i still remember i went with my mom

I just saw this on Reddit today and I wanted to share it here.

When you’re a parent, you have to realize that the child you brought into this world is going to be their own person and you’ll have to start getting into things you may not understand and have ZERO interest in.

However, you damn well better act like you are.

I can still remember the feeling as a kid getting Pokemon Red and it being something I loved so much, so I wanted to share that with my mom. I wanted to show her my team, tell her about the gym leaders I took down, and she just took a glance at the Game Boy color and went “mmhhhmm”.

She gave zero shits when I beat Banjo-Kazooie, a game which was INCREDIBLY hard for grade school me and you can make me have war flashbacks if you so much as say “Rusty Bucket Bay”.

My town in Animal Crossing? Catching rare fish? Who cares?

I liked a cartoon series so much that I wrote little stories about it? “No, I don’t want to read it.”

This type of stuff matters to kids so damn much and she’ll never realize how much it hurt our relationship. It might not seem like a big deal she never sat down and watched me play something like Luigi’s Mansion, but that’s how kids try and bond with their parents.

After constantly being shot down they’ll eventually stop talking to you entirely. 

“When I tried to hug her, she’d tell me it was too hot for hugs. So I learned to stop trying. We never had conversations. I thought it was normal. It was all I knew. I always thought the relationship between a mother and a child was about giving and receiving orders. But when I was ten years old, I went to a friend’s house to do a school project. At first I remember feeling sorry for him. His family was so poor. There was almost nothing in the house. But when we walked inside, his mom gave him such a big hug. And she was so happy to see him. And that was the saddest moment of my life. Because I never knew that was something you could have. My mom still doesn’t hug me. But I think we’re on the way to that. I had an asthma attack recently, and I felt so weak, and she told me I could lay my head in her lap. I can’t explain how special that made me feel.”

(Rio de Janeiro, Brazil)

2

And here we go, a quick screencap redraw with the picture of the cuttest yugi suggested by @kudalyn

you can definitely tell just how lazy i got, i guess i wasn’t really in the mood to put much effort into it and neither was my tablet

Alternate universe? Shared memory?

Hey, I don`t submit things too terribly often, so I apologize if I`m breaking some sort of protocol. After reading your post on the Berenstain Bears (I grew up with “Stain” personally) I was reminded of an incident from my early childhood:

I was out with my mom in Tacoma, WA - my hometown. We were visiting her favorite thrift stores and the odd yard sale here and there before we stopped for lunch at a Taco bell near 6th Avenue. I remember what I had, even - a chicken Quesadilla, no sauce. We sat near the window and since I was a young child I was playing with a toy radio I had picked up at a (now closed) thrift store on 6th ave proper. Nothing of note happened until I was in my early teenage years and we drove past the building. It was an actual Mexican restaurant at this time, not a link in the chain of bad, Americanized “Mexican” food. Anyways, I mentioned the story and mom looked at me aghast. She said that it had never been a Taco Bell in my life. She went on to say that my story coincides perfectly with an experience she had with a cousin of mine who now teaches disabled kids in Southern California. I still vividly remember it, which side of the booth I sat on, where I was looking down the street past the window. I don`t believe my cousin is aware of this shared memory, she`s at least a decade my elder.

chase the dark clouds away

Read on AO3 here!

The first thing Tooru sees when he wakes up his that all-too familiar pair of brown eyes.

He blinks slowly, his vision hazy. He reaches out to the side for his glasses, but they’re not where he usually leaves them on his nightstand.

In fact… his nightstand isn’t where it usually is. What’s going on-

“Hey, Tooru. Here.”

Hajime’s voice interrupts his train of thought, and he looks back up at his face. Tooru doesn’t need his glasses to see his favourite smile in the world. It lights up Hajime’s face, and Tooru nods and accepts them. He presses them up on his face, blinking a few times to get acclimatized.

He looks around at the white walls, white curtains, white bed sheets-

Oh, right.

He’s in the hospital.

He gazes down at his leg, which is wrapped up tightly, elevated up off the bed. It doesn’t hurt, but the dull ache in his arm from the IV is probably to thank for that.

But… it’s okay.

Tooru looks up to see Hajime grinning down at him, standing just beside his bed. His best friend reaches for his hand, and their fingers press together with familiarity.

His hands are warm.

What’s he have to be scared of, when Hajime is right here with him?

“Hey…” Tooru starts, but his throat feels dry and scratchy. He swallows once, and tries again. “Hajime… hi.”

Hajime squeezes his hand. “Hey, sleepyhead. My mom told me you’ve been sleeping since your surgery.” Hajime brushes a hand through Tooru’s hair, which he’s sure is a mess, but the soft touch is welcome. Tooru doesn’t usually let him touch him like this - it’s too embarrassing, too close , too soft - but he’s tired and compliant right now so he doesn’t fight it. Tooru closes his eyes and leans into it, so Hajime repeats the motion, soft and careful. “Have you seen the doctor yet? I should probably go get them-”

“No!” Tooru interrupts, tightening the grip on Hajime’s hand, opening his eyes again. “Don’t leave.” Hajime stares down at him, so Tooru continues. “Just… not yet, okay?”

“Okay.” Hajime offers him a smile. “How are you feeling?”

Keep reading

2

It’s Naners’ s adoption day, everyone! He’s a year old (with me)!

I remember when I got him. I was in Petsmart, and, as usual, glanced over the betta. I had no intention of buying one, but Naners caught my eye. I thought he was adorable. Nevertheless, I went along to get what I was there for.

After walking away, a mom and her young son came in. Upon seeing the betta, the kid started screaming bloody murder about wanting a fish. In that split second, I ran over to the betta, picked up Naners, and proceeded to carry him around the store with me.

I still wasn’t going to get him, nope, I was just waiting for that kid and him mom to leave.

Then, an hour and a half passed, with me carrying around this little yellow fish, looking at merchandise, while calling him “Naners.”

The kid and his mom had left almost as soon as they had come in, so I was really just carrying Naners around for the hell of it.

In the end, with the fact that I had bonded with him, and had essentially named him, I couldn’t let him go, and he came home with me!

I love you, Nanners!!

(Picture 1:The day I got him)
(Picture 2: Just a little while ago)

Season 3 Finale Coda

I don’t know about you all, but I was FASCINATED when Connor said the line “I’m having coming out flashbacks.” I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I wrote this. TRIGGER WARNINGS: Self harm/suicide attempt, homophobia/slurs Please enjoy! I’m real proud of this one!

It’s in the quietest moments when his thoughts make the most noise.

When it’s quiet and he’s alone, when there aren’t other people around to talk or distract him, his thoughts and memories creep up on him, wrap around his entire being and choke him.

All the memories, all the thoughts and feelings, past and present, decided to hit him, like a violent gust of wind, all at once.

Connor has a knuckle white grip on the sink, staring at his wrists. He can still make out the purple bruises and rash from the cuffs digging into his skin. It all floods back to him, everything that happened. Finding Wes, smelling the gas, bolting out of the house. The way his ears rang when he heard the explosion. The helplessness as he watched the house burn to a crisp, Wes still inside, dying before his eyes in a heap of fire and smoke.  

He didn’t see the pictures of Wes until they were at Bonnie’s; the sight of Wes, full of bright smiles and shy tones, lifeless on a metal slab, flesh seared to the core, muscles torn apart, made him want to vomit in the chair right there. The sound of the explosion played over and over in his head, coupled with Laurel’s screaming, hollering that he should kill himself, end it so they wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.

In that moment, a small part of him knew she had a point.

Connor’s breathing went ragged and strained, heart quickening as the memories burned into him.

He gazed at his wrists again, remembering every pang of his stomach another hour he went without food in the holding room, and the way his tongue dried with each minute without water. How he felt like a chained animal, remembering the last time he was restrained like that.

Connor doubled over, dry heaving into the sink, nothing coming out but his stomach felt like it was on fire. His vision grew blurry as he stumbled out of the bathroom, knocking into walls and doors towards the living room before collapsing in a heap on the floor, wheezing, sobbing. It seemed as if everything went dark, a cruel, mocking contrast to the sunny day outside.

He raised a shaking wrist to his hand, remembering the places that used to house different scars. He sobbed and wheezed some more, his heart feeling like it was going to hammer out of his chest as he curled in on himself.

Through the high-pitched ringing in his ears, he heard the door open and bags drop to the floor.

“Connor!” Oliver cried, diving to the floor beside him.

“Connor, can you hear me?” he asked placing a hand on his shoulder.

“H…h…help…help me…” he sobbed, reaching out.

Oliver grabbed his hand, squeezing it while pulling Connor in closer with his other arm.

“What can I do?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“H—hold…hold…” Connor choked.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Oliver murmured, holding him close, rubbing circles into Connor’s back.

With each word Oliver said, and with each turn his hand did on his back, Connor felt the suffocation of his memories fade away, little by little. His hands stopped shaking, and his heart slowed down, no longer feeling like it was trying to escape out of his chest. The pressure of Oliver beside him, along with the warmth of his body and the soft words of assurance Oliver whispered in his ears helped the attack ebb away. His breathing opened and his vision was clearer. After a while, he spoke.

“Thank you,” Connor croaked, voice rough.

“Of course,” murmured Oliver, pulling away slightly to wipe the remaining tears from Connor’s face.

“Can you help me up?” Connor asked.

Nodding, Oliver shifted his weight so he was on his knees, sliding an arm into the pit of Connor’s to hoist him up off the floor. His legs feeling like jelly, Connor landed on wobbly, weak feet, but he was up nonetheless.

“Couch?” Oliver asked.

It was Connor’s turn to nod as Oliver helped him plop on the couch, sighing when he finally traded cold hardwood for soft plush.

“Do you need anything else?” Oliver asked gently, still standing.

Connor shook his head, “No, just stay,” he mumbled. Oliver took the seat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder on instinct, Connor coming to rest his head on Oliver’s shoulder.

“I…I didn’t get the chance to actually think about…everything that happened. It…I guess the adrenaline kept me from it getting in my head. They all hit me like a ton of bricks,” he said, voice still rough.

“I’m sorry…”

“Some brain, huh? I can’t even wash my hands without freaking out about it,” Connor huffed a bitter, humorless laugh.

Keep reading

The Brothers--Chuck’s Story

by Chuck Keyser, as told to mrs momona in 2008

© mrs momona 2017

My big brother Jimmy is 11 years older than me. We were born and raised in southern California. When I was 2 years old, our real father was killed in a traffic accident. Jimmy was 13 at that time, and for the next five years he was really like a dad to me. He was involved in athletics in high school, played football, baseball, and wrestled, and also had a part-time job, but he always found time to play catch with me in the backyard, take me swimming, and let me “wrestle” with him. My mother took me to watch every game he took part in. He was my hero. All my friends envied me because I had such a cool big brother.

When I was 6 and Jimmy was 17, my mom remarried. Her new husband was a fitness trainer who insisted that Jimmy and I call him “Beau”. He was real “southern California”—had a great year-round tan, was a nutrition fanatic, and always bragged about which rich and famous people he had trained. Even though I was still a little kid, I could tell that he and Jimmy just didn’t get along. There was never any fighting or yelling, but I could just sense it. A year later, when Jimmy graduated from high school, he headed east to the Philadelphia area, where our real dad had family. I was real sad when Jimmy left, but he promised he’d keep in touch with me.

For the next 11 years, I didn’t see Jimmy in person. He wrote me a couple of times a month, called me often, and sent me cards and money, too—on holidays, my birthday, and sometimes just for the heck of it, I guess. He wrote my mom, too, and always sent her pictures. Over the years, we received pictures of Jimmy as he started working as a construction worker, then got married (my mom flew east for his wedding), had kids, and started his own contracting company. So, I knew that Jimmy had a wife, who my mom said was “a very nice girl”, and over the years had three kids, two girls and a boy.

Whenever a card or letter came from Jimmy and his wife Emily, my mom would eagerly read the letter and look at the pictures, then show them to me. She also showed them to Beau. It always seemed to me that Beau never had anything good to say about Jimmy and his family. I couldn’t figure out exactly what Beau didn’t like about Jimmy, because my mom always changed the subject when Beau started his sarcastic comments. I remember hearing Beau say things like “Oh, heard from the blimp again?” when my mom got a letter. She’d shoot him a dirty look, and then change the subject.

By the time I graduated from high school, I looked like the typical tanned southern California surfer boy type. I liked the beach. I also went out for sports in high school. I remembered what sports Jimmy had gone out for, and I went out for football, wrestling, and baseball too. Beau never had the time to go to any of my games, and he didn’t like it when my mom did either, but she still went, and she sent Jimmy newspaper clippings about every game I played in.

Beau never had much to say to me, which was OK with me. The only area where he tried to control my life was in fitness and nutrition. He never bugged me about fitness—my being involved in athletics, swimming, and surfing meant that at 6'1", I weighed 170 with six-pac abs, broad shoulders, a 30" waist, and slim hips. I guess Beau was pleased that I was in good shape.

Nutrition was another story. He insisted that my mom cook vegetarian, low fat, low carb, all that stuff. Even on holidays like Thanksgiving, we’d have a soy-based turkey substitute (talk about stuff that tasted like shit!). Of course, when I was at school and when I was with my buddies, I ate what I wanted, but at home Beau strictly counted the calories for the three of us. Beau made my mom and me weigh in at the end of every month. I’d have to get on the doctor’s scale he kept in the room he had turned into a home gym (Jimmy’s old room), just wearing my jockeys. Beau checked my weight and gave me the “once over” to make sure, I guess, that I wasn’t getting fat on the vegetarian crap we ate at home.

At one of these weigh-ins, I remember him saying “I’m not going to be the step-father of a fat boy” when the scale showed a 5 lb increase in a month. Luckily, I had grown an inch taller since the previous weigh-in, and I was so active that I never really found out what he’d do if I did put on a little extra weight. I do remember thinking when Beau made the “step-father of a fat boy” crack, “Hey, buddy, don’t ever mention the word ‘father’ when you refer to yourself and me”. But I kept my mouth shut, not wanting my mom to suffer any grief from the jerk.

I turned 18 in April and graduated from high school in the middle of June without any plans for the future. I guessed I was going to enroll in a local junior college, but my real goal was to get a job and save money so I could move out of the house and get away from Beau. My mom was hopeless. I knew she loved me, but she seemed to love Beau, too.

The day before my graduation, I received a graduation card from Jimmy and Emily. In the card was a print-out confirming that an e-ticket in my name was awaiting me at the check-in counter of a major airline at LAX, one-way from Los Angeles to Philadelphia. Emily wrote that she and Jimmy wanted me to come east and live with them for as long as I wanted. There were a number of colleges in the area where they lived, and I could go to school part time or full time, whatever. If I wanted, Jimmy would give me a job at his contracting company. All I had to do was make a reservation and let Jimmy and Emily know the date and time of my arrival.

