he looks bloated :(

Dad had always taken pride of being in an excellent shape for his age. “How many fifty year olds have a six pack like this?” He would often brag, lifting his fitted tanktops and showing off his flat, chiseled stomach.

As expected, such a good looking man like him never had a hard time finding a partner for a hot, sexy time. I guess that at his age he had convinced himself that he was safe from the most natural consequence of sex: pregnancy.

He angrily admitted it to me one day. Summer was around the corner and he was looking unusually bloated. “Having trouble cutting after your winter bulk?” I teased, poking a finger into his not-so-flat-anymore middle. 

“I fucking wish!” He complained. “Guess there is no point in hiding it. I got fucked knocked up!”

“You what?” I asked, shocked. “How? When? And who…?”

“How do you think it happened, dumbass?” He almost yelled, slapping my hand away of his gut and tugging his t-shirt. “Three months ago. Some dude from Growlr did it. And the motherfucked blocked me afterwards.”

“Holy shit.” I said, having trouble believing it.

“It’s the worst thing ever.” He continued. “I’m tired AND hungry all the time. I’ve put on twelve pounds already, and that’s on top of my bulk. I’m going to end up fat as a fucking cow.”

July came around and dad kept growing every week. One morning, I dashed into his room after hearing an unusal amount of loud swearing coming out of it. “Is everything ok?”

Dad’s eyes shot daggers at me from across the room.”Nothing is fucking ok!” he yelled furiously. “It just took me ten fucking minutes to button this jeans. I have already pissed like four times since I got up two hours ago. And I had breakfast like twenty minutes ago and I’m already starving again. And I’m only six months along” He sighed, defeated. “I’m turning into a fat, useless, pregnant pig.”

dreamcatchersdaughter  asked:

Oh MY that was Wonderful! I loved your T'Stuckony pregnant verse, its beautiful! This is me totally asking for pregnant sex , for sometime in the future cause that would amazing. I'd love to read that. It would be even cooler if each of them ended up being the father of one pup. I could see Tony's relief, because despite their reassurance his instincts might have worry. Then he sees proof of them fawning over each of the babies and treating them with the same awe and wonder. Proud mama Tony :P

Truth be told there isn’t a lot of porn here. Like at all, but here we go! I added some insecure Tony in here, and some Rhodey/Clint/Sam at the end, too. Hope no one minds!


Continuation of this -

Tony found that, while he absolutely loved his alphas with all his heart, he couldn’t help but want to strangle them every minute of every day for what they had done to him. He was 6 months along in his pregnancy and his stomach looked utterly grotesque. It was oval, poking out from the front, looked deformed and looked disgusting with all the stretch marks and veins sticking out his pale skin.

Logically he knew his alphas weren’t completely responsible, seeing as he was the one who agreed to go through with it, and he couldn’t exactly blame his pups because, well, they were babies and had no say in their cramped mobile home that was Tony’s body. But Tony wasn’t seeing logic. All he was seeing was his once decently toned body looking a shadow of its former self while the three alphas were still fit and gorgeous. It wasn’t fair.

He tried smoothing his large sweatshirt over his stomach, deflating when it did nothing to slim his stomach and creating a mountain on his middle. Lately all he had been wearing were sweaters and jackets and giant shirts and basically anything that could hide his stomach away from innocent eyes. No one needed to see his disfigurement. They didn’t deserve to suffer.

“Sweetheart?”

Tony tensed and instinctively turned his front away and keeping it out of sight. He hadn’t noticed Steve enter their room at all. How long had he been there?

“What are you doing just standing here? Were you looking at how beautiful you are?” Steve gestured to the mirror that Tony had been pointedly ignoring. He didn’t need to see how ugly he looked with his bloated stomach. “We could’ve told you that ourselves.”

Tony mumbled a denial under his breath. These days he was anything but.

“Tony?” The blond alpha pressed his front against Tony’s back, sliding his arms around his expanded belly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s nothing, Steve.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”

“Leave it.” Tony shook the arms off and moved away to stand on the edge of the bed. His back and his legs were aching and all he wanted to do was sit down.

(watch out for the cut mobile users)

Keep reading

I don’t even like kids, but this kid is awesome.

Today this kid (12, 13?) came in to my store with his dad. They had a bag of water, a bag with a marimo and a dead betta in a cup. I can tell the kid has been crying and he’s very shy so his dad speaks up and says “His betta died. We don’t know what happened. He’s really good about taking care of it. We brought the betta back, we don’t need to return it, we’ve had it for a few months, we just though you might see something we didn’t. We also brought the marimo, we don’t know if it can get sick.”

I tested his water, PERFECT params. I mean SPOTLESS. 0 Ammonia, 0 Nitrates and maybe 5-10 ppm Nitrates. I look at the betta. He looks bloated as hell and I’m thinking it was most likely swim bladder disease.

I look at the kid and I say “Your water is perfect. I mean, awesome. How often did you do water changes? Tell me about your tank.”

Very quietly he says “Once a week I take out I think 15% of the water? I was replacing the filter cartridge twice a month. It’s five gallons. Heater and everything. I’ve got a couple anub? Anubis? Anubias? and a small cave thing. Oh and it has sand on the bottom.”

