo for sale in Jersey. Moved back home and started working for a local family business. Went back online to try dating again. Two weeks in and a few miserable dates later, I finally found an amazing man. I am now very happy in a wonderful new relationship. He is everything that I thought I would never find. 

- 2 months ago- joined a new local gym between my new job and my home on Long Island. 

Present- still very  much up in weight but happier than I’ve been in about 2 years. Trying to get my brain and heart ready for a lifestyle change to get my body back to a healthier place. I constantly struggle with balance. 

Highest Weight: 283

Lowest Weight: 168-175 for a good year before hanging out in the 190′s and early 200′s in Brooklyn.

Current Weight: 225

GOAL: Physically fit, strong, happy, healthy, balanced, and confident. Whatever weight that means.