Beau wasn’t home when I showed the card to my mom. She cried when she read it, but she looked at me and said, “Chuckie, I think you should go. I know you’re not very happy here. Stay with Jimmy and Emily for a while and see how things go. If you feel like coming back to California, remember you’re always welcome here…with me, anyway. Please just promise me you’ll call me on my cell phone every week.” I promised my mom. I called the airline and made a reservation to fly east the next week, then I called and spoke to my sister-in-law. With the three hour time difference, Jimmy was already at work. Emily sounded overjoyed when I told her I was coming and kept saying, “Your brother will be SO happy. We’re ALL happy!”

That evening, my mom told Beau about my plans. He glanced over at me and said, “Just make sure you don’t end up like your brother, kid”. What the hell was that supposed to mean? My brother Jimmy was happily married with three kids and owned his own contracting company, for gosh sakes! I just ignored Beau, figuring that if I said anything my mom would be the one to take the heat, not me.

Over the next week, I partied up with my high school buddies. All of them were going to stay in southern California. There was lots of kidding about me surfing in the Atlantic Ocean, stuff like that.

The day of my flight arrived and my mom took me to LAX. Beau wasn’t with us, which made me happy. My mom cried a lot, but I promised her I’d come back to see her again in a year at the most. (I don’t know why I said that. I guess I felt so bad that my mom was crying so much that I just said whatever came to mind.) I boarded the plane and settled into my seat.

During the flight, I thought about how I’d recognize Jimmy when I arrived in Philadelphia. After all, I hadn’t seen him in eleven years. Everyone in California who remembered him told me that I looked just like him when he was in high school—blond hair, blue eyes, kind of tall, and an athletic build.

I arrived at the Philadelphia airport and headed to the baggage claim area. I got my bags and started looking for Jimmy. There was a mob at the claim area when I heard on the PA, “Chuck Keyser, please report to the customer service desk at baggage claim area B-1”. That had to be Jimmy, paging for me!

As I walked to the customer service desk, I scanned the area looking for my big brother, but I didn’t see him. All of a sudden, I was grabbed from behind and locked in a hug which knocked the wind out of me. “Chuckie, I could tell it was you! You look just like the graduation picture you sent us!” Without pausing for breath, the voice continued, “Kids, this is your Uncle Chuckie!” I took a step back and looked at the man the voice came from, It had to be Jimmy, so I said, “Jimmy, gosh, it’s sure good to see you” as I embraced him.

If you’re thinking I didn’t recognize my own big brother right off, you’re right! He was BIG! I don’t know why I was so surprised—eleven years is a long time. I guess the photographs I had seen over the years hadn’t really impressed me with how big he had grown. After all, I was only a kid for most of those years! Anyway, the Jimmy who greeted me was my height, but as wide as he was tall. He had a round face with chubby cheeks and a big double chin. You could tell he was a construction worker from his broad meaty chest and shoulders and huge upper arms and forearms. He was wearing a tight blue t-shirt with “Keyser Contractors” on the front, but the shirt was so tight it emphasized his massive fleshy upper arms, huge man boobs, enormous round belly, deeply sunken bellybutton, and wide bulging lovehandles In fact, the shirt was so small a good three inches of the bottom of his big belly hung below the hem of the t-shirt.

My attention was distracted though by Jimmy’s voice. He was introducing me to my nieces and nephew. “This is our oldest, Joyce, she’s 9, and then Jennifer, she’s 8, and here’s little Jimmy, we call him Junior, he’s 7.” The three kids all rushed up to me and greeted me like I was a long-lost relative, which I guess I was! Each one of the kids took a bag (I had a carry-on and two checked bags) and tried to grab my hand as Jimmy took the lead as we walked out of the baggage claim area and headed to the parking structure. I was trying to pay attention to each of the kids—they were all talking at once—and follow my brother at the same time.

Actually, Jimmy was easy to follow—all I had to do was keep his broad back, encased in the too-tight t-shirt, in view. I noticed that he had two thick rolls of flab on the back of his neck. Below his broad shoulders, his enormous wide lovehandles sat where his lats and obliques had been when I last saw him when he was 18. Below the lovehandles, the two huge buttcheeks which made up his massive wide behind shifted from side to side and wobbled and bounced as he waddled along. His t-shirt was so tight, it didn’t cover all his lovehandles, and I couldn’t help but notice that he had some major buttcrack action going as his massive white painters pants sagged down over his big fat butt as he waddled toward his van.

My attention was drawn back to the kids. I attempted to respond to each of their questions. At the same time, I noticed how each of them resembled their dad. All had the same blond hair he and I did, and all three of them were fat. Joyce, the oldest, was actually only chubby. Jennifer was fat, and Junior was really fat, as wide as he was tall and a miniature version of his dad

We reached Jimmy’s van and got my bags placed and the kids settled. Each of the kids wanted me to sit next to them, but Jimmy finally said, “Look kids, Uncle Chuck is my kid brother, so he’s gonna sit in the front next to ME!” We all laughed, and were soon on our way out of the airport.

Soon, we left the airport area and were headed toward Jimmy’s house. Of course, I didn’t have a clue where we were. After about 10 minutes, little Junior’s voice piped up from the back seat, “Remember, Daddy, you said that if we were good we’d stop at McDonald’s.” The two girls chimed in, “Yeah, Daddy!” Jimmy turned, gave me a big smile, and said, “Yeah, kids, I did say that. Let’s have Uncle Chuck decide if you were good or not!”

Of course, I said, “Yeah, Jimmy, they’ve been great. I think we should stop!” I was kind of hungry anyway—the airline didn’t serve anything but peanuts on both legs of my flight and I only had time at O'Hare to grab a hot dog as I changed planes. My brother gave me a big smile and said, “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m kinda hungry myself!” as he patted his huge belly, which was brushing up against the steering wheel. The kids all happily called out to me, “Thanks, Uncle Chuck!”

We got to McDonald’s and Jimmy went to order while the kids and I went to get seats. I sat in a booth, but Joyce said to me, “Uncle Chuck, we don’t sit in booths here because my daddy can’t fit in them, so we have to find a table.” So, we moved. Jimmy came to our table with five supersized quarter pounder with cheese meals, and an extra quarter pounder with cheese for himself.

We all dug in without saying much. I figured this was going to be dinner and it had been a while since I had last eaten. My two nieces didn’t finish all their fries and so Jimmy took their leftovers and gave Jennifer’s fries to me and ate Joyce’s himself. The supersize meal had filled me up but I managed to force down the leftover fries. As I was finishing, Jimmy said to Junior, “OK, Junior, are you going to finish all that? If not, pass it over to me.” Much to my surprise, my 7 year old nephew said, “No, Daddy, I’m going to eat it all” with a big smile on his face. I was stuffed after the meal and here was my nephew still shoving in the food. I noticed that Jimmy looked proudly at Junior as his son finished the whole meal.

We all finished and headed out to the van. After we pulled back onto the highway, Jimmy said to the kids, “Now kids, remember, when we get home and have dinner, don’t forget that you’re all going to clean your plates, right? Remember that your mom goes to a lot of trouble to cook great meals for us and we don’t want to make her feel bad by not eating all that she fixes, right?” “Yes, Daddy” chorused the three voices in the back seats. I began to get an idea about the reason for the size of my brother, nieces, and nephew. At the same time, I was relieved—Jimmy in person was the same nice guy I remembered from when I was a little kid. He was so cool!

Soon, we arrived at my brother’s home in Paoli, a suburb of Philadelphia. As I entered the house, my sister-in-law Emily came running to the front door and smothered me in kisses. She said how happy she was to see me and to have me as part of the family from now on. I could see why my mom had described Emily to me as “a very nice person”; she sure was very sweet and welcoming to me. As we stood in the entrance way and talked, I confess I checked Emily out. She was about 5'9", blonde hair and blue eyes, real pretty, and—you guessed it—very heavy. She was just big all over—huge breasts, which stressed the fabric of the t-shirt she was wearing and wide hips and enormous thighs which were encased in a pair of jeans which seemed to be painted on.

Emily then said, “Now, Jimmy, we’re going to have dinner in about an hour and a half, so take Chuck and show him the house and give him a chance to freshen up.” We were going to eat in 90 minutes? I was real full, but I remembered what my brother had told the kids when we left McDonald’s, so of course I didn’t say anything.

My new house was a large multi-level. There was a “granny apartment” on the ground floor—a bedroom, bath, small living room, and a kitchenette. This was where I was going to stay. Jimmy told me that he and Emily thought I might want some privacy sometimes although I was welcome to spend as much time with the family as I wanted. On the main level was a large living room, a dining room, a large kitchen (delicious aromas of dinner cooking came from the kitchen as we passed by), a family room, the master bedroom/bath, and then on the upper level were four bedrooms, one for each of the kids and a guest bedroom, and more bathrooms. Jimmy then showed me the property. There was a large patio with a built-in barbeque next to a big swimming pool. Jimmy pointed out how far the property went. The house sat on a couple acres of ground.

We heard Emily calling that dinner was ready and headed back to the house. Jimmy said to me, “Chuck, I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you here. It’s always been my dream to have you come and live with us. I feel like I have 11 years to make up to you. This is your home now. Over the weekend, we’ll talk more about your plans for work or school or whatever. Right now, just make yourself at home and get to know Emily and the kids.”

Dinner was a huge spread, like a Thanksgiving feast. Jimmy, Emily, and the kids all had seconds and even thirds. I had to force myself to eat “firsts”—the McDonald’s meal had filled me up, but I pushed myself. As I cleaned my plate, Emily piled it high again. I must have grimaced or something because Jimmy caught my eye and winked at me! I got the message. I better clean my plate or else Emily’s feelings would be hurt! So, I forced myself. Then, Emily brought out dessert–two pies. One was to be split between Jimmy and me, the other was cut into quarters, one each for Emily and the kids. I begged off, telling Emily I was jetlagged, and she said she’d save it for later. Gosh, I was already so stuffed!

I offered to help with the cleaning up and that gave me a chance to talk more with Emily. We talked about my mom and stuff like that. Then, I went into the family room to watch TV with Jimmy and the kids and Emily soon joined us. It didn’t take long for the snacking to start! Leftovers from dinner, bowls of ice cream, sandwiches.

My two nieces got into a minor squabble because both said they wanted to fix me a sandwich. I was so stuffed, I was going to say no, but before I could my brother said, “Girls, why don’t you each fix Uncle Chuck a sandwich. Joyce, you can make him peanut butter and jelly and Jennifer, you make cream cheese and jelly. Junior, you can bring Uncle Chuck a nice big glass of milk. We’ll see which sandwich Uncle Chuck likes best.” Jimmy winked at me and I knew I’d better make room for the sandwiches and milk. I didn’t want to disappoint the kids. The kids soon came with the food, and the girls waited for me to pass judgment. Of course I said that both were equally good! (They were, too. I had never had cream cheese and jelly before—I guess cream cheese wasn’t on Beau’s list of healthy food. Cream cheese and jelly sandwiches immediately became one of my favorites.)  By the time I went to sleep that night, my stomach was swollen like a tight round basketball. I had never eaten so much in my life!

That first evening set the tone for eating at my new home. Emily always prepared three huge, delicious meals every day. Breakfast was always hot cereal with sugar and cream, plenty of buttered toast, pastries, eggs, some kind of meat—bacon, sausage, ham, or what soon became my favorite–scrapple. (Scapple is a Philadelphia area specialty—pork, cornmeal and spices cooked together and made into a loaf, then cut into slices and fried in butter. Delicious!) On Sunday mornings, pancakes were added, with Jimmy doing the cooking. Lunches were always mouth-wateringly tasty, too. I soon discovered that the first dinner I had at the house wasn’t a special welcoming feast, like I thought that evening—it was just a standard dinner!

The next day, Saturday, my first full day at my new home, my nieces and nephew showed me where the snacks were kept—there was a whole kitchen closet filled with family-sized packages of chips, pretzels, containers of nuts, cookies, candy, and boxes of every snack cake you could think of, like twinkies, but especially snack cakes, pies, and pastries made by Tastykake, another Philadelphia area favorite. When I asked my niece Joyce if her mom or dad limited the amounts of snacks the kids could eat, she looked at me surprised and said, “Oh no, Uncle Chuck, just as long as we eat everything at mealtimes and clean up the mess, we can snack on what we want.”

I soon got into the routine of snacking frequently just like everyone else in the family did. In addition to the contents of the snack cabinet, there were always leftovers from dinner, freshly made pies and cakes, ice cream, and sandwiches to be made and enjoyed. And, there was always plenty of whole milk, white or chocolate, or orange juice in the refrigerator to wash down whatever I was eating. (Emily didn’t like the kids to drink soda because it was bad for their teeth). My nieces really got a kick out of making snacks for me, too, just like they did for their dad. I didn’t want to disappoint them, so I always ate everything they made for me, even if I wasn’t hungry. Just as my niece told me, neither Emily nor Jimmy minded how much I snacked since I ate heartily at every meal. I couldn’t help it. Everything tasted so good, and it made me feel really part of the family when I ate like they did.

Later that afternoon, Jimmy and the kids were out at the pool, and Emily and I were inside talking as she was making some more pies. She was just so friendly, interested in me and my hopes, and happy to answer my questions about the Philadelphia area, and especially, about the family.

After the pies were put in the oven, she took me out into the family room. One whole wall was covered with pictures of the family. There were pictures of me as I was growing up, which my mom had sent them, and pictures of my mom too. There were plenty of pictures of Jimmy, Emily, and the kids, of course, and Emily explained each one of them to me. The, she brought out the scrapbooks. Emily had scrapbooks full of pictures, all nicely labeled, which really told the story of the family over the years. I was so eager to catch up on lost time that I found every picture real interesting.

As I turned the pages of the scrapbooks, one thing I noticed was the change in Jimmy over the years. At the beginning, after he first came east and met Emily, he was slim and trim, just like me.  The first picture showed Jimmy  in a bathing suit. His six pack abs and toned pecs, just like mine, were very obvious. He had one arm stretched around Emily’s big waist and his hand rested on  her plump lovehandle. Emily was snuggled against Jimmy’s chest, her massive right breast pushing against his left pec.. In her left hand, she was holding a fully loaded foot-long hot dog against Jimmy’s open mouth. He had a big smile on his face! Every picture from that beach party showed trim and muscular Jimmy eating: a mound of potato salad which covered a whole plate, a huge slab of pie a la mode, a triple hamburger layered with cheese and bacon.