I’m speechless. “I want you to know this wasn’t your fault. You’re doing great. You’re taking better care of your fish than most of the adults that come through here. Okay? What happened to your fish is called Swim Bladder disease. It’s a digestive issue that is often fatal. Happens quite a bit in Bettas and Goldfish. Sometimes, if you catch it early enough, you can feed your fish peas, and the fiber will clear the digestive tract. Your Marimo is fine. Take him home, put him in the fridge overnight and then put him back in your tank. They like a night in the fridge every so often. Bring me back a sample of your water in a couple days, just so we can make sure your fish didn’t leave behind a bunch of ammonia. Then you can put another one in.”

The kid picks out a female this time. I told him I would hold her for him. He’s very sheepishly smiling and I can tell he’s feeling better knowing that even experienced fishkeepers have lost fish to SBD. He’s now better equipped to handle it.

THIS IS HOW YOU CARE FOR FISH. When a 12-13 year old is doing weekly water changes for his betta in a heated, filtered tank and has PERFECT params. Adults, get your shit together.

Baby Fever - Imagine request

Request:  Well, I really would like a mix between Kids and Mind Reader

Characters: Dean x reader, Sam, Cas (mentioned), Crowley (mentioned), Rowena (mentioned), John and Mary Winchester (mentioned).

Warnings: Pretty angsty, tbh. Plus, the Winchester’s traumas.

Word count: 2,367

A/N: I wasn’t sure what aspects of each fic I should mix, so I just went with, obviously, mind reading powers and Dean talking about babies because, as I said before, it makes me go weak on the knees. Enjoy!


Stupid witches, throwing spells like crazy and not even caring what kind of curse they’re throwing.

Sam, Dean and (Y/N) had gone hunting for a witch who, before being killed by Sam, threw a bunch of curses to the hunters. Cas had told them that the curses would last a couple of days, her magic was too powerful to vanish easily after her death so they had to hold on.

None of them was sure what kind of spell was thrown their way, however, Dean was starting to guess the one he got: Mind reading.

“Any clues, fellas?” Dean asked, handing a beer to his brother and his wife.

Yes, wife. Dean was married to a strong, stubborn hunter that he had met many years ago in a bar back in Texas. He fell immediately in love with her and so did she (although it took them a hell lot of a time to admit it) and eventually got married in Vegas after solving a case there.

“Nope.” His wife spoke. “Think, (Y/N)! There must be something off about… oh my God, that baby is so cute, why do they always pick cute babies for internet ads? They make me want to… okay, focus.” The huntress frowned and opened a new computer tab.

Definitely mind reading.

“What about you?” Dean asked his brother.

“I don’t know… I don’t feel anything weird except for a strange itch in my… There it is, again.” Sam cringed before basically running to the bathroom.

“Do you feel anything?” (Y/N) asked as Dean took his brother’s place in front of her.

“No.” He lied, taking a swig from his beer.

Why does he always look sexual when he drinks?” She thought, “I wonder if he did that same thing as a baby… Baby, I want a baby… Although, I already have one, right? Baby the Impala… She’s Dean’s baby so that makes her my baby and…”

“Babe, are you okay?” Dean furrowed his eyebrows. The girl had spaced out.

“Yes, yes… I’m just trying to figure out my curse… That’s all.” She faked a smile.

Baby fever, crap.

“Guys!” Sam called, “I think I found mine.” Dean and (Y/N) quickly stood up from their seats and walked closer to the bathroom door.

Sam opened it closely as he came out. His skin was completely red, and he looked a bit bloated. Dean and (Y/N) gasped at the image.

“Skin rash.” He stated.

“Clever bitch…” Dean muttered, “Witch…”

“Is it itchy?” (Y/N) asked.

“Very.” Sam replied. His fingers were tense; he was clearly trying to fight the urge to scratch.

“Okay, it will last a couple of days but I guess Dean and I can go to the drugstore and get you one of those creams to ease the…”

“YES.” Sam begged.

-

The drugstore was huge and it was full of people. Dean and you couldn’t find the cream in any of the aisles so you decided to ask the clerk.

A huge, ex-convict looking man attended you. Dean held your hand protectively as he started to speak.

“Hi, uh… We’re here for that cream that eases itch…” Dean said awkwardly, “It’s for my brother.” The man grumbled and turned around. He took a tube of cream from the cabinet behind him.

“Here.” The man said with a deep voice. “Yeah right, his brother needs it. I bet it’s for him.

“Yeah uh… We’re going to need more…” The man breathed out a heavy sigh and turned around again to grab another tube.

“Here.” He repeated. Dean gave him a sheepish smile. “Ken doll likes to exaggerate, great. One tube lasts a whole week of treatment.

“Maybe a bit more,” Dean mumbled, “he is like six feet tall and has the rash all over his body and…” The man rolled his eyes angrily. “A little help here, sweetheart.” Dean whispered at (Y/N) but she wasn’t paying attention.

Dean turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were focused on two kids who were chasing each other between the aisles.

Look at them, they’re so cute… I wonder if my kids with Dean would be this cute… Or even so, I wonder if Dean would consider having kids with me.” The curse only worked if Dean was looking at the person.

“Babe?” Dean called and (Y/N) immediately looked back at him.

“Yeah, yeah…” She nodded and got closer to the counter. “Look, my brother in law in allergic to certain plants and we went hunting yesterday and he fell and rolled over a bunch of those plants and he’s in a lot of pain.” She explained. Dean loved that she was that good at lying, she always saved their asses.

“Uh, I see.” The clerk replied. He turned around and took a big container. “This one works for those cases… It’s the same as ten cream tubes but it costs half of that.” The clerk explained.

“We’ll take that, then.” She smiled. Dean couldn’t help but to feel a little angry. Every man on Earth was nice to her, and Dean knew exactly why.

Dean paid and then they drove to the closest gas station. Dean wanted to fill Baby’s tank before they went back home that night.

(Y/N) stayed in the car as Dean filled his car. There was another car at the gas station, parallel to them. The man was filling the tank as his wife re-applied her lipstick; there were two kids on the backseat singing some Barney song.

That song again, I’m sick of it.” The man thought, making Dean cringe. “But they like it so much, how could I ask them to stop?

Look at the girl on the other car; she’s so young and beautiful…” The woman thought, finishing her lipstick and looking at (Y/N). “She doesn’t have kids and the man with her is so cute… I remember when Bob and I were like that.” Dean’s heart ached at the woman’s longing. “Now I’m old and I don’t have the same body I used to… But aren’t they worth it?” The woman turned to look back at her kids, a small smile forming on her lips as the kids repeated the song. “Yes, they’re worth it.

Dean shook his head and focused back on his car. (Y/N)’s thoughts at the drugstore, about wanting to have kids, had done something to his brain. Of course he wanted to have kids; it was part of his dream life… But growing up in the life wasn’t ideal, and he knew it better than anyone.

His eyes roamed to his girlfriend, she was looking at the kids through the mirror.

So pretty, so full of life… Those two must be so happy with their kids…” Dean looked back down at the car.

Half of him was happy that his girlfriend wanted kids, but the other side wasn’t. Sam and Dean had grown with a hunter father, and their lives were crappy as hell; not to mention the fact that they could never have a normal life with friends and a stable house and all of that. Yes, they had the bunker, but Dean was pretty sure that it was no place to grow kids.

Why are you even worried? Her thoughts are created from the witch’s curse. Wait a few days and she’ll forget about them.

Dean sighed as he finished filling Baby’s tank and he drove back to the motel.

-

Sam was only wearing his underwear. He was sliding an ice over his swollen skin, that being the only way to stop him from scratching. (Y/N) handed him the cream and Sam ran back to the bathroom to apply the cream.

(Y/N) and Dean cuddled on their bed as they waited for Sam.

Should I ask him? No! Of course not! What if he pushes you away? We’re married but… DIVORCE EXISTS. No, just keep it to yourself and wait for the best. Maybe he’ll be ready one day, then he’ll ask and you won’t have to scare him. Yeah, I’ll wait.” (Y/N)’s thoughts were fast and so full of desire, Dean had to look away in order to stop listening to them.

Just a curse, that’s all.

Sam went out of the bathroom covered from head to toe with the cream. He put towels on his bed and lied down, immediately falling asleep. (Y/N) fell asleep as well, and then Dean followed them.

The next morning, (Y/N) was the first to wake up. She knew her lady days were due to start that morning; therefore she ran to the bathroom before the Winchesters could wake up. She wasn’t expecting what she saw.

Not only was her hair green, but also her eyebrows, eyelashes and every other hair on her body. Even the ones that weren’t supposed to be visible were green. Worse thing is, it wasn’t a pretty green but the most hideous one she had ever seen.

She screamed at her own reflection, waking the brothers up.

Sam and Dean bursted through the bathroom door with their guns in hand. Sam still had a bit of cream unabsorbed and Dean seemed to be still asleep.

“What’s wro… Oh, crap.” Dean lowered his gun. “You’re green.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” (Y/N) shouted.

“But why are you all green?” Sam asked, tilting his head.

“Newsflash, Sammy, girls have body hair too!” Dean chuckled at her response.

“Oh, I uh… Sorry I… I’m going back to bed.” The younger Winchester said, taking his cream and getting out of the bathroom. Dean was trying not to laugh.

“This isn’t funny, Dean.” She argued.

“I know but… You look like a green version of the cookie monster.” Dean giggled.

“I’m not that hairy!” (Y/N) shouted. Dean shook his head and wrapped his hands around his girlfriend.

“Of course you’re not, I’m just joking.” He stroked her hair in a soothing way until the realization sunk down on him.

“Wait… Green hair… That’s your curse?” Dean inquired.

“Duh.” She replied.

“I thought… Crap.” His whole body shivered. The baby fever wasn’t a curse, it was an actual thing.

“What?” (Y/N) pushed him back in order to look at him directly in the eyes.

“Nothing I just…” Dean couldn’t find an excuse; he wasn’t as good as lying as his wife.

“Dean, tell me the truth now.” She commanded. Dean sighed and looked down.

“I thought the witch had cursed you with a baby fever or something like that.” Dean confessed.

“Why would you think that?” (Y/N) asked in confusion. Dean looked back up.

“She cursed me with mind reading.” (Y/N) turned pale under the green, she swallowed loudly.

“Dean I…” She didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry… I don’t want to pressure you or anything, it’s just… I’m a woman; it’s in my nature and…” Tears started streaming down her face. Dean shook his head, wiping her tears with his thumbs.

“I know, and it’s fine.” He whispered, “I won’t leave you, I won’t divorce you… I just…”

“I know, it’s a stupid idea and I promise it will pass.” (Y/N) completed.

“It’s not that stupid… If we lived another life then I’d… We’d already have kids, but growing up in this life… It sucks.” Dean explained, his eyes were also getting watery.