When Emily showed me those pictures, she started reminiscing. “The first time I met Jimmy, I fell for him right away. He was such a nice guy, and so handsome too. And, Chuck, don’t tell Jimmy I’m telling you this, but on our first date, he told me I was the most beautiful girl he had ever met and he actually proposed to me. And I’m still surprised that I actually said yes! Of course, I think he’s even better looking now than he was when we got married…” She blushed, stopped suddenly, and resumed “…oh Chuck, I’m sorry to go on and on, but I love Jimmy so much! Don’t mind me.”

The following pictures in the album  gave a complete record of Jimmy and Emily’s life together.

When Emily and Jimmy got married (they were both 19 and he had been working construction for a year), the pictures of the wedding showed that Emily was already almost as heavy as she was now. You could see that Jimmy’s face had rounded out  during the year since they met and he had a small double chin and round rosy cheeks.  His suit jacket was unbuttoned (as if it were too small) and the front of Jimmy’s dress shirt strained to cover a pot belly which bulged over the waistband of his dress pants. There were pictures of Jimmy and Emily dancing which showed that his butt had gotten real big and bulky and stuck out even  more than his belly! I was stunned to see how much he had changed in that one year, but of course I didn’t say anything to my sister-in-law.

After the wedding pictures, I could see that every picture of an anniversary, christening, birthday, or other family event over the years showed Jimmy getting steadily heavier. His face got fuller, his body got wider and wider, his belly got bigger and bigger and rounder and rounder and hung lower and lower, and you could  see how from year to year he was developing the enormous fat man boobs, truck tire size lovehandles, and huge thick thighs he had now.

Wow! I thought to myself that it was so cool to see how happy Jimmy was over the years. In every picture, he had a huge smile on his face. You could just see how much he loved his family and was enjoying life. After eleven years spent with Beau and my mom, it was so nice to see what a loving family my brother Jimmy had. I made up my mind to do all I could to fit in with my brother’s family.

The next day, Sunday, Jimmy took me to see his main base yard and office and we brought little Junior with us. Keyser Contractors had been started 10 years before by Jimmy, with some financial help from Emily’s family. Business was booming. Jimmy specialized in building homes, commercial buildings, things like that. At any one time, there were more than half a dozen jobs going on. Jimmy and I talked about my plans. He offered to pay for me to go to college, whatever. I told him that I did want to go to college, but I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to major in, and I really had thought about taking a year off from school to work, anyway.

Jimmy offered me a job as a laborer. He explained that I’d be just another employee of Keyser Contractors, even if my name was Chuck Keyser! He said, “Laborers do all the heavy work, but you’ll learn the business from the ground up.” Jimmy laughed as he added, “Sometimes when I’m stuck behind my desk in the main office, I wish I could go back to being just a laborer again! But business is good so I put up with the desk stuff and get out to the job sites as often as I can.” We agreed that I’d start as soon as possible. I was to get the pay and benefits which any other new hire with a high school diploma would get.

When I asked Jimmy how much room and board he wanted me to pay, he said, “For the past eleven years, I’ve wanted you to live with us, Chuck. Emily and I agreed that you should save your money for the future. Plus, I expect that once you get settled you’re going to have a social life, and you’ll need money for that too. And speaking of your life, that SUV in the garage at home is for you to use. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go down so you can get your Pennsylvania driver’s license, and we’ll get you some work clothes too.” I was so overwhelmed at my brother’s kindness, I didn’t know what to say except, “Thanks, Jimmy”. He gave me a big smile and I noticed that there were tears in his eyes. He was so cool!

Before we said anything more, we were interrupted by Junior’s voice calling from another corner of the baseyard. Jimmy and I walked over to find Junior atop a pile of 2 by 4’s. He had climbed up to the top, but couldn’t get down! I ran over and positioned myself to lift him off the pile. Jimmy called to me, “Watch your back, he’s a big boy!” Jimmy was right, I hoisted Junior up and off the pile, but gosh, he was even heavier than he looked. Once Junior was on solid ground, Jimmy scolded him and Junior sheepishly went over to the van while Jimmy and I went more slowly. Jimmy noticed me rubbing my back, laughed and said, “See, Chuck, I told you he was heavy. I think Emily told me he weighs  150.” I was surprised but didn’t say anything. 7 years old and already 150 lbs! I didn’t weigh that much until I was a sophomore in high school! (That was the only time I’ve ever heard anybody mention the weight of anyone in the family.)

On the way back home from the Keyser Contractors baseyard, Jimmy said to me, “How about getting some coffee?” Of course I agreed. That was how I was introduced to that institution of the Delaware Valley—Wawa! Think of a convenience store like 7-11 but with all the food, coffee, and drinks much fresher, tastier, and better, including fresh made hoagies (sub sandwiches to you non-Pennsylvania-South Jersey-Delaware people) and a huge selection of snack foods. There must be a Wawa every quarter mile or so in the Philadelphia area, very convenient for stopping for lunch, a snack, or whatever!

At the Wawa, Jimmy and I got coffee and Jimmy picked up half a dozen small Tastykake fruit pies, three for him and three for me. As Jimmy was paying for this, Junior came up carrying a family size bag of chips and a big container of dip, and sheepishly said, “Daddy, I know I was wrong to climb on the pile of wood. Can I have these anyway?” Jimmy smiled, said, “OK son, just make sure you don’t do that again. It could be dangerous” and paid for everything. As we headed to the van, we watched Junior open the bag of chips even before we got into the van. Jimmy said softly to me, “He’s really a good kid. I’m glad he’s learned his lesson. And besides, he likes his snacks so much. I just can’t say no to him!” We got into the van and headed out on to the street.

We drove around for a while so I could get oriented to the area.  Jimmy drove past the jobs Keyser Contractors was working on and talked about each one, and then we headed for home and dinner. Damned if Junior hadn’t eaten all the chips and dip before we got home, and of course, Jimmy and I finished our coffee and pies, too.

My first job assignment was a new doctor’s office close to the King of Prussia mall. I fit right in as a worker at Keyser Contractors. The job was actually kind of interesting, seeing how the building took shape over time. We even put in the landscaping. The crew I worked with was mostly young guys, some my age, and I made some good friends. The workday started at 7:30 a.m. at the baseyard, then we went to the job site, and we ended back at the baseyard at 4:30 p.m.

Our lunch break was an hour long and we usually headed to the nearest Wawa for hoagies, some kind of dessert, and something to drink. I usually got a quart of whole milk (it just tasted so good with those delicious hoagies) or hot coffee with plenty of cream and sugar when the weather was cold. Sometimes, we’d hop into one of the trucks and head off to buy other Philly-area specialties. Cheesesteaks, any kind of Italian food, huge soft pretzels smeared with mustard—I loved them all! We took breaks for 20 minutes mid-morning and mid-afternoon. Emily always packed me a bag of cookies or some home made brownies or something like that and a liter container of orange juice for the breaks.

I gradually got to know people and have a social life. Pizza and beer on the weekends with some of the guys I worked with as we played cards or whatever. I met some girls, too, and went out some, but didn’t really find anyone special. I wasn’t ready to settle down anyway.

I quickly fit in as part of Jimmy and Emily’s close family. Lots of love and lots of good food, too, whatever I wanted and whenever I wanted it. My appetite grew quickly along with my capacity, and in a few weeks I was putting away thirds at every meal without a second thought and I automatically headed for the snack cabinet or the refrigerator if I hadn’t had anything to eat for a while. No matter how much I ate the day before, I woke up starving every morning, mouth watering at the thought of what Emily was going to cook that day.

Outside of my strenuous job as a construction laborer, my physical activity slowed down. Weekdays, I came home from a hard day at the jobsite looking forward to dinner and then a comfortable evening in front of the television with the family. I mostly just sprawled on one couch in the family room while Jimmy sprawled on the other watching TV. The only time I moved from the couch was when I went to the kitchen to get a refill on the snacks. Even then, one of the kids usually volunteered to bring me something tasty, so I guess I didn’t move very much. On weekends, the most strenuous thing I did was toss around a football with Junior and Jimmy (no running, just tossing the ball—if the ball went wild, it was Junior’s job to hustle after it and return it to Jimmy or me).

I kept up my interest in sports, but I went from being an active participant in California to being a spectator in Philadelphia. Jimmy was a fan of all the Philadelphia pro teams, and I quickly became one too. Depending on the season, Jimmy, Junior and I watched all the Eagles, Flyers, 76'ers, and Phillies games that we could on cable, while Emily and the girls kept a steady stream of delicious snacks coming to us from the kitchen. All the physical activity I had been doing in California was forgotten as I happily adapted to the lifestyle of Jimmy and his family. Besides, during the winter, it was just too cold outside to do much.

I think I mentioned earlier that when I left California I had a surfer’s tan. Up until the end of September, I managed to keep my tan, even though we only went down the shore to Ocean City  in South Jersey a couple of weekends. (I hadn’t brought my surfboard from California with me, and the water was somehow different from the Pacific Ocean, so I didn’t do much swimming, much less surfing.)

Most of the guys I worked with took off their shirts in warm weather and of course I did too. So, I kept my tan, from the waist up anyway, until mid-September. To my embarrassment, the first couple days I started working I got the nickname from my work mates of “Buff Boy” because of my six-pack abs! After a couple of months, that nickname disappeared (looking back, that was around the same time my six-pack disappeared too). Suddenly, though, in the middle of September, it turned COLD! Well, not cold like it got later in the winter, but to me, raised in southern California, temperatures in the low 60’s made me put away all thoughts of working shirtless. Pretty soon, we were all wearing heavy sweatshirts, heavy flannel shirts, and down vests when we worked outside.

Time went by pretty fast. Autumn came and went, we had some snow right before Christmas, I enjoyed celebrating the holidays as a part of Jimmy and Emily’s loving family, we had more snow and cold weather, and then finally it was early April. There came the day in early April when I finally was able to take my shirt off at work again and try to start a tan. This one day (in fact it was the day of my 19th birthday the first week in April) the temperature suddenly rose into the high 80’s and it was HOT!

So off came my shirt. I didn’t expect any reaction. All the other guys on the crew, like me, were shirtless that day. During our morning break, I was sitting eating my morning snack with my work mates when one of them suddenly said to me, “Hey Chuck, look at you! You’re not ‘Buff Boy’ anymore. We’re gonna have to call you 'Belly Boy’ now!”

I looked down at the white round fat pot belly which was ballooning over the waistband of my low-slung jeans. On each side of it were bright red lines—stretch marks! I knew I had been putting on some weight—since I bought my first work clothes the previous June, every couple months I’d have to buy jeans, overalls, and even jockey shorts the next size up. I had started with size 30, and at that point in early April, size 40 relaxed fit jeans were real tight on me.  I must have blushed or something at the “Belly Boy” crack because one of the other guys said, “Hey, don’t worry about the belly, Chuck. Just look at the rest of us, man. Having a belly goes with working construction!” We all laughed, and I went back to finishing my bag of cookies. I confess, I didn’t give any more thought to my weight. Life was going great, and who cared what size I had to buy?

Even though I spoke with my mom on the cell phone every week, I was surprised when at the beginning of June she reminded me that I had promised to visit her after spending a year in Pennsylvania. When I offered to send her the money so that she could fly east to visit the whole family and see the kids, she declined. She had to work overtime and couldn’t take a vacation since Beau’s fitness training business wasn’t going so well and he had lost a lot of their savings through bad investments. So, I reconciled myself to flying west for a week to visit her.

When I told my plan to Jimmy and Emily and the kids that night at dinner, the kids all said, “You’re coming back, aren’t you, Uncle Chuck?” I said I definitely was. Jimmy and Emily looked relieved when I said that. I was due a week’s vacation anyway, so I booked my round-trip flight for a week at the end of June.

When it came time for the trip, Emily packed me some food to take on the plane, a bakery box with eight pieces of cold fried chicken, a dozen buttered home made biscuits, and a dozen 4” home made mini cherry pies. That provided me with lunch and some snacks for the trip. The plane trip itself was OK, but it seemed to me that the seats had shrunk since I last flew a year before.

My mom met me at LAX. Lots of hugs and tears. Then, we drove to my old home. I asked her how my old friends were doing and she mentioned that she had run across some of them at the mall and they were looking forward to seeing me. She also mentioned that Beau wasn’t going to be there for most of the week—he was in northern California with one of his rich clients. Frankly, I was happy I wouldn’t have to see him for a while. Once back at my mom’s house—I thought of Jimmy and Emily’s place in Pennsylvania as my real home now—I called some of my old buddies, three guys named Frank, Bill, and Joe. We agreed to meet at the mall the next day.

My mom went to work early the next day. When I got up, I put on one of my “Keyser Contractors” t-shirts (I confess I wanted to show off to my friends) and my newest pair of jeans shorts. I hadn’t worn them before. (None of the shorts I had worn last summer fit me, and I had bought these just before the trip. I was in a hurry at the store and just grabbed the next size up without trying them on.) The new shorts were tight on me, but I got them buttoned after a while and my thoughts quickly turned to breakfast.

All I could find for breakfast in the house was some skim milk, toast, and diet jam, so I headed to Bob’s Big Boy for some real food. It wouldn’t be the huge delicious home cooked breakfast I had come to look forward to over the past year, but it definitely would be better than watery skim milk and that other diet crap. (For the rest of my week in California, I ended up buying my own food. I had brought plenty of spending money with me, and there’s all kinds of fast food places in the L.A. area, so I didn’t go hungry. My mom was working super long hours and she didn’t have time to cook for me anyway.)

After a satisfying breakfast at Bob’s Big Boy I headed to the mall and got to where my buddies and I had agreed to meet, the food court. I was early so I grabbed a snack at Cinnabon while waiting. Back home in Pennsylvania with the time difference, I’d be having my lunch already at work and I was still kind of hungry. Suddenly I heard my friends calling out, “Hey there he is”, all that kind of stuff. The three of them. my closest buddies who I grew up with, all rushed me and we exchanged hugs and wassup’s.

The next thing out of the mouths of all three of them was “What happened to you, Chuckie?” “Yeah, what happened, dude?” “Man, Chuckie, just look at you!” I didn’t know what they meant so I said, “What are you guys talking about? It’s the same old me!”