“I know, I know.” She dried her tears and cleared her throat. “I get it, it’s fine… Just ignore my thoughts, they’ll eventually change. I promise.” She tried to smile, but Dean knew he had just broken his wife’s heart.

“Babe, I…” She hushed him by pressing a finger on his lips.

“I know, it’s fine.” She kicked Dean out of the bathroom, claiming that she wanted to take a shower.

Sam was sitting at the edge of his towel-covered bed. He had a disappointed look on his face.

“Don’t do that, Sam.” Dean begged, “You know it’s for the better.”

“Is it?” Sam muttered.

“Yes! Sam! You and I grew up in this life, you know how crappy it is! I won’t do that to my kids.” Dean whined.

“Our life was awful, yes. But only because dad sucks, and we didn’t have mom…” Sam insisted.

“That doesn’t change the fact that my kids would learn how to shoot a gun before they know how to spell their names.” Dean continued.

“Not because dad did that, you’re going to do the same, Dean.” Sam trembled, “You are better than him – than dad. And (Y/N)… I’m sure she won’t burn in the ceiling like mom… You two can raise kids differently than dad did… And you have me; I can help you too and…”

“Stop, Sam.” Dean begged, a tear spilling from his face.

“I’m just saying, our life doesn’t have to be your kid’s lives too.”  Sam stated.

“Would you… Would you have kids? I mean if you were me?” Dean whispered, looking down.

“Yes.” Sam answered. Dean looked back up to his brother. “We are stable now. The bunker is big and safe enough to have children there… There’s a small school nearby where they can go… We also have Cas and… I don’t know, man. Things are different now from how they were when we were kids.” Dean nodded and sat beside his brother.

“Do you really think I will be a good father?” The older hunter asked and Sam chuckled.

“No doubt of it… You did a pretty good job with me.” Dean smiled a little.

“Yeah… I’m good with kids and (Y/N)… She will be a great mom and they will have you and Cas to take care of them too and…” Dean had started to smile bigger and bigger with each word.

“It’s going to be great.” Sam finished.

-

Thankfully, Dean decided to have kids. Turns out, (Y/N) was already pregnant; her hormones were the ones to cause the baby fever.

Their kids grew happily in the bunker, their life turned out better than the Winchesters. They had a lovely mom and dad, two caring uncles from which one was an angel; the king of hell and his witch mother would spoil rotten them whenever they were around… It was the greatest life a kid with hunter parents could ask for.

2

sardine the roadkill kitty ♡ found this sweet boy left to rot on the shoulder of the road. he had been left in plain view and obviously been out for quite some time (pic of his skin- warning Nasty and green) covered in bugs and so bloated he looked obese. he turned out to be a filthy, skinny intact tom (not a drop of fat on him, not even in his tail!) so it’s no surprise nobody had come for him. sad as it is, at least he will be loved now

misteruniverse-deactivated20170  asked:

ok but diet coke and mentos in the sans ectotum

Warnings: #Fast Weight Gain #Belly Expansion #Implied Stomach Popping #Soda Inflation #Mentos and Soda Experiment #Giant Gut #Belching


“…hlp… hic!” A burp. “ hhff… hic! ughh…”

Sans lay prone on his backside, feeling dizzy, hazy and utterly foolish. He was silently thankful he was within the safety of his bedroom. This ridiculous “experiment” he’d concocted would have been disastrous if performed in public.

One fizzy candy and one bottle of diet cola, that was all he needed to test his theory. He could have gone with the MTT ™ Cola from the Hotland Hotel snack bar. 

But no. He had to go digging in places he shouldn’t have. Like the dump, where he found a case full of discarded but otherwise untouched human brand soda pop. A thick, enticing two liter bottle of chocolate-colored fizzy delight, still vacuum packed and cold thanks to the chilly depths of the dump. Probably lost during a wayward camping trip. 

He’d never tried human food before, so who was to say it wouldn’t do for a cool set of variables. 

He’d been dying to test the limits of his monstrous appetite. That whole “diet cola and popping candy” challenge seemed safe enough– at least as a good precursor to the later, more daring banana and lemon cola challenge. It didn’t even involve that much food! Just a simple chemical reaction with measured results. Like a dumb old science fair volcano. What harm could it do?

Apparently plenty. 

a-all for– hic! s-science i said– hic! hlp– hiccup- hic!” A groan. Another burp, interrupted but an untimely onslaught of hiccups. “ulp… it’ll b-be hIC! f-fun i said– hicCUP!! hic! hIC!!”

He weakly reached up massage his bloated middle, but barely so much as touching it would send the bubbles burbling around within him. They combined, increased in size, multiplied, and pushed his already distended gut out an extra inch. Sans whimpered and hiccuped, the jolts from his spasming ghostly diaphragm jostling the steadily expanding magical sac even further. Oh god, he hoped he didn’t pop. He’d be out of commission for days if that happened. 

And yet, at first this sensation had felt incredible

The act of filling up was pleasant enough on its own, but the fact that this required one tenth the usual effort eating usually took made it somehow even more wonderful. Any way to make things the lazy way was a-ok by Sans (at least at first).

As much as he enjoyed the whole eating process, especially when it came to Grillby’s fantastically unhealthy cooking, the fact that all he had to do was lie there on his creaking mattress and watch in fascination as his magical blue sac filled in all the gaps on its own was both fascinating and satisfying. 

One long gulp of the whole human beverage and one whole packet of candy– no sense in beating around the bush (…yeesh, maybe papyrus was starting to rub off on him). The reaction of the acidic material combining with basic was almost beautiful to watch, the dark foamy compound swirling and bubbling and quickly dissolving into a gassy, oddly less sparkly, more opaque magical solution. He heard the mixture pop and fizzle, almost as if it were alive of its own accord. Simple, yet so brilliant. 

It had been slow at first, inching little by little of the flabby membrane up and outward. What was once a flabby deflated stomach (he’d skipped lunch in lieu of curiosity) was now slowly creeping outward, bubble by bubble, burble by grumble. The millions of bubbles from the fizzy drink tickled as his tummy stretched further, prompting burps and hiccups as it expanded at a steady pace. It felt heavier earlier than he’d expected, most likely thanks to the thicker, more solid human world cola alongside the sparkly, magical monster candy. 

Sans watched on blissfully drunk, giggling giddy as his stomach expanded outward from the front and the sides, slowly pressing him down onto his mattress. First one foot out, then two, then three– then four! It just kept on going. It felt so exciting, even when the edges started to pinch against his pelvis and ribs. 

But then it started to hurt. 

And it wouldn’t stop growing. 

“ohhh– hlp hff– hIC! hic! i-i gotta– hic! l-let some of this– hic! g-gas out!”

He searched, phalanges fumbling at first, but soon became desperate to find relief as the bubbles of fizzy human beverage foamed and expanded further, bloating his gut almost two more feet at once. 

It took some work– ohh he hated working– but Sans pushed through his dizzy fog and fits of hiccups, catching some troublesome bubbles along his generous love handles, then up and long his sides– wherever he could reach most easily. 

BRUUUAAAAAaaaghmphhh! hic! hiCUP! b-BRAAAAAAUUUUMP!” He huffed, finding more slack near his pelvis and pinching the bubbles as quickly as he could in his sluggish state. 

Oh god– he was so big now he couldn’t even reach his arms all the way around. His belly was so engorged and wobbly, it kept him prisoner on his own bed. He would’ve been proud if he weren’t in so much pain. He almost felt betrayed that something so beautiful to look at was causing him such distress… but then again, this whole mess was his fault to begin with. But he could worry about blame later!

“hic- BRRRUUUUUUUUUUMMRUUUUUUGH!” 

Even more slack, and yet somehow his stomach continued growing. If he didn’t act soon, he’d paint his whole room (and medical bill) in fluorescent blue. 

“hff hufffff– hic! alright buddy, you wanna pla–hicCUP! hic! h-hardball?” Sans gulped, summoning every inch of magic he had in his left eye, focusing on an extra dark spot at the very center of it all. He grabbed it– it held!– and flicked it to his right side. With a wince, he gave the thick, dark bubble a hearty pinch. 

BRRUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!”

It felt like a 9 on the Richter scale at least. sans was certain he heard the window rattle, and was quietly thankful that Papyrus was out training with Undyne. 

And just like that, it was all over. Apparently he’d hit the center of where the reaction was going wrong. His belly continued to make fizzy, popping noises mingled with the usual gurgles and burbles of a full tummy, but the bloating had been stifled. 

And not a moment too soon, Sans realized. He marveled upward at the results of the experiment gone wrong, panting and moaning, the hiccups not yielding. His belly towered over him a good length away, his clothes long since pushed away by the sheer force of the bloat. He looked… (he couldn’t believe it) he looked at least as wide as he was tall. That wasn’t much, but it was the furthest he’d ever gotten in his binges. 

Sans couldn’t deny that the results were astounding. Human food combining with monster food was not a good variable to start with, but boy did they bring in the results. 

As he stared, catching his breath, he figured a change of clothes would be a good way to start the damage control. He was still fairly tired, but if he was going to pass out he was not going to pass out in his sweat and spit drenched sweater. He was going to pass out in a shirt he’d drenched in sweat yesterday. 

As he pulled it off and slipped on a six XXXL MTT Concert tee (it still didn’t fit him past his ribs, but it as something), he noticed that his magical sack had compensated for the lacking space between his ribs and pelvis all on its own, forcing the membrane to grow upwards along his ribs and form extra pockets closer to his sternum that almost resembled… well, moobs for lack of a better word. Hopefully Papyrus wouldn’t notice. Well… if he did, he could always fall back onto boob jokes. 

In spite of his discomfort and exhaustion, he patted the magical belly in thanks for potentially saving him– pleasantly surprised that it held a lot of give thanks to the pesky trouble bubble popping away. He tried to push himself upright to get an even better view, but the weight of the encased magic stubbornly pressed back down. After a few false starts, he propped himself up against the far wall, wincing as gravity acted accordingly on his gut, pressing it painfully on top of his femurs. He spread his legs out (fairly far out), and adjusted the waistband of his shorts, causing even more of his unseen gut to spill forth and jiggle onto his lap. 

“ulf… hic!” he let out a small burp, looked down, then did a double-take. “hic! w-whoa… hicCUP!” 

Sans had been right. He was as wide as he was tall, if not more. 

He wrapped his legs around his front in an attempt to sit cross legged, but his toes did not even come close to touching. He could barely see the mattress beyond his bulging middle. This was, without a doubt, the biggest he’d ever been (well, at least as far as he could remember in this timeline). 