“Oh no, it’s not the same old you! You got a pot belly now!” said Frank. “And titties, too, dude!” said Joe as he grabbed a handful of my left man boob and shook it. And then Bill, who was standing behind me, aid “Hey guys, Chuckie’s wearing size 42 relaxed fit shorts. That’s what the label says, and check the size of this muffin top and fat ass on him!” Frank added, “Size 42?, and his pot belly’s hanging over his waistband too! Damn, Chuckie, you’re a tub now!” They all laughed while I blushed. During the past year, I guess I had put on some weight, but nobody ever said anything to me except for that one time at work in April. Even my mom hadn’t said anything when she met me yesterday.

But my next thought was, who gives a damn? My life was going good. I didn’t even know what I weighed and didn’t care. At Jimmy and Emily’s the topic of weight never came up. So, I just brushed off what my old buddies were saying. finished my heavily-buttered cinnamon roll, and we got on with the business of catching up with each other and planning on what we were going to do for the next days while I was back visiting my mom.

One more thing my buddies gave me some static about—how I talked! I guess I had picked up a Philadelphia accent over the previous year. (If you don’t know what I mean, just ask somebody from the Philadelphia area to say “boat” or “coke”.)

The five days I spent with my old buddies went by pretty fast. Going to the beach with them every day and hanging out with them was great, but they continued to give me static about my size and about how much I ate! I guess I was just in the habit of eating more now and I needed to make food stops pretty often. Wherever we stopped,I always treated the guys to whatever they wanted when I placed my order. On the day before I was to fly back to Philly, when  we stopped for a snack (at my request) on the way to Malibu, Frank said, “Gee Chuckie, we’re gonna miss you when you leave, but if you stayed any longer, we’d all get as fat  as you, dude! Nah, just kidding, man”.

The guys also kidded me about my surfing. I went out on my old board a couple of times the first day, but I was just so out of practice. I was less agile now and getting up on my board and catching the waves took a lot more effort now than a year ago. So, I ended up relaxing on the beach watching Bill, Frank, and Joe ride the waves while I checked out the girls, dozed, thought of my family back in Pennsylvania, and snacked on whatever I could find.

There was this hot dog stand right across the road from our favorite beach, and I found out the first day that they had great hot dogs and low prices. I had been going to that beach since I was a kid, but this was the first time I ever thought to get food there and for that week I became a steady customer, buying three or four at a time while my friends were out on the waves. Man, those hot dogs were great! You could get them boiled, steamed, or fried in butter (my favorite) and you could ask for the buns to be toasted and buttered and have cheese melted on top of the dog. Plus, they had great take-out Mexican food, too. Hmmm, delicious!

Bill, Frank, and Joe kidded me about me about just relaxing on the beach and snacking, calling me “Fat Chuckie”, but hey, my life had changed over the past year and I deserved a week off just to kick back, relax, laze around, and snack whenever I felt like it. It was my vacation, right?

The day before I was due to go back home to Philadelphia, my mom mentioned to me that Beau was coming back the next morning. Oh great! I had been hoping to avoid him, but I’d have to put up with him for a couple of hours before I headed to the airport.

The next morning, I got up and packed. Knowing that I’d have to at least say hello to Beau, I put on my jeans shorts and one of my “Keyser Contractors” t-shirts. (Just wanted to show off to him, I know.) When I heard Beau arrive, I was watching TV and eating a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies (almost as delicious as Emily’s home made cookies!) and drinking a quart of chocolate milk I had bought for myself. I didn’t say anything until my mom and Beau came into the living room and my mom said, “Aren’t you going to say hello to Beau, Chuckie?”

I stood up and said hello. The first words out of Beau’s mouth were, “Well, well, didn’t I tell you last year to watch it, kid? Just like I thought, you’ve turned into a baby blimp. A few more years and you’ll be as huge as that big blimp brother of yours.” I was all set to tell him where to shove it when I caught my mom’s eye. She was silently shaking her head “No” and I realized, she’s going to have to live with this creep while I’m out of here for good in an hour. So I just said, “Yeah, Beau, I guess I have filled out a little” and gave him a big smile.

He replied, “How much do you weigh, kid?” I told him I didn’t know, which was true. I hadn’t weighed myself for the past year, since I left California last June. Why should I? Who cared how much I weighed? Beau replied seriously, “Well, kid, let’s get you on to the scale like we used to and see what it says. Then, I can give you a diet and fitness plan so you can drop the weight before any more damage is done.” I realized the guy was being serious and not sarcastic, and I decided to play along with him, just to keep the peace for an hour. I went inside the bedroom, took off my t-shirt and shorts, and came out wearing my jockeys.

I met Beau in the room he had set up as a home gym, where he had the doctor’s scale (I remembered it was Jimmy’s bedroom many years ago when I was a little kid and before Jimmy went east). I could hear my mom bustling around in the kitchen.

As I walked into the home gym room, Beau’s eyes opened wide. “My God, baby blimp, the damage is worse than I thought. Look at that flab jiggle as you walk. I can see you have muscles in your arms and chest and quads…” (thanks, buddy, I thought, I’ve been working hard in construction for a year—what did you expect?) “…but you’re just covered with ugly fat. Kid, you used to have great pecs, and now look—they’ve inflated up with fat into two big round tits. Looks like you need a DD cup. And check out those lovehandles, too. Plus, it looks like your bellybutton is drowning in the flab on your fat pot belly. And look at the way your fat ass balloons out! And those stretchmarks!  They look like a map of the Interstate Highway system! Jeezus, aren’t you embarrassed?” Hell, no!, I thought, but again I didn’t say anything. I put on a serious expression and said “Well….”

Beau actually thought I was serious. He was falling for my bullshit routine! I got on the scale ad Beau fiddled around and the scale balanced out at 274! Beau turned red and his eyes bulged and I thought he was going to have a stroke or something. He went to his desk and checked a notebook. What was he doing? Then he said, “According to my log, last time I weighed you a year ago, you were 170!”

My response was to try to look shocked. Actually, I was kind of impressed—104 lbs gained in a year. Pretty impressive!

Beau then continued, “We gotta do something about this RIGHT NOW! I can’t let anybody see you looking like this. What are people going to think of me as a fitness trainer if they see that you’re a baby blimp fat boy! Right?”

“Right, Beau,” I said, realizing that it wasn’t about me at all, it was about Beau’s image. That’s all he cared about. So, I continued to play along with him.

Beau just kept on talking. “Great, kid! Someday soon, I just know I’m going to have my own nationally syndicated exercise show. I’ll feature you on the show as one of my success stories. If only I could persuade your big blimp brother to get with the program, too. It’s not gonna be good for my image if some supermarket tabloid digs up the fact that my step-son in Pennsylvania is a big overfed fat slob with a big overfed family. Maybe I can get to him through you….”

I was getting angry at this point. Who the hell was he to put down my brother and his family like that? They were great, loving people. Beau and his big talk! What a shithead! But I thought of my mom and looked at my watch. 30 minutes more before I headed to LAX and then I’ll never see this bastard again, ever. “Right, Beau. I’ll do all I can….” I purposely didn’t say what it was I was going to do.

“Great, kid. Just keep one thing in mind when you’re following the plan I’m going to make for you. Who do you want to look like? Me…?” and his flexed his biceps and made his pecs jump at this point, “…or that overfed blimp fat ass brother of yours?”

My reply? “You can count on me to make the right choice, Beau.”

“OK, kid, I’ll work on the plan while you and your mom go to the airport, and when I’m finished, she’ll mail it to you. Don’t worry, I’ll get this blubber off you real quick and then I’ll put you on a maintenance plan.” Boy, what a prick! Everything was centered on him and his image. No wonder I could sense that Jimmy didn’t like him back when I was a little kid.

Beau was busy writing as I headed out the door. I quickly changed back into my clothes, picked up my bag, and went to the living room. My mom looked at me and said, “Everything OK between you and Beau?” “Sure, Mom,” I replied with a smile on my face, “when you come back from taking me to LAX, Beau will tell you all about it.” She smiled and looked relieved. I felt sorry for her.

I went back into the home gym room and said to Beau, “I’ll be on the lookout for your plan, Beau!” Yeah, right! When I received it, it was gonna go straight into the trash.

My mom dropped me off at LAX and I went through security screening. Gosh, I was hungry. I headed to McDonald’s on the main concourse and bought a supersize quarter pounder with cheese meal, three fish sandwiches with extra tartar sauce, and a strawberry shake. After I finished, I noticed that they were selling quarter pounder meal box lunches meant for people to eat on the plane. I bought three of them and a liter bottle of orange juice to hold me until I arrived home in Paoli and I could get a real meal.

I arrived in Philly and Jimmy and the kids were there to meet me. After we hugged, I asked, “How’s Emily?” “Mom is home cooking a special welcome home dinner for you, but she said it’s a surprise!”, Junior said seriously. Jimmy and I laughed while Joyce and Jennifer gave Junior dirty looks!

It was good to be home!

We soon arrived back at the house. Emily met us at the door and I gave her a big hug and kiss. It was so good to see her! I put my bag in my room downstairs and headed to the kitchen, where Jimmy and Emily and the kids were talking. Emily smiled and said to me, “I understand you know, Chuck, that I’m making a special surprise welcome home meal for you…” My mouth started to water and my stomach rumbled with anticipation as Emily looked at Junior at this point (he had a sheepish look on his face) and continued, “…so why don’t you men go outside while the girls and I finish preparing dinner. It should be ready in a couple of hours.”

As we headed outside, little Junior leading the way with some cookies in his hand, Jimmy said, “Hey, it sure is warm today! Let’s get more comfortable here” and took off his t-shirt. Junior and I followed suit immediately. It was a lot more comfortable to be shirtless in the late June heat and humidity.

Jimmy was wearing a pair of jeans shorts like the ones I had on. As we headed to the wooden lounge chairs by the pool (Jimmy had an extra wide one, specially made for him), I caught a glimpse of the label on Jimmy’s shorts. Size 62! As he waddled along, Jimmy’s enormous man boobs bounced and jiggled and his huge wobbling belly and lovehandles erupted over the waist of the shorts. The shorts were stretched to the max and straining to cover Jimmy’s massive wide behind, but they couldn’t do it. The tops of his fat buttcheeks ballooned over the top of the shorts, showing three or four inches of his deep buttcrack.

Jimmy and I sat down. Jimmy said to Junior, “Son, go into the house and bring us all some cold orange juice and some snacks. It’s going to be a while until we eat dinner.” We sat and talked about my trip, about mom, and how things were going at work. Neither one of us mentioned Beau at all. As we talked, I thought how cool my big brother was—just a great guy!

We stopped talking for a minute and Jimmy closed his eyes. I guessed he was dozing. From what he had told me, the last week had been real busy at work and he was probably tired.

As we sat there, I looked over at Jimmy. For the first time, I wondered how much he weighed. Of course, I’d never ask him, but I thought, gee, if I’m 274 and size 42 is tight on me, Jimmy has to weigh at least 425-430 to be stretching his size 62’s. His wide lovehandles, huge butt and enormous thighs completely filled the seat of the extra-big chair and hung over the sides. His overinflated man boobs, two huge bulging balloons thatched with blond hair through which two big stretched pink nipples peeked, contentedly sat on top of his magnificent big fat belly. His huge round belly rested on his lap, almost reaching to his knees, and hung down between his hefty thighs. His enormous meaty shoulders and arms completed the picture—he not only was a cool guy, he looked so cool, too!

After glancing over at Jimmy, I looked down at myself as I relaxed in the wooden large chair. Of course, I was nowhere as big as Jimmy, but I was pleased to see how my big pot belly ballooned over the top of my shorts, even though I had opened the top button to make myself a little more comfortable. I grabbed a handful of my bellyfat and jiggled it, making my man boobs and lovehandles jiggle and bounce. It was great to see how my big round fat man boobs sat on top of my belly, a smaller version of my brother’s awesome chest. I also looked down at my plump thighs, smaller versions of Jimmy’s impressive tree-trunk upper legs. On each side, left and right, my hefty hips completely filled the seat of the lounge chair. I was really getting a spread on me! Cool!

Earlier that day, Beau had asked me to choose who I wanted to look like, Jimmy or him. I knew then what my choice was, of course, but that moment by the pool confirmed to me that I was going to do all I could to be as much like my cool big brother as possible!

Junior came out and called, “Here’s the snacks!” Jimmy’s eyes opened and he smiled at Junior and me. I took the family-size bag of chips and extra-large container of creamy dip from Junior, balanced the container of dip on top of my pot belly between my big man boobs, opened the bag and the container, and dug in. Jimmy took a big bag of chips, too, and sent Junior back into the house for the orange juice.

Jimmy looked at me and smiled and I smiled back. “Jimmy…” I looked directly at him, “…it’s good to be back home with the family.”

Jimmy replied, “Chuck, we’re all happy you’re back. I missed you—we all missed you! The week you were away reminded me that you’re the best brother I could wish for.”

“Same here, Jimmy, you’re the coolest big brother anyone could have!” I really meant it and he knew it.

Jimmy opened his bag of chips and dug in as I shoved chips with big gobs of dip into my mouth. Damn, I was hungry!

As we both ate, I closed my eyes for a minute and thought to myself. Here I was, just a happy member of the best family going! Life was great and was going to get better.

I was like six, and my mom, her two sisters, and her mom (who are my aunts and my grandma) were having a picnic in the botanical gardens. They were drinking apple juice, I don’t know why I remember that. I went up to my mom and told her we had to go, and so we started walking towards the exit, and we passed through the vegetable garden because I fucking love vegetable gardens, and we were right by the strawberries when she suddenly turned into a giant strawberry, but with arms and legs and her head still. And then a giant toddler suddenly showed up and picked her and was going to eat her, and my mom shouted at me “Don’t worry Julianna! One day you’ll be a strawberry too!” And I remember believing her with my whole heart, that someday I’d turn into a strawberry. And then just as the giant toddler girl was about to bite down, I woke up.

Inhumans Part Six

Originally posted by lullabyun

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine,

Genre: A/U, Angst, Violence, Fluff, Romance, more in the future.

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Inhumans are people born with powers, feared by most all over the world. Inhumans are often killed before the age of three or kept locked up and tested on. EXO is a rogue group of Inhumans who broke free and are now looking to free fellow Inhumans as well as get justice for their kind. However, with their powers come limitations. With these limitations, they sometimes need a helping hand.

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Hey! So I haven’t done this before, but I’m trying it out. I’ve seen some amazing stories on here. I wanted to add one of my own. My mom got me a book of writing prompts from Christmas. This one really stood out to me and the musical episode inspired this. Please let me know what you think!!!!

Characters: Barry Allen and Iris West (WestAllen)

Rated: IDK (mentions of sex but nothing explicit)

Words:1175

Prompt: You’re asked by the love of your life to define what love means to you.