Hesitant at first, he tested the side of his gut, pushing it and prodding it in certain places to see where the give came and went. He was stunned, but gladly so, to feel it was starting to change from taught and firm to plush already– maybe it was because most of the mass was caused by trapped air and foam rather than solid magical foodstuffs. He pressed it, caressed it, marveled at it, thankful to finally come down from his panic as he watched in hazy wonder. It wobbled back and forth, rippling like an enormous vat of blueberry jello. Sans snorted, the giddiness returning. 

“hic! talk about- hic! talk ‘bout -hic! hicCUP! t-talllllk ‘bout …empty calories…” 

He giggled at his own joke, causing his belly to wobble more. Which only made him giggle harder. It was a vicious cycle only interrupted by squeaky little hiccups. Soon he was a mess of jiggly giddiness, and could only fall to his side and slowly laugh himself to sleep, staring fondly at his experiment-gone-wrong-gone-very-right. 

Maybe, in the future, he should experiment with human food more often. 

Singing Class

I was always kinda fat, but not really. My stomach doesn’t bulge out, yet it is considerably filled out and makes four large rolls when I sit down. I jiggle when I walk, and eat like a pig. I was always too fat to be considered thin, too thin to be considered fat, and people are always incredibly surprised when I take my shirt off. It makes me uncomfortable to really mention my weight, or talk about anyone being fat in general. I’m not sure what, but some mixture of that always gave me an intense interest in fat guys. I just love the idea of a guy with some extra paunch - popping shirts, being teased, and just revelling in his extra weight. Of course I’m into the gainer scene, but I have a real soft spot for guys who weren’t gaining on purpose.

I always had this massive crush on my singing teacher, Jack, with whom I met each week. He was such a funny, creative, intelligent guy and he made me laugh each week as we worked on a song. He was lean though, really quite ripped - with the body of a typical football jock. He had short, dark brown hair and a striking face. We would meet every Wednesday for a 3 hour private lesson at 5, and I was really enjoying each one. One week, he tells me he’ll be going away for three months on a long overdue vacation - and from then on I was given a replacement.

I sit in the foyer, nervous. Last Wednesday was my final week with my replacement, and Jack was coming back this week, he was late. I feel silly for being this nervous but I’m just so excited to see him again. I look down at my hands, twiddling my fingers as I hear someone walking down the stairs. Finally. I look to my left, as Jack walks through the entrance but with a gut beyond belief in the tightest sweater. It legitimately is exactly what I love in a gut, it looks about 50 inches around, entirely protruding. No sag or anything. He must’ve gained about 60 pounds - all going straight to his glorious belly, his face arms and legs still in the tremendous shape of an athlete. His ass had filled out though. I have to look away for a second, already having an erection. He looks bloated already, but by the looks of the bag of McDonald’s in his hand a late lunch is probably his excuse for the late show.
“Hey Henry, so sorry for being late.” He says to me.
“Nah that’s fine,” I reply, “late lunch?” I say referring to the fast food in his hand.
“Quite the opposite actually, lunch at Grandma’s.” He says as we start heading into the studio, “Boy can she cook,” he says hand on belly, “I am stuffed.”
So he was bloated. Then why the McDonald’s? I think it best not to ask.

We sit down in the studio, and he asks me to begin my song. While I sing he pulls out a burger and eats and watches - also having a few fries and sipping on his shake. As I finish, he wipes his mouth and pushes himself off the piano stool he was sitting on with a groan and a burp.
“Okay, you were great. But I still don’t think you’re singing through your diaphragm.”
All singers have to breath and sing through their diaphragm as it puts less pressure in their throat and makes for a better sound, I’d been trying to perfect it for a while now.

“See look as I breathe in my stomach should expand, watch my stomach.” He says to me. I watch as he breathes in seeing how his gut expands as he does so.
“Shit you really can’t see that much.” With that, he pulls off the t-shirt and sweater he was wearing and instructs me to look at his belly.
“See that,” he drums his hands on his further extended stomach, “it’s all air.” I look at him in silence. “Okay well maybe like 40 percent beer, 40 percent fatass, 20 percent air.” He lets go of the breath he was holding in and lets his gut contract. “Fuck this worked better before I grew. Okay I want you to come up and touch my gut now.” I walk up to him tentatively. “Really get in there.” I put my hand on his gut then pull away. “Really.” He says as he pushes his gut back and forward, kneading the fat between his fingers. I let go and do the same to him, feeling all of his fat and bouncing it up and down. My boner could not be more obvious right now, I just hope he doesn’t notice it. “See, what you feel right there between your fingers is incredible sloth and gluttony - McDonald’s, beer, cocktails, and laziness compacted into one stomach. Me in all my fat man glory. Now wait,” he breathes into his stomach again - it expands, “feel it now.” I place my hand on his gut and it is rock solid, he drums on it before letting go of the air.
“See that’s where you have to breathe. From there you tense your stomach muscles and sing from there.”

He sits down, his shirt still off, and we then continue our lesson as is. He stays sitting for the next 40 minutes, giving me tips as I continue singing and workshopping my song. In that time he completes four burgers, two large fries, and a shake with the occasional rub or scratch of his further bloating, shirtless belly. It’s been almost 40 minutes of us workshopping as he grabs the McDonald’s bag off the top of the piano, reaches his hand inside - his hand coming out with nothing in it. He looks inside the bag before interrupting me mid-song,
“I’m so sorry, but we could we take 5 or 10? I’ve gotta run and do something.”
“Yeah, for sure.” I reply.
With a struggle, he pushes himself up off the piano stool and starts to walk out of the studio.
“Shit, I’ve got no shirt on.” He reaches down to his shirt lying across the floor and pulls it over his torso - gathering very tightly at his midsection, the shirt sticking out from the bottom of his stomach.
“Well you could call that bloating.” He says, looking himself up and down in the wall mirrors on the left hand wall, stroking his rock solid gut as he runs out.

I sit alone awaiting Jack’s return as I hear his car pull up at the front of the building, running into the studio with his hands and mouth full of McDonald’s products. After swallowing he sits back down,
“Continue with your song.” 20 minutes go past of workshopping and singing as Jack stands up and begins to talk, “I just think you’re still not getting this diaphragm thing.” He pulls off his shirt that was already riding halfway up his gut to reveal his ever bloated stomach.
“Okay watch me breathe in.” No difference. “Shit I’m too bloated.” In the 20 minutes he had downed two soft serves, two mcflurry’s, a cheeseburger and fries - finishing off his second round of fattening foods. His gut was extremely extended from the bloat he walked in today with, looking as though it was gonna pop any second.

“Okay fuck it,” he says walking back down to the stool, sitting with a very loud groan, “I know you wanna talk about it. Ask away.” I sit opposite in silence, I know what he’s talking about. I just think it’d be a bit rude. “Well I’ll just tell you. So when I went on vacation it was just bliss. We were just touring the Caribbean and fuck, I love hotel food. Like buffet breakfast, room service, everything it was so fucking good. I just ate, and ate, and ate , and ate. So really between that and legitimately not moving all day every day I became Fat Jack. I really don’t know what it’s like to not be bloated anymore. I couldn’t tell you what my normal gut looks like.”

I nod, not really knowing what to say.

“You know, I just love it.”
“Love what?” I ask.
“This!” he says, grabbing his gut and jiggling it, “It just feel so manly… You know? Like I’m a fat guy. People look at me and think - ‘wow, how did he get so big?’ and I love it! And how my parents reacted - boy. That was great. She just looks at me and asks if I got a haircut. Then I make an effort of eating like 6 times the regular amount in the grossest way possible and she just freaks.”
“Wait, so you’re gaining weight on purpose?” I ask, unable to be any more turned on.
“No, no. But at the rate I’m going it certainly seems like I’m just gonna keep on ballooning and I don’t think I have any objections to that. It’s like so rewarding when I look down at a bloated gut and know that I’ve achieved something and it’s all my doing.”

Ooft. We keep talking about the manliness of paunch and inherent satisfaction of being bloated for a while before he interrupts me mid conversation at about 7pm. He pulls out his phone and dials a number, holding it up to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” I ask.
“Dominoes,” he replies, “they have this great deal on three pizzas, a bottle of coke, and garlic bread on right now.”
“Wait, you’re hungry again?
"No, I’m just not as bloated anymore - which means I can fit more food in. And I’m gonna take every opportunity to eat that I can ge - oh hi. I was just wondering if I could get your three pizza deal for delivery.”
He’s ordering. Jeez, I am pretty hungry for dinner, good thing he is getting some pizza.
“Could I get a meat-lovers, a pepperoni, and chicken barbecue thanks.”
“Could you make one of them a margarita?” I chime.
“Sorry, what did you want?” He replies to me.
“Margarita?”
“Sorry, could I also add a fourth pizza - a margarita.”
I guess he’s hungry.

When the pizza is delivered about ten minutes later we both sit on the floor around the boxes and Jack begins to chow down. He’s eaten two pizzas by the time I’ve had half of my margarita and doesn’t show any signs of slowing. I’ve eaten ¾ of my pizza and I’m feeling full, Jack’s slowly making his way through the third pizza and begins to start on the garlic bread. When all of Jack’s food is done he looks over at my box of pizza and the three slices left sitting on it.
“You gonna eat that?”
“Nah I’m goo-”
Before I’ve finished that sentence he snatches the three of them and folds them as though they’re one slice - stomaching them solidly. Finally, Jack opens the bottle of coke and chugs it all in three turns.
“Aaaaaaaagh!” He screams. “That was so good.” He lies down on the floor - his bare stomach protruding thoroughly as he strokes it up and down - belching.

“Dude you’ve had like two days worth of full adult calories in about three hours just now.” I say to him, with no word of exaggeration.
“Ugh, I want more.” He groans, “but it hurts. I just wish I could never stop eating.” He picks up a pizza box and licks the insides. “My god.” I look down at my own belly, feeling proud of the substantial bloat I have after finishing almost a whole pizza, but compared to him I really am nothing.

We talk for the next few minutes before the clock strikes 8 and I have to leave. I get up and start heading out the door.
“Are you alright?” I look down at Jack still on the floor.
“Yeah I just can’t get up right now I’ll close up in a bit. Keep working on your song”
“Alright.” I say, leaving the studio into the foyer. I look through the glass wall-window to the immobile man, stroking his bloated gut back and forth, not fully gauging how much damage he has done to his body.

I think I might start two lessons a week.

Don't Make Papa Pop!

Megan flinched and wailed when Hatter mentioned his weight, flopping over on her side. Oh God…now Daddy Hatter would know…and he would feel worse…but but…worse of all he would know he did that to her husband….and hate her for it.  Guilt surged through her. She sobbed on the floor.