______________________________________________________________________________

Barry and Iris lay in their bed, curled together. They’d been celebrating their re-engagement. Both are covered in sweat, out of breath, and completely drained. It’s amazing. Iris lazily traces patterns on his chest as he strokes her hair. A lot’s happened in the past 3 years. She’d told him that before he sang to her. Man does she love that song. As they lay in their bed, she feels his chest vibrating as he hums.

How is it they got here? This question rings through her head. Four years ago, Barry had been her best friend and only that. The only guy, aside from her dad, that she could trust completely and without fear. The same goofy, awkward little boy who had only gotten bigger. Then he was struck by lightning. God, watching his heart stop over and over again. Iris nuzzles closer to Barry. She’d cried herself to sleep almost every night those 9 months. Eddie had helped and some part of her would always love him, but Barry meant so much to her then, even if she hadn’t realized it. After he’d woken up, he was different. Suddenly he had the courage to tell her how he felt…

“What are you thinking about?” Barry’s question breaks the comfortable silence. His voice is low and raspy, sending chills down her spine.

“Stuff,” She looks up at him with a small smile.

“What kind of stuff?”

“The first time you said you loved me,” She tells him,” When you told me about your crush.”

“Yeah?” She feels his fingers gently press into the middle of her back. Barry takes in the sight of her. Dark hair tousled from his hands running through it, lips swollen from his own, deep brown eyes meeting his own. How did he get so lucky?” What about it?”

“Do you remember what you told me?” She raises up onto her elbows so she can properly look at him. Damp curls fall into her eyes, but she makes no move to brush them away.

“That I’ve loved you since before I knew what it meant,” he answers, sitting up just a bit.

“What does it mean to you?”

“Huh?”

“If you’ve loved me since before you knew what the word meant, what does it mean to you?”

“You want me to define love?” He clarifies with a soft smile. She nods. Barry thinks for a moment before speaking,” I think it doesn’t mean something so much as it is something. When I think about love, I remember the year we went trick or treating as Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. You called me Barry Potter for two weeks afterwards.”

Iris laughs at the memory, at the silliness of their childhood. She remembers it well since it was the last Halloween before his mother was killed. Barry continues,” I remember you coming down the stairs the night my mom died. When Joe asked why you were still up-”

“I said I was waiting for him to bring you home,” She remembers. She remembers being scared and confused, but still there for him.

“When I think about love, I remember the nights you and I stayed up late talking about anything and everything. How I felt like I could tell you what was bothering me and you would believe me,” He brushes a stray curl from her face, letting his fingers lightly caress her cheek,” I remember the night of the particle accelerator. How close I got to telling you how I felt that night. I remember a moment, just before the lightning hit me, when I was worried about you. If you were ok.”

Iris doesn’t remember a lot about that night after the accelerator exploded. Just crying and screaming and Barry’s body on a table. His hand lingers on her face, ghosting over her skin. She turns pressing soft kisses to the fingertips. She meets his eyes again,” Is that all?”

“Not even close. Love reminds me of when I woke up and my first thought was of you. When I walked into Jitters and you jumping into my arms. I remember saving you that first time. I remember being the Flash and wanting to tell you so badly it hurt. The nights on Jitter’s roof-”

“You flirted with me an awful lot on that rooftop,” She teases.

“You weren’t exactly telling me to stop,” He laughs. Iris loves his laugh. It’s warm and bright and sounds like home.

“So love reminds you of me?” She asks.

“Kind of. It reminds me of times when I didn’t feel… alone. When someone’s there and they make you feel visible and safe and alive. You just happen to do that the most in my life. I like it when it feels like it’s the two of us against the world,” He makes a funny face,” Does that sound weird?”

“No,” Iris smiles,” I think it’s romantic.”

She kisses him. His mouth is soft and warm and familiar. She feels his hand hold the back of her neck, keeping her right where he wanted her. How did she go so long without kissing Barry Allen? When she finally pulls away, she smiles sweetly at him,” I love you, Barry Allen.”

“I love you, Iris West,” He kisses her again, just a small peck on her lips,” Your turn.”

“My turn for what?” Barry raises an eyebrow at her.

“You know I can’t be the only one who says romantic things in this relationship,” He teases. She laughs which ultimately makes him laugh.

“Why not? You drop wedding vows on a weekly basis,” Before she can blink, Barry has her on her back. He smiles down at her, those beautiful green eyes looking at her like she’s the only woman in the multiverse.

“I’m serious. What does love mean to you?”

Iris wraps her arms around his neck,” Love is the feeling I get when everyone I care about comes home safe. It’s the feeling I get when we’re all together and laughing. It’s the feeling I get when my dad teases us or reminds us that one day we’ll have kids and karma’s a bitch. It’s the feeling I get when Wally is telling me about your latest race and how close he is to beating you. It’s the feeling I get when you, Cisco, and Caitlin are arguing about something nerdy and I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s the feeling I get when you tell me you’re going to save me and I believe you,” She plays with the hair at the nape of his neck,” It’s the feeling I get just before you kiss me. When you look at me like I’m a miracle from heaven. That’s what love is to me.”

“I think my version is more romantic,” He tells her with a wink. He kisses her again to muffle her laughter. No matter how anyone defines it, what they share is pure and real.

It’s something neither of them will ever give up on.

161106 Super Junior's 11th anniversary letters ♡

Donghae’s letter:

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Eunhyuk’s letter:

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Leeteuk’s letter:

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Kyuhyun’s letter:

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Heechul’s letter:

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Siwon’s letter:

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Yesung’s letter:

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Shindong’s letter:

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Sungmin’s letter: 

Trans:

To E.L.F whom I miss
Are you guys doing well? You guys are healthy, right? I have been healthy all these time, and have been diligently learning a lot of things and growing up while living the army life. ^^

Recently, I’ve been going around while getting dispatched with Shindongie and Eunhyukie, we’ve been living life together so it was really fun, we’ve made enjoyable memories and are slowly ending our army lives. Before knowing it, Dongie and I are going to get discharged from the army soon. Even though our Ryeowookie is still in the training centre… The weather has became colder so I’m worried (for him). Hoping for our members to get discharged from the army healthily!

Now that we have lived life while being separated, it makes me think a lot about the times that had passed without resting… It also makes me think about the things (which I) lacked in previously…

I had a lot of things which I wanted to say back then.. Because I really had no idea how to say those words, I was really lost. I’m really thankful that I’m given a chance like this to write a letter. Even though I wouldn’t be able to fit everything that I want to say (in this letter), it would be great if my thoughts/feelings are being brought across. To be honest.. I know that it’s too late.. Even so, I wanted to tell (you guys) about how I feel despite it being late…

I’m sorry…

I’m still hurting and sad from how I hurt and made things hard for the fans before I enlisted… I didn’t do it (to hurt the fans)…

I really didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I really didn’t want to cause any harm to the members, too.. I thought about things for a long time, and discussed with the company.. I had also prepared a lot and thought about how am I supposed to let you guys know about this in the best way… It was confusing and suffocating for me when things didn’t go the way I thought it would.. I couldn’t do anything else but to withstand all these without saying a word…

To be honest.. I thought, “this is not right.. this is not it..”. I couldn’t do anything about it and time was flowing recklessly.. Before I knew it, in the eyes of the people who were far away from me.. I already became someone who wasn’t me… Even though I was indeed sad, I thought about how people could of course misunderstand (this situation) since I wasn’t able to say anything (back then)..

I’m still feeling unfortunate and sad.. Also.. Sorry about this..

My heart hurts..

To the people who still supported and protected me despite me being like this, I’m really thankful, and I want to repay (you guys) with my hard work. Also.. I miss you all..

Before we know it, it has became our 11th anniversary with everyone.. And also the members.. Now that I’ve looked back, I really feel grateful towards the fans who have loved and led me who was lacking so much.

I’ve always put (these words) deep down in my heart… I’ve always thought.. That things became this way because I wasn’t able to express my feelings properly like how I really felt.

I hope for the day where my heart/feelings would reach (you guys) to come…

Please look after me while I work hard..!

We would be able to meet soon.. Salute!

-Lee Sungmin-


Ryeowook’s letter:

Trans:

To. My babies whom I miss and always thankful for~
Hi? E.L.F. ^^ This is Recruit No. 40 Kim Ryeowook! kkkk Wah~ Our ELF are really the best when it comes to loving Super Junior,even the Suju magnae line are coming into the army~! Are you guys doing well? I got surprised because the weather suddenly got colder >.< The environment here is good, the food here is also especially good, everyone~ You don’t have to worry (about me) too much~ Has in been a little over 20 days?! Our ELF who supported me when I enlisted.. Also ELF who have cried while worrying about me.. To the cool ELF who have coolly sent me off since almost all the hyungs have came back already, thank you everyone~

The first day was really.. I couldn’t sleep well and I looked up at the ceiling thinking.. Where am I.. Who am I.. kk However, I’m doing fine with the rest of the 21~22 year old recruits now~ How do I say this.. I’m hanging out with them so much like friends that I tend to think that “am I really Suju”, “am I a bald high-schooler Ryeonggu” k.. We’re spending everyday relying on each other like family! You saw the photos, no~ ㅠ.ㅠ The photos which even I haven’t seen.. I’ve received letters on the fan-accounts (of the day I enlisted)~ Even so, I was really cool, right? kk I’ll come back again as a brave man! Salute! Yesterdat~ I wrote letters to each of the members and sent them through mail. Really.. The only way of communication in here is through letters and it’s the only precious time to breathe and rest, it’s as refreshing as drinking beer~ I don’t know why but I feel a little nervous thinking about how the hyungs and Kyuhyunie would be reading (my letters), and even though they probably won’t reply me, I end up waiting (for them to reply)~ Our ELFs, please tell them to reply me~ k (I’m half joking and half serious kkk) I wrote cards to the members before on 2005 Christmas.. I think about how the magnae Ryeonggu back then has now grown up to being 30 (years old) and currently in the army~ I ended up thinking about a lot of things while having to stand for night watch almost every night for 2 hours (we prepare for 20 mins and do duty for 1.5 hours).

The feelings and dreams~ Which I had before debuting.. The records.. And memories~ which I made after meeting the hyungs.. And also our ELFs who have walked those times together with us.. I still remember vividly the day, like it was just yesterday, when we went back to the dorm and discussed about the name of our fandom~ Precious memories like that.. Seems like Super Junior was my everything when I was in my 20s. From the start till the end.. There were a lot times where I thought.. Should I give up because it’s too tiring.. I’ve worked so hard but why is it that I can only reach this far.. I also blamed and was disappointed with myself a lot.. I was also really shaken up whenever my mom.. or my dad falls sick, my emotions went through ups and downs frequently.. What should I do.. The times were difficult for me, just like going through puberty. However, whenever I was like this, the hyungs taught and believed in me, and whenever I was sulky, they counselled and held on to me, there were a lot of times like this. Of course, I also thought about our ELF and set my heart to it, and overcame it all! I don’t know if it’s because of this, despite me being Super Junior, but I really love the hyungs and also our name as much as Super Junior fans.

All 19 of us are currently living together in the training centre, we eat and sleep together.. Train and talk together.. I really miss our Super Junior members. I also really really miss the ELFs who love our members… I’m also substituting the characters of our Super Junior members into the friends here in the training centre.. kk If I see similar points, I would say, “you’re like Donghae hyung.. You’re like Eunhyukie hyung”~ kkk Ah~ Now that I’m writing a letter.. I suddenly feel like singing.. After coming here, I haven’t been using my throat, so there seems to be thorns forming~

Even though it’s still very far away, I really want to get discharged quickly and sing (to you guys). With my stories ^^ From when we first debuted, till now. And even in the future, we’ll keep going on together, right? I can keep thinking like that and continue with my trainings, right? Are you guys replying me? kk We’ve (been together for) 11 years~ I wanted to see your faces.. Hear your voices.. And celebrate~ ELFs who have been waiting for (my) letters~ This is okay, right? It has a feel to it, no(?) kk I’ll celebrate (with you guys) all~ I want in the future! (Time) would go quickly if we had belief and love with us~ Don’t fall sick.. Why do I keep thinking about the lyrics to Like a Star… Even when I was recording (the song), it was very sad..

I really am doing well, and I will think of and miss (you guys) every day.. So, our ELFs must eat your meals properly and sleep a lot! It would be great if (you guys) don’t receive too much stress from work or studies~ Don’t kick the blanket away just because it’s not that cold~ Since it gets really cold at dawn, bring along a sleeping bag and use it kk be careful not to catch a cold~ ^^

I’ll be writing a lot of letters in the future~ We shall meet again through the letters~
Sleep well~ Oppa is going to sleep after a roll-call! Another night watch today, heok! kk

My love, E.L.F.
Go on forever, E.L.F.
Self-congratulations on 11th anniversary~ ^^
Recruit No. 40 Kim Ryeowook
Super Junior Ryeowook
From Ryeonggu to our lovely ELF

P.S. Since (the letter is going to be sent) through mailing, I wrote this in advance.
The detail here is (me using) a blue pen (to write the letter) kkk

cr: teukables, nobodyelf, kimlixus.

Ride you like my Harley (Trixya) - Chapter 5 - AnnieSantaWifey

A/N - AU world inspired by the TV show Sons of Anarchy. If anyone reading this watches the show, I hope you are not bothered with me changing the storylines for my needs. Whoopsies.
Everything is told from Katya’s POV.

T/W - bad language, probably grammar mistakes, horrible pick up lines and puns, mentions of drugs, rape, adoption, death and violence.