The children watched as daddy and Grandpa Hatter went to a room that Grandma Hatter said never to go in. The children looked from Grandma Hatter to mommy and looked even more confused. “What do we do, grandma?” They asked.

Daddy Hatter frowned, allowing his son to help him up  and lead him to his old study. He gave a nostalgic smile. “I remember these books…I’ll have to thank your mother and you later…” He was touched that everything had been left as it had been when he left. He was worried about what he son was going to show him. Was it really that bad?

His son helped him into a chair and his son sat on the table. He was unable to help a small chuckle. Hatter still had some bad habits from when he was a little boy. He hadn’t even noticed that Hatter had locked the door to the study. He was confused at his son’s words. Crystal? What was that? And why only the past year? Wasn’t he going to show him his graduation and his start as a host. You know, the beginning. 

What it started with shocked the older host and nearly made him sick. Not because of his son’s weight, but because he blamed himself for being a bad role model. He honestly could hardly recognize his son. He felt horrible he hadn’t been for his son in these hard times. He honestly was okay with the first few pictures and videos. It was okay for his son to have a health appetite. However, he gasped at the pictures of Hatter eating most of the wedding cake when he and Megan got married and that he stabbed a heavier….was that Hare? …over an egg roll. He nearly stared to cry. He had another grandchild? The various tailor pictures broke his heart. The wheelchair actually made him start to sob. He broke down at the last picture of the Hatter family reunion Not only was there his son, much heavier than he ever seen him, but there were people that had been lost and gained and he wasn’t in the picture.

Daddy Hatter was clinging to hope that this was all a elaborate prank with an overstuffed pillow. “Um…Crystal….” He shouted, unsure. “Stop on pictures 15, 20, 35, 45, 55 through 60, 75 and 100.” He commanded, getting up with a bit of difficulty and walking over to the projection…slide…television…computer….intelligent…Crystal…thing. 

Picture 15:

It was Hatter’s wedding. “This is you and Megan…why is the wedding cake…eaten in picture 14…?” He asked. Was he that hungry? Hatter looked bloated in the picture…and drunk. It was after Megan taken the corset off of her, but she was smiling.

Picture 20:

Hatter stabbing Hare. “Is this Hare…And Tweedledum and Tweedledee…?” He asked, hardly unable to recognize the now adult, obese friends of his.

Picture 35:

Lily being taken away. “I had another grandchild?” He asked, pointing at Lily. Megan was there, too. She had gained a lot of weight and was obese. “Who is this?” He asked, unable to recognize her.

Picture 45:

Megan had lost a ton of weight, becoming so skinny that she looked skeletal. “Who is this?” He asked again, unable to recognize her skinny either.

Pictures 55-60:

Hatter was at the tailor. Daddy Hatter hiccuped here. He couldn’t say anything.

Picture 75:

Hatter was in a wheelchair: “Who…who is this…?” He lied, pointing at this son. He knew who it was exactly, but….this part was just a prank, right? He was just resting and hiding a pillow under his stomach, right?

Picture 100:

The Hatter family reunion. He pointed at the picture as a whole. “There are…some new faces….and some people missing like your Great Great Aunt Meral Hatter….where did she go?” He asked. He lowered his head, tears hitting the floor. “I should’ve been in this family reunion picture and…every other family reunion picture before that.”

He could always recognize his grandchildren when they popped up…except for Lily.

“I suppose I do owe you an explanation for everything dad…” Hatter sighed forcing himself to look up at Crystal with tears starting to form in his eyes. “The Wedding Cake was indeed gone but…I-I just couldn’t contain myself…I-I saved Megan a slice though.” he motioned with his hands how delicate the slice was with his fingers.

Clicking to the next picture the host could only give a nervous smile at it. “Look at us…the future of Wonderland…hehe!” he gulped well aware that his father wouldn’t find that funny at all.

“Lily is…Hare and my child you could say. She is residing with the Queen until her majesty defines Hare or me to be fit parents. Also that lass there is Megan!” he pointed at his beloved upon the screen.

Next slide, Hatter would repeat himself once more with a point on the screen. “That is Megan as well.”

“Oh the Tailor loved me! He loved the moment I came in to ask for my first resizing. Upon my third visit he actually baked me a plateful of cookies….which now that I think about it…he also whispered while he worked on changes something like, “eat fat boy eat…”

“AW!” the host cried out recalling that day he was in the wheelchair exactly. “I was actually out in the real world filming a big Hollywood production and…well I filled the part good but…my legs just couldn’t bare the pressure of being a celebrity.” he laughed silencing himself as his father showed him the last slide.

“Look at me! I am certainly a host who doesn’t blend in a crowd. Great Aunt Meral is behind me! I see her arm right there!” his son clapped obviously forgetting why they were watching this in the first place.

“Oh my goodness! How could I forget to show you the rest of my life! Crystal! Go back to the day Papa Hatter left! Show him everything!” the host suggested going behind his fathers desk to retrieve a bucket of already popped pop corn.

anonymous asked:

there's a picture of louis crying on gma our poor sunshine

i dont think hes crying… but he doesnt look good. his eyes are puffy… they’re covered in makeup to hide his bags, which kept having to get reapplied… his face looks bloated. he looks dehydrated and like the hasn’t been sleeping… he looks sad and done. he looked similar last night as well leaving lotties party. anyway…. not to like dislocate my shoulder from reaching so hard, but sugar bear is sad today too…  i guess thats what happens when your teams makes you fake a baby