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something hurts inside of me but i can’t put my finger on what it is anymore -
i think something snapped inside of me when i threw a small party
when my parents went away for the weekend two summers ago
and my adderall perscription went missing along with the weed
in my mom’s dresser drawer that somebody gave her but she never used
and i still remember her phone call blaming it on me,
not that she cared because she doesn’t smoke weed
but it’s the principal of it and how confused i was because
i opened up my home and somebody slammed the door on my face
and i had to tell my mom i threw a party and i don’t know what happened to it.

i think something snapped inside of me when my boyfriend
cheated on me a year and a half into our relationship,
when his brother stole money out of my wallet
and still denied it a year later even though i got it back -
something broke in me that winter when i realized
what was going on behind my back all summer,
when i realized you can trust someone with everything in you
and they can still turn on you, when i realized
things are not always the way they seem in your head.

i hang out with the same two friends every weekend
but most days, i still ask them if they hate me
because you can never be too sure,
but i used to ask my ex-boyfriend every day why he loved me
and he never gave me anything but a cookie-cutter answer,
an answer that left me empty,
but i kept loving him and loving him and loving him anyway
and i kept pouring my love into him until he was overflowing
and just had to give some of it to somebody else

and everything comes back to that summer i opened my heart to people
i thought really cared for me and they stole shit with no apologies
and i still can’t put my finger on who did it, really, but whoever did:
i hope it makes you happy to hear that i still have trust issues because of it
because i would rather hand you $150 than have it stolen out of my wallet
because it’s not about the money, it’s about how sick it still makes me
to think about how many people have seen inside of me who really didn’t care,
how many times i’ve drunkenly cried to girls who slept with my boyfriend
and i know they never asked to see inside me
but i thought it’d help my trust issues to start trusting people more,
thought it’d do anything but scare them away and

i am tired of scaring people away like
the way i am is an excuse for people to steal and cheat on me,
like “oh man, my girlfriend is being so annoying this week
so i fucked your sister in my backseat instead of talking to her about it,”
the laughter i still imagine behind closed doors about how stupid and naive i am
for handing my whole heart to people i knew would break it
but i underestimated how badly it would scar me
because everyone knew my boyfriend was cheating on me but couldn’t tell me
and my ex’s friends wouldn’t respond when i texted them crying
to ask them if i’d been left in the dark all this time and

people call me paranoid, say my friends like me, why can’t i see that?
but how do i explain that i’ve been paranoid before
and in the end, i’ve been right, can’t you see that?
and when people tell me to calm down, i want to say
no, YOU calm down - YOU stop fucking me over and maybe
i could have one conversation without being so unbearably over the top
and i could type paragraphs on paragraphs asking people
why they did the things they did to me
and they’d either lie or reply with “i don’t know” and it’s disgusting
that people bruise others without even realizing it because they don’t think,
that somehow, i’m the loser in this story for simply feeling.

—  you ask me why i feel too much; i ask you why you feel nothing at all
Alternative Release

A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader where the reader has a rubber band around her wrist. She used to cut as a young woman, and this is what she uses to cope instead of that during particularly rough cases. One day, Spencer asks her why she does that, so she tells him. @coveofmemories

Warnings: Talk of cutting and past sexual abuse

                                                            —-

“Late last night, two girls, identified as 8-year-old Kelly Clavin and 9-year-old Alyssa Smith were found raped and strangled just outside of Kelly’s home,” Garcia started, clicking the remote to bring the girls’ pictures up on the monitor. Your lovely technical analyst was to pure for this world, and would rarely look at the gruesome pictures for fear they would change her as a person. She was fundamentally cheerful and didn’t want to compromise that. 

You were a different person however.

Over many years, you’d experienced some shit. After being sexually-assaulted in college and then told by the school that they weren’t going to do anything about their star athlete because you happened to be drunk, you were determined to go into law enforcement. If you saved one person that kind of torment, your life and experiences would have been worth it. The assault had sparked a hatred of yourself inside you, and for quite a few years, whenever you needed a release, you would take the blade from your cabinet and slice at your thighs. 

One night, you took it further, cutting your wrists and passing out in the bathtub, only to wake up a day later with your crying mother at your side. She’d begged you that day to go to therapy and you’d reluctantly agreed - for her sake more than your own. As a single mother, she didn’t deserve this, so you helped yourself for her. In the course of your therapy, your doctor had suggested you wear a rubber band around your wrist as an alternative release.

And now here you were.

Garcia continued to brief the team on the circumstances of the case, but all you could focus on were the light bruises around the girls’ necks, reminding you of your own - the ones you had to cover up with a turtleneck all those years ago. You had been nearly 10 years older than Kelly and Alyssa at the time of your attack, and although you’d been somewhat drunk, you remembered every bit of fear that coursed through you that night. If you were petrified at the age of 18, then how were an 8 and 9-year-old feeling in their final moments. 

Your doctor had said not to focus on one bad thing for too long, so you tore your eyes away from the screen and turned your attention to your wrists that were under the table. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

It was a dull sound, but it provided the release you needed and everyone was too focused on the case to pay attention to whatever the sound was or where it was coming from. “Right now, this seems like an isolated incident,” Hotch said, “But considering this was a double child murder in a town that hasn’t experienced much more than an armed robbery in the course of the past decade, the locals called us in. They are at a complete loss. Wheels up in two hours.”

As the rest of the team filed out of the room to grab their go-bags, you leaned back and continued to flick at the band on your wrist. “You okay?” Spencer asked, his eyes soft and caring. Spencer was another one who somehow always managed to keep somewhat positive despite the things you’d seen. And he was infinitely caring.

“Yea,” you said quickly, not realizing that you’d started snapping the band even more quickly. “Just this case. Cases involving kids are always more difficult for me.”

Spencer nodded. No one could handle kids’ cases very well. “I just noticed that you’re snapping a rubber band. I haven’t heard you do that before.”

You looked down. The snapping had gotten much louder than you’d anticipated. Normally, you tried not to draw attention to what you were doing. “Sorry,” you said. “I didn’t realize how loud that was.”

“It’s okay,” he said with a shy smile. “I doubt anyone but me actually heard it. I’m just pretty sensitive to noise. Ummm…do you mind if I ask why you do that? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

As the gap between your past assault and subsequent cutting, and your present got wider and wider, you found yourself more comfortable talking about these things. You didn’t go around parading the information, but if someone asked, you’d answer. “Sure,” you said, flicking at the band a couple more times. “When I was in my first year of college, I went to a party, got a little drunk, and the star of the football team took me out back and assaulted me.” Spencer’s mouth dropped open. He was about to tell you that you didn’t have to continue, but you wanted to. “I tried to get him off me, but I couldn’t and he assaulted me and I remember very distinctly about the bruises around my neck afterwards.” You motioned toward the screen where the girls were still staring back at you. “Anyway, after it happened, I was obviously very disturbed, and I started cutting myself. When my mom found me in a bathtub, she took me to the hospital and the next day she begged me to get help. My doctor suggested this as a way to handle stress as opposed to cutting.”

Spencer’s mouth was still agape. “I’m so sorry. Did…did anything happen to the man that assaulted you?”

“Not at the time,” you spat quickly. “Back then, I was a poor kid there on a scholarship, but he was there on a full-ride scholarship as the school’s star athlete, so they did nothing. After, he went on to rape someone else, a woman with more money and a dad who had more pull than my parents did, so she took him to court and he went away for ten years. I think he’s still there.”

“Can I…can I hug you?” he asked. You smiled and extended your arms. Spencer was without a doubt one of the sweetest men you’d ever known.

“Of course, Spence.”

“I’m glad he went away, but I’m sorry you didn’t get any justice for yourself,” he replied, rubbing his hands up and down your back. For a moment, you just stood in his arms as he told you how sorry he was for what happened and for even asking.

You pulled away and smiled. “It’s okay, Spence. I wouldn’t have answered if I didn’t want to.”

“Well,” he said, grabbing your hand and giving it a slight squeeze, “If you ever forget your rubber band, or you feel like you want another option, I’m always here. However I can help.” He blushed, not used to being the one offering comfort and instead being the one asking for it. 

Leaning up, you kissed the side of his cheek. “Thanks, Spence. I think I might just do that.” You looked toward the screen one last time and then out the door. “Now, let’s go grab our go-bags and go get some justice for Kelly and Alyssa.”

When I Came Out

Every day across the world, people are coming out — to themselves, to friends, to family, to strangers, as gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning. And every story is unique.

When I came out I said to my closest friends, “You two are the people I trust the most in the world….. I’m gay.” They completely accepted me and one of them said, “That’s great. If it’s any consolation I’m bisexual.” Then when I came out to my parents they just hugged me and said they didn’t care about my sexuality, they only cared if I was happy or not.

When I came out I was 11. I came out to my twin sister first and she was amazing. Then I came out to my parents and my mom just said, “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” I then came out to my class and what are the odds, my teacher was gay! Everyone was really supporting and it was great.

When I came out to my sister it took two hours of me trying to tell her unsuccessfully before she just asked if I was gay. She said she had figured it out herself almost a year before and was completely accepting of me!

When I came out to my closest friend, she was a little apprehensive at first. A couple days later I found out that she had had a crush on me for some time, and never told me. She’s been so supportive, along with everyone else I’ve told – and finally (a full year later), today I’ve just come out to my parents. I feel over the moon.

When I came out to one of my best friends and told her that I had a girlfriend she started crying. Later on in the day she told me she cried because now that she knew about me, she realised that she liked me and I was already taken.  (awwwhh this one is really sweet but still so sad haha ahw)

When I came out I was 11 and my mom said I was too young to know. She knew I had crushes on boys… why was I too young for the same sex?

When I came out to my Mum she cried hysterically and went on a rant about me not producing grandchildren for her. I don’t remember anything supportive being said. It was really surprising as she is not religious and is usually pretty open minded. When I came out to my friends every single one was totally awesome and loving and funny and relaxed and honest. When I came out to the rest of my family…. to be continued when I have the courage to go there!

When I came out to my brother I told him I was going to stay at my “friend’s” house. Suddenly he just said, “Y’know you can say girlfriend” and I just stood there in shock.

 

The Door is Closed: Part 3

AN: This is the third part of the door series. Enjoy

Words: 1095

Part 1, Part 2


You come to, in a hospital room. The heart monitor is beeping, and the blood pressure cuff is squeezing your arm every few minutes. And then, there’s the fact that Damian’s big head is lying on your thigh. You’re not really sure how you feel about that since you’re dressed in one of those thin and flimsy hospital gowns, and the itchy blanket is only pulled up slightly above the knee.

You move your leg just a bit, and Damian is immediately awake. His hair is a mess, and sticking up at all different angles. You start to laugh at the sight but then you stop when a sharp pain hits. “No laughing for a few days, you had a collapsed lung, a bruised collarbone, a broken arm, and torn cartilage in your right knee. Your dad threw you around really good.”

You scowl, “Didn’t you hear, he’s not my dad … that’s why this happened.”

Damian stills, “What?”

Your eyes narrow a bit as you remember what has led to this, “Dad came over late last night. It was really unexpected, usually there’s some sort of sign that he’s coming. A chill in the air, children crying …you know things like that.” When Damian gives a smirk it makes you feel like things are a bit more normal, “They started arguing, and I was in my room, and I guess Mom had just had enough. She went into this long rant on how she had cheated on him with her true love, that he meant nothing, and that he had no claim to me. He went crazy.”

“Why didn’t you call?” His voice is soft, and questioning.

You want to shrug but refrain from it, remembering Damian’s report about the broken room and bruised collarbone. “Like I said there was no warning, and then there was just this elation that there was a possibility that I wasn’t his, that I didn’t share his blood. Next thing I knew he was dragging me out by my hair.”

“He’s in jail, and charges have been pressed. Jim Gordon is handling the case personally, at father’s request.”

“My mother won’t press charges, despite her claims.”

You can tell from the way Damian’s face goes serious that the news isn’t good, the next words out of Damian’s mouth don’t shock you, and they simply leave an emptiness in you, “Homicide doesn’t need someone to press charges.”

You don’t say anything, and you’re not really sure that you could if you wanted to. But, when Damian takes your hand, and doesn’t let go, you know that somehow things will be okay.

You move into Wayne Manor, you’re given your own room and the best of everything. It’s weird to not have to worry about a drunk man coming into your home and tearing the place apart. More often than not the boys just come home bruised and bloody, and Alfred starts teaching you how to stitch them up.

More often than not, you sleep in Damian’s room. The two of you take comfort in one another. He knows what it’s like to lose a mother, just like he knows what it’s like to be abused. The kids at school start spreading rumors about your relationship with him. You still haven’t defined it.

The two of you ignore the rumors. You throw yourself into the Wayne family, and slowly you’re integrated into monitoring the computers and the medical bay. When you and Damian graduate, Bruce forces the two of you to walk.

The two of you grumble about it, but do it anyways. Damian goes into full time Wayne Enterprises, and you enter college, as a pre-med student. You’ve made a few friends among the Team, and the League. You figure that everyone would be better off if they have an actual doctor. You spend a lot of time with Dick, and Jason. The three of you have movie nights, and share take out when Alfred is out of town. Every once in awhile you and Bruce will have lunch, and he’ll tell you stories from his father’s medical days.

You don’t see much of Damian, over the next year. Despite living in the same house, the only time you really see each other are those few times that you’re able to sleep together, actual sleep. You snuggle into his chest, and he wraps his arms around you and you know that no matter what he’ll always be there for you.

This fact is proven a few months later when your “father’s” trial finally starts. It’s been held up due to Gotham’s backlog, and you’ve done your best to not think about it. You don’t say anything to anyone but there he is the morning of, dressed in the suit he hates. The rest of the family also attends. Damian doesn’t let go of your hand, he stays next to you the entire time.

When you’re called to testify pictures of your injuries are shown and you’re asked to detail the attack. A DNA test is also conducted, which confirms what your mother had said, you’re not the bastard’s spawn. His lawyer does his best to rile you up, but you just keep eye contact with Damian the entire time. He keeps you calm, until you get home.

No one says anything when you get home. Damian just leads you up to his room. You stand in the middle of the room while Damian leans against the door, waiting. He waits for you to gather yourself, and sort through emotions. You’re willing to bet that he had several different scenarios planned for. But you know he doesn’t have a plan for you kissing him.

He kind of just stands there for a moment, as you go up on your toes to kiss him. A second later he responds, his lips melding to yours, as he pulls you close. Your arms go around his neck, as his go around your waist. Then you’re pulling him back towards the bed, and he surrenders control, seeming to realize that you need to be able to control something.

As the two of you go on the bed, clothes begin to come off, and then the two of you become one so to speak. Afterwards he pulls you close, and you snuggle in close, as his fingers comb through your hair, and then the tears come, the tears you’ve been holding in since you decided to stop crying as a child.

My Brother’s Wedding

by mrs momona © 2017

This is the first weight gain related story written by the author whose pseudonym is “mrs momona”. It was written in 2003.

A month ago, my brother got married. It was a happy event for our entire family. For me, it was a lot more. Because of my brother’s wedding, I became aware of certain things about myself.

It all started five years ago when I was a senior in high school. I had been interested in sports since I was a little kid, and in high school, I had gone out for football and baseball. At the beginning of football practice in August of my senior year I remember I was measured at 5'9" and 180 lbs.

That November, my life changed dramatically. My father was killed in a traffic accident–head-onned by a drunk driver, leaving my mom, me, and my kid brother, four years younger than me. I dropped football to get a part-time job after school. Although we weren’t poor, I knew some extra money would help out my mom as well as pay for my car expenses.

There’s a deli in town that I used to stop at sometimes after practice to buy a snack to eat on the way home. The first day I was job hunting after school, I stopped by the deli and noticed a sign in the window: “Part-Time Help Wanted”. I asked one of the employees about the sign, and I was told to talk to the owner, Mr. Jones. Mr. Jones turned out to be a big heavy guy, a little shorter than me but with a huge belly. To make a long story short, we talked for a while and he told me he’d hire me. I was told to report to work the next day after school. I’d be working afternoons, some evenings, and weekends.

The next afternoon I showed up at work and was introduced by Jim, one of the workers, to a cute girl named Amy. At first glance she seemed to be about my age, and, like I said, real attractive. She was kinda chubby, big up front and in the butt. Jim told me that Amy was the boss’s daughter and had helped at the deli since she was a little kid. She would show me the ropes.

My job orientation with Amy went well. She was also a senior in high school, but attended a private school across town from my high school. I had a hard time listening to what Amy was telling me–I kept on admiring her cute face, nice smile, and soft curves in all the right places. I guessed her to be about 5'6" tall and maybe 160 lbs of perfection.

The job responsibilities were simple–stock the shelves in the mini-mart attached to the deli, make sure the tables and chairs were clean in the small dining area, but mostly wait on customers. The deli sold a full range of cold cuts and cheeses; sandwiches made to order; chilled salads and homemade desserts; and hot items like roasted chicken and baked ziti that customers could take home for dinner. The deli was open from 5 a.m. to 10 p.m. and did a lot of business at breakfast and lunchtime with guys coming in from the nearby industrial area. Afternoon, evening, and weekend customers included a lot of people buying take-home items for dinner, snacks, or–hey, whatever, as long as they bought something!

Looking back, it was that first day on the job that really changed my life. Amy showed me how to make the deli sandwiches which were a major part of the business: take the order, slice the meats and cheeses for the filling, lavishly butter the roll or bread, pile on the filling, and add things like lettuce, tomato, onions, or other garnishes. I got the hang of it pretty fast. Jim gave me some tips about waiting on customers: if the customer is a heavy guy or lady, give them some extra filling on the sandwich, or some extra salad or dessert in the container. Don’t say anything, but make sure they know that you’re giving them a little extra–that’s how you get customers to return. When I asked Jim why to do this only with heavy customers, he laughed and said “How do you think they got heavy? They like food!”

When closing time approached, Jim showed me how to close up, lock the doors, clean everything as thoroughly as possible, and make sure everything was secure and ready for opening the next morning. He next said, “Oh, and one benefit of the job is that you can take home leftovers, or make a sandwich to go or something if you want”.

Free food! Like any healthy growing American boy I was interested. Jim explained that for cold items like salads and desserts, everything left over in the display case after two days was to be tossed at the end of the day–the selling point of the deli was freshness. Same thing with cold cuts or cheeses which had been pre-sliced to make sandwiches when there were a lot of customers. Any of these left at closing time had to be thrown out because they’d dry out by the next day and wouldn’t taste right. Same thing with the hot items and roasted chickens left in the rotisserie at closing time. The board of health required that they be thrown out and not be kept for another day.

I was shocked–throwing away all that food–and said so. Jim replied, “well, the boss says it’s all part of doing business. At the end of the day, either toss it or eat it yourself.”

“Eat it?” I replied.

Jim laughed, “Yeah, how do you think I got this ‘deli belly’?” On saying that, he jiggled the flabby pot belly sagging over his belt.

While Jim and I were talking, Amy  was busy–it turns out she was making two overstuffed roast beef and jack cheese sandwiches on rye. She wrapped them and gave them to me saying, “Here, enjoy these on the way home. Like Jim says, if you don’t eat it we’ll just toss it.” As she said this, Amy gave me a big smile. Her hand seemed to linger as she put the sandwiches in my hands–or was it just my imagination? As I munched the sandwiches on the way home–they were delicious–I remember thinking that I had lucked into a great job–pretty good pay, free food, and Amy!

The next few months went by quickly. I fell into the routine on the job, always making sure that at the end of the day there were some things to eat on the way home. I started to nibble on the job, just like I had seen all the other employees doing. I kept up my grades in school, and most importantly, I got to know Amy better. She made sure we both had the same evenings off, so we could go out. Over time, her parents began to invite me for dinner, just like my mom began to invite her over to my house for dinner, too. We got to be real close, and fell in love.

On a Saturday night in March, three months before high school graduation, Amy and I were sitting in my car after I closed up the deli. I was busy finishing off the last of my post-work snack–two overstuffed turkey and cheese deli sandwiches, a quart of potato salad, and a quart of chocolate milk. Amy and I were talking about what late movie to go to when she quietly started to cry. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “I think I’m pregnant.”

The first words out of my mouth were, “OK, let’s get married.” I still wonder why I said that–I knew I loved Amy, and we had vaguely talked about getting married one day, but we never had made any definite plans. I guess I thought of how happy my parents’ marriage had been, and I wanted the same for Amy and me. In any case, I said the right thing–Amy overwhelmed me with kisses while I was trying to finish off my last mouthful of that creamy delicious potato salad.

Much to my relief, Amy’s parents didn’t kill me when we went to talk with them. In fact, her father said to me, “You’re going to be the son I never had”. (Amy is an only child.) Our parents and we agreed that Amy and I would get married right after high school graduation in June, and that I’d start working full time in the deli. In the fall, I’d be going full time to the local junior college, majoring in culinary arts, and keep my hours at the deli while Amy stayed home and cared for our baby.

The next few months of high school kinda went by in a blur—time spent with Amy, trying to be a good son to my mom and a good “big brother” to my kid brother, studying, working 40 hours a week (at least) at the deli to make some extra money, and trying to keep in touch with “the guys” I used to play sports with.

I remember the final week of school–we had to report to the Health Room to be weighed and measured just as we had been at the beginning and end of each school year since kindergarten. I can still hear the health aide say “5'9” and then “217–let’s see, young man, you’ve put on 37 lbs since last August.” “My reaction was "whoa”, followed by “Let’s see, I have to be at work by 4:00–I just have time to stop by McD’s to get a couple of double quarters with cheese, some fries, and a shake to hold me until I can eat during my dinner break.” As you can see, my growing appetite included food from any source–not just the deli. To me, anything eaten in addition to breakfast, lunch, and dinner were “snacks” and just didn’t count as real eating.

Amy and I got married in June–just a small wedding–Amy’s folks, my mom and brother, my best buddy Joe as best man, and Amy’s best friend as bridesmaid. Looking back now, it’s interesting to recall what happened when my buddy Joe and I went to rent two dark suits for the ceremony. Joe stepped up to be measured–42 chest, 32 waist. Next came me–44 chest, 38 waist. The tailor then measured my hips and added, “just a minute, sir, you’re going to need the full-cut trousers.”

Afterwards, Joe and I stopped at BK for a little snack. I was working on my 3 whoppers with cheese, large onion rings, fries, and shake while Joe finished his BK broiler. Joe continued the snickering he had started when we were at the tailor’s. When I asked him what was up, he replied, “You know what 'full cut trousers’ means, don’t you?”

“No, what?” I said with my mouth full.

“It means you’re getting a big fat ass to match that fat belly you’ve been building up the past few months.”

I remember saying “Yeah, so what?” and thinking—yup, I’m a man now–I’m gonna have a wife soon, then we’ll have our kid, I’ve got a full time job–I don’t have time to worry about other stuff. My father had always been a “big guy”–250 or so–Amy’s dad was a real “big guy” and I just expected that men became “big guys”. I was a man now, and my weight of 217 proved it. Besides, from the time I was a little kid playing Little League baseball, I had always been kidded about the size of my butt. I was just naturally bigger back there and in my thighs than a lot of guys were–so what? That’s what helped make me a good catcher, right?

I was real busy the next two years. Amy gave birth to our son Johnny–named for my father–in October. Meanwhile, I was up at 4 a.m., at the deli from 5 to 7 a.m., at school from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., back at the deli from 5 to 8 p.m. That was weekdays. On Saturdays, I was at the deli all day (5 a.m. to 10 p.m.) I liked my classes, liked learning about food, and liked my job. Most of all, I loved Amy and our son. When days were really stressful, I knew I could look forward to going home to one of Amy’s delicious home-cooked meals (her lasagna with butter-soaked garlic bread was and is my favorite), spending some time with her and Johnny, and then enjoying one of Amy’s home baked treats with a quart of milk as a bedtime snack before collapsing into bed and getting some rest before I had to wake up at 4 a.m. the next morning. I came to rely on those dinners and bedtime snacks as stress relievers. The richer the food and the more of it I ate, the more relaxed it made me feel.

Sundays were my day off. Catching up on my nap time, spending time with my son, and helping Amy around the house were usual. Once in a while we’d get together with my buddy Joe and his girlfriend or some of our other friends from high school. Every week, we’d go to either Amy’s folks’ or to my mom’s house for Sunday dinner. Always great food which I couldn’t get enough of, even though Amy’s mom and my mom always made sure my plate was piled high with food–as soon as my plate was clean, they’d pile on the seconds, thirds, or fourths before I could say anything. Can’t let good food go to waste, right?

After two years, I graduated from junior college and went to work full time at the deli. The week after I graduated, my father-in-law invited me to lunch at this great Italian buffet in town. After we both stuffed ourselves, he broke the news to me–he wanted to retire, and in return for a monthly payment to him, the deli would belong to me and Amy. He told me that I had “proved myself” to him by my hard work and getting my degree in culinary arts while handling all my other responsibilities. I was so happy–I celebrated by stuffing myself with Italian goodies from the dessert bar, for the first time actually eating more than my father-in-law. I was so proud–proud of his faith in me and proud of myself for the man I had become.

Today, it’s been three years since I took over management of the deli. It’s hard work, but I love it. 72 hour workweeks are common, but I’ve got a great bunch of employees. I’ve got a great family, too. Amy gave birth to our second son Robbie two years ago, and that pregnancy also left her with some additional luscious pounds in all the right places. She’s so beautiful and sweet–I wouldn’t be where I am today without her.

Looking back over the past five years, I see now what was happening to me–I was just too busy to realize it or acknowledge it. From the time I got married, things would happen that should have been signals of the changes that were happening to me. I’d have a hard time pulling jeans over my thighs and ass, and finally reached the point last year where I just couldn’t squeeze into even the fullest cut jeans. Shorts and pants became difficult to fasten at the waist. If I was able to fasten them, quite often I couldn’t pull the zipper up–if I was able to, often the zipper would burst open unexpectedly. Bending over to pick something up from the floor or just going to sit down in a chair often led to seam failure from the crotch back to the waistband. Tying my shoes became a struggle. T-shirts shrank over my chest, rode up over my stomach, and the sleeves became tight over my upper arms.

Long time customers would sometimes make comments like, “Looks like business is good” or “You’re really a good advertisement for the deli”. I would just laugh and fill their order, always giving them a little extra. Once in a while, an old high school buddy would stop by and call me “big guy”. Joe, my best man, would often take a pinch at my side, stomach, chest, or rear end and say “Wow, prime grade beef”.

“Yeah”, I would sometimes think, “I’ve picked up a few pounds since high school, but heck, what do you expect? I’ve got a family and a business here. I’ve got other things to worry about.” Besides, every split seam or popped zipper would result in a new (and bigger) pair of pants or shorts for me to wear the next day. I can always count on Amy to take care of me. I guess I just felt good–solid, substantial, happy, content

My moment of truth came about three months ago. My kid brother, by now 20, was getting ready to be married and asked me to be his best man. Of course I agreed. We made arrangements to go to the tailors to be fitted for our rental tuxedos. The night he, I, and his ushers were supposed to go, I had to back out because one of my employees had called in sick that day.

I arranged to go the next night. I left work at 6 p.m., bringing  along a snack of two overstuffed roast beef sandwiches, a quart of potato salad, and a quart container of our extra creamy chocolate tapioca pudding to tide me over until I could get home and have dinner with Amy and the boys. Right before I got to the tailor shop, I realized I had dribbled chocolate pudding on my T-shirt. I took it off and pulled on an old sweatshirt that was in the backseat. Didn’t want to look like a slob.

Going inside the shop, I told the tailor who I was. There were no other customers. He took me into the fitting room. I noticed him eyeing me up and down as he brought me into the room. He told me to strip down to my underwear saying, “Sir, we’re going to have to specially alter your tux, so I’m going to need to take a complete set of measurements.” He directed me to stand on a small riser in the middle of the room. At that point, the front door chime sounded, indicating that another customer had come in. The tailor excused himself, saying he would be back in a few minutes.

I kicked off my shoes and took off my pants, folding them on a chair. I next pulled off with some effort the sweatshirt I had put on in the car. Must’ve shrunk in the wash, I guess. That left me standing in my jockey shorts. On three sides of me, the walls were all mirrors, angled so that I could see my front, both sides, and back.

My first thought when I saw myself head-to-toe in the mirrors was “WHOA!” I looked at my face. The curly brown hair on top of my head was the same as it always had been. I was amazed at what I saw from there on down. All I could see were bulges, rolls, ripples, and curves. It was like I was seeing myself for the first time, and in a way, I guess I was.

My face was round and fleshy, with chubby cheeks and a wide double chin. My neck, what I could see of it, was wide and blended into my shoulders. I was kind of comforted to see the width of my shoulders–I still had my football players build–but then  I realized that my wide shoulders merged into the flab on my plump upper arms, making me look wider.

What I saw on my chest is kind of hard to describe. From my shoulders downwards, there were two big cushions of fat, separated in the middle by a deep valley. Mounted on each of these cushions were two oval, overstuffed sacks of flab, each tipped by a stretched puffy pink nipple which pointed downwards and off to the side. These big sacks of flab started in the upper middle of my chest and then spread downwards and outwards, ending up diving under each arm as a roll of fat. “Wow”, I thought, “I have tits!” Separating my plump round upper arms from my chest on each side was a bulging triangle of flab, divided from each arm and each tit by deep creases.

Each tit sagged downwards and rested on my huge, oval pot belly. A little below the middle of the belly was a saucer-like depression in the flesh–in the middle of the saucer was my bellybutton, so deep it looked like a dark cave. I lightly pushed my index finger into this cavern, setting off ripples and quivers of my belly flab. I was surprised to see that my index finger went in all the way–at least 3 inches. As I shifted and moved to get a better look at myself, my bellybutton puckered into a slit in my flab, and then opened into a wide cave with each movement then puckered again as the flab wobbled.

The sheer mass of the fat on my belly caused it to sag and hang over the waistband of my jockeys, covering my crotch. No wonder I had become accustomed to spreading my heavy thighs wide when I sat down—it was more comfortable in that position to let the mass of my bellyfat hang downwards between my legs.

Off to each side of my pot belly were two wide round lovehandles–each so big they reminded me of truck tires. On each side, the lovehandles bulged out from below where my tit rolls pushed my upper arms outwards, separated from the tit rolls by two smaller rolls of flab on each side. The bulge of each lovehandle was pulled back in by the overstretched elastic waistband of my jockey shorts. My bulging pot belly sagged over and covered the waistband at the front of my jockeys.

Below the crotch of my jockeys I saw that my upper body was supported by two round, plump, tree-trunk-like thighs. My thighs came together between my crotch and my knees. I instantly realized why the inside upper legs of my pants and shorts were so worn out—my plump thighs rubbing together as I walked had done it.

I could still hear the tailor and the customer engaged in a lengthy discussion in the salesroom, so I continued my survey of what I had packed onto myself over the past five years.

Turning my head slightly, I looked in the mirror which was angled so I could look full on at my  back. I wasn’t surprised to see my thick neck forming a couple of rolls of fat at the top of my wide plump shoulders and upper arms. Below them were my wide fleshy deltoids, which merged into the round fat tit rolls which had started on my chest. Two fat rolls on each side creased my sides and back. Beneath them, where I once had lats, were the amazingly wide bulges of my lovehandles, almost as wide as my shoulders. So much for what used to be my “V” shaped back. There was a deep dimple in my back fat exactly in the center of my lower back.

Below the lovehandles, my jockey shorts were unable to cover the full area of my broad hips and glutes–or what used to be my glutes. What used to be my well developed muschlebutt had turned into two watermelon sized buttocks, so big and full and plump that, above the elastic of my jockeys, they bulged upwards to merge with each lovehandle. At the bottom of my jockeys, each plump cheek bulged outward and downward, forming rolls of flab where they finally merged into my thighs. My deep buttcrack was visible from above the waistband of my jockeys  and continued below the bottom of the jockeys, separating the two bulging lower buttcheeks.

At that point, I kind of lost my balance–I think I craned my head too far trying to take in the full immensity of my enormous ass–and I had to step off the riser briefly and then back on again. I was amazed by the reaction of my buttocks to this. Each buttock bobbled up and down with a life of its own, while wobbling from side to side at the same time. Beneath my jockeys, and over the wide area of my ass my jockeys couldn’t stretch to cover, I noticed the flab covering these huge melons jiggling and quivering while the bobbling and wobbling was going on. I suddenly realized why my kid brother had been calling me “Assquake” for the past couple of years. I thought he was just being a typical pesty kid brother–now I saw he was describing reality. I could imagine the show my buttcheeks put on everytime I walked (or as I now realized, waddled).

The back view of my wide hips, awesome ass, and plump thighs was fascinating, but then I glanced down at the backs of my lower legs. Being an athlete in high school, I was always proud of my big calves. Now I saw that each calf was the size of a honeydew melon, pumped up by having to support my lard. As I shifted my stance I could see the quivering of the flab covering each calf.

I still heard voices from the outer salesroom, so I next took in the view from the mirrors angled to show my sides. At this point, I shouldn’t have been surprised by anything I saw, but I was. I was shocked and at the same time thrilled to see how much I stuck out in front and in back. My belly rounded out in a bulging semicircle  more than a foot and a half before it began to curve back in to meet the waistband of my jockeys just above my crotch. Supported by the upper roundness of my pot, my searchlight-sized tits bulged roundly outwards for what seemed like six inches or so.

A glance downwards was the most impressive. Not only did my watermelon-sized buttocks sit high on my backside, starting from where my lovehandles merged into them, they ballooned much farther outwards toward the back–at least a foot and a half, I figured–before curving back in to meet my jiggling fat thighs in a series of flab rolls.

I was amazed to realize that I stuck out farther from the front of my belly bulge to the farthest back bulge of my ballooning buttocks than I did across the width of my shoulders, lovehandles, or hips. I was proud and thrilled to realize what a monument to the results of sustained overeating I had become.

At that point, the tailor came back into the fitting room. He proceeded to quickly take my measurements–neck, shoulders, arm length, chest, upper arms, belly, waist, hips/butt, thighs, and inseam. He then said he had to check stock, and would be back in a minute. I must admit I entertained myself while he was away by stepping up and down off the riser and watching my watermelons–err, buttcheeks–bobble, wobble, jiggle and quiver. What a show!

The tailor came in after a few minutes and gave me the news about my tux order: “Sir, the tuxedo shirt will be no problem–we have a 23 neck 37 arm length in stock. We also have a size 62 portly jacket in stock in the style your brother wants you to wear. For the pants, I have to ask you–do you wear your pants at your waistline or underneath your–umm, err—stomach?”


“It’s more comfortable underneath my stomach.”

“OK, in that case, we’ll take a size 66/32 pants we have in stock and start from there. You actually have a size 60 waistline, but we need the bigger size to fit your–umm, err—seat and thighs. We’ll take in the waist and they’ll fit fine. Also, we’ll triple stitch the seams of the trousers just to make sure there are no—ummm—accidents if you have to bend over.”

Stunned by the numbers the tailor was telling me, I managed to ask a few questions. “What does portly mean?”

He replied, “Sir, portly means that the jacket is cut fuller in the waist area for gentlemen who are bigger there.”

“Why can’t you just take size 60 pants and let them out rather taking such a bigger size and taking in the waist. Wouldn’t that be cheaper?” My business sense was affecting my thoughts.

The tailor blushed and paused. He seemed to be searching for the right words before he replied. “Well, sir, there wouldn’t be enough room in the size 60 pants if we let them out to the maximum in the seat and thighs. You’re just so much—err, ummm–more well-developed in those areas.” In other words, my impression from looking in the mirror was correct–my ass WAS enormous!

“Fine”, I finally said, still stunned by the numbers he gave me. I hadn’t bought clothes for myself since we were married—didn’t have time, and besides Amy took care of all that. Plus, for the past year, Amy’s mom had been making drawstring waist shorts for me to wear to work–so much more comfortable than whatever Amy could find in the store.

The tailor then told me to get dressed and come out to the cash register to sign the agreement and make a payment. I waddled over to the chair where I had placed my pants, sweatshirt, and shoes, and got dressed, slipping on the shoes last. I suddenly realized that Amy had bought me slip-on shoes two years ago when she saw me struggling to bend over to tie my lace-ups. At the time, I thought nothing of it–just Amy taking more care of me.

I took one last look in the mirrors as I walked out–I was fascinated by what I saw with my clothes on, too. Every bulge of my huge tits, upper arms, pot belly and lovehandles was emphasized by the tight sweatshirt, which, by the way, failed to cover the bottom part of my truck-tire lovehandles and bulging pot belly. I was distracted from watching the show put on by my watermelon buttocks when I noticed the wobbling, bouncing, and swaying of my pot belly and tits as I walked.

My thought as I left the tailor shop and waddled to me car, conscious that the different parts of my body all moved  with a life of their own, was “Wow, I must have put on 40 or 50 lbs or so since I got married.”

I got in the car and headed for home. My first thought was dinner—I remembered, tonight was lasagna and garlic bread. Amy always made me my own pan, with another pan to be shared by her and our sons. If I was lucky, there would be leftovers from that pan and I could have some extra lasagna to go with my bedtime snack. I was thinking that Amy had said she was going to bake some apple pies that day.

Suddenly, panic gripped me. Once Amy sees how fat I am, she’s going to put me on a diet for sure. Bye bye lasagna with  buttery garlic bread, and  a whole apple pie smeared with softened butter and washed down with a quart of whole milk as a bedtime snack.

Then it hit me! Amy knows I’m fat! She’s seen me get this big, and she didn’t say anything about it. I suddenly thought of all the special treats Amy had lovingly prepared for me, and how she always filled my plate with seconds and thirds before I even had a chance to ask for more. Of course, I had always eaten everything she put in front of me. I was excited to realize, “AMY LIKES ME FAT!” Then it hit me, too. What I had always seen as Amy’s luscious curvy body, which had grown bigger and bigger every year we were married, meant that she was fat, also. And, I loved it!

I arrived home, went inside, and greeted Amy with a big kiss. She returned the kiss, grabbing and caressing my soft lovehandles. I realized that she couldn’t get her arms all the way around me. My two sons grabbed onto my legs to get my attention. “C'mon Dad, let’s eat. We’re hungry!” said Johnny. “Yeah, starving”, said Robbie. I looked down at them and for the first time I really saw that they were two little butterballs, chubby cheeks, bulging bellies, and big butts. No wonder everyone always told me that they “took after” me. They’re fat, too. As Amy led me into the kitchen, I had a big smile on my face. I knew now what I hadn’t realized for past five years: “I’m FAT, and I love it. Plus, I have a beautiful fat wife and two fine fat kids. Life is great!”

I needed one more thing to make my self-realization complete. The next evening, on my way home from the deli, I stopped at the local UPS office where my buddy Joe was the manager. I greeted him and asked, “Hey, Joe, can I use your digital scale?”

“Sure, big guy, what do you need to weigh?” Joe replied.

“Well, actually, I want to check my weight”.

Joe smiled broadly as he led me into the back room and showed me the freight scale. I had to step onto the scale, and could feel everything bounce and wobble as I did so. I quickly thought of the last time I had been weighed, when I graduated from high school. “Let’s see, 217 plus 40, nah, let’s say 45, makes 262."  (Obviously, I was still in denial!)

My thoughts were interrupted when I heard Joe yell out, "WOW!” I quickly looked at the digital readout and did a double take. 419! Joe brought me out of my thoughts by saying “Hey, big guy, way to go” as he poked the front of my massive belly , setting off an earthquake of jiggles in the soft flab.

On the way home, the numbers 4, 1, and 9 went through my mind. I smiled to myself. “Yep”, I thought, “I am one big guy. Great going.” The rumbling of my stomach took my attention and brought me back to the important stuff. It was still about 45 minutes until dinner. I reached over to the passenger’s seat and opened the double-quart container of creamy, mayonnaise- laced potato salad I had brought with me when I left work. (I had already eaten the sandwiches on the way to Joe’s office.) Dinner time with Amy, Johnny, and Robbie was a while yet and I knew I couldn’t last that long without a little snack to tide me over.
























self luvin

People always ask the question: do people control their destiny or is there some form of higher power that controls everything? Through personal experience, throughout the course of 5 years I’ve learned- the only thing in life we control is what we get out of experiences that the universe puts us through. Personally I’m very lucky, I’ve never suffered. The only things that have affected my life negatively are situations I put myself through. Now, I take full responsibility for all the experiences in my life- last summer (2015) I went through a short horrible relationship with a guy and for weeks or months after it ended, I blamed him for ruining my life and who I was as a person. I told myself and my friends that he ruined me. Eventually I realized how wrong I was and accepted an apology I never received from him, it was me, just me and my fault. I’m the one who chose to be so deeply affected what he did. Theres a line in a song that goes something like “if you know you have to let go and you don’t did it really hurt you?” when we get hurt it only gets better from there you can only move forward literally- time doesn’t stop for anyone not even you or me (crazy right) this is the only September 9th, 2016 we’re ever going to get. Eventually we get over everything- time heals. New memories replace old memories and we move on and everyone knows it. The most famous quote ever is “it gets better” so why hold on to a grudge if you know you’re eventually going to let go?
      In my 7th through around 9th/10th grade I went through a really hard emotional state and I’m not sure of
the causes, I just really didn’t like who I was physically and my home life wasn’t what I thought was normal and I didn’t have many people to openly talk about my feelings because I myself didn’t even know
how to express it. So it wasn’t one thing that led me to it, it was just kind of a “when it rains, it pours” affect. I felt out of place constantly with everyone everywhere, I felt like I was not of this Earth- like I was born at the wrong place or the wrong time. My life felt meaningless and I know it seems young to feel that way but just even thinking about it right now is so vivid, I know it wasn’t just some little thing that happened to me because it really changed my life and it’s hard for me to openly talk about it sometimes because who I am right now is so different than who I was at that time. I felt resentment
against the world, all my thoughts were negative. All everyone ever wants to feel is that they’re good enough and I didn’t feel that. I got sickly here and there because of whatever was happening to me- I don’t
want to label it as depression because that word just seems too harsh and I don’t like labels and I hate when people feel bad for me. What I mean by I got sickly is there would be weeks I would only chew gum and drink water and not sleep for days. I’d have real anxiety attacks and forget how to breathe. I would put myself in circumstances that I know I would get hurt in and just wouldn’t care. I mean that
emotionally and physically- I did things that hurt my body and I was in relationships with people that I
knew didn’t really care about me, not just romantic relationships even friendships.
I remember waking up one morning and thinking, I don’t want to feel this way anymore. My mom told me to start living for Jessyka. I learned that happiness and sadness is a personal choice. Through church and learning about spirituality I went through a week period of complete euphoria. I was just so thankful
and appreciative of what I had, I even cried a couple times just because I woke up. Remembering this still gets me emotional.
      Think about every bad thing you’ve done even white lies. There’s so many universal wrongs we’ve all committed but I still wake up with clothes on my back and a roof on my head and change in my pockets and thats really enough to be happy about. The grace of the highest power thinks I deserve everything I have and even deserve love from him/her/it. I read somewhere about introspection-
self analyzing and treating. I told myself in the mirror everyday (true story) “I love you so much, you are so cute” and eventually it stuck. I am obsessed with me now! People don’t like me because I’m “cocky”
“conceited” “narcissistic” and I truly do not care because for YEARS I would’ve rather been dead but now I thank God every single day for everything ever and I think I look good. Self love is the best love believe me. I’m so blessed to have learned it at such a young age. When you’re constantly happy and positive you attract better things.
      I used to look for love so hard I was rushing to grow up but I didn’t even love myself yet, once I started falling in love with Jessyka- I found someone really special and I hope he stays around for a long long time. I didn’t have a solid group of friends until 10th grade and I’m still friends with them to this day and I would kill for them. My home life was restored about a year ago. Be grateful for what you have really, every single thing about this life is so wonderful and amazing- it brings tears to my eyes the love I have for life now. I’m glad I went through whatever this was because it turned me into the happiest person to live I swear. Take good from everything because thats all you can do and there is really good in everything. Positive attracts positive.

“Carved” Flesh wound tutorial

So a friend of mine asked me for some advice on how to do Nathan’s “loser” wound from Resident Evil 7, so I decided, well why not whip up a little tutorial while I’m at it, pictures and describtions follow bellow the cut, and with pictures I mean a lot of them, I’m trying to be explainatory here stay with me

If you’re allergic to latex this is not a good idea by the way, and if you’re not sure if you’re allergic do a small patch test before you start smearing huge amount of it on your skin, we good? Good, here we go

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