I slap the huge ass my cock is buried deep in and give one
last final pulse, shoving myself as deep as I can into him with my 9 inch dick.
The fatass lets out a moan and I grope his huge love handles, cumming at the
same time the fat pig in front of me cums. I pull myself out, hit my wet cock
against his jiggly butt, and roll him over. I fall onto his huge belly, not
even sure if he can feel my toned 160lbs resting on his close to flabby 500.
After a few moments of enjoying my personal water bed, I speak up.
“You should probably get going soon, it’s almost 2 am…” I
say, hoping he’ll ask to stay a bit longer. But, as they always do, he takes in
a deep breath and prepares to get his huge body out of bed. I help him clean
off and get dressed, and within a few minutes he’s waddling out my front door.
I watch him go down the apartment hallway, his ass jiggling like it had been in
my bed only minutes before. As he steps in the elevator, his side moob hits the
frame and sends his belly shaking. I give a casual wave and turn around to go
back into my room, but I knock into something sturdy, not really paying
attention this late at night. Instantly, I’m not surprised.
“Oh sorr- Wait! What the hell Carter, let me in my room.” I
assertively say, trying to get passed his tall, almost naked frame. I don’t
have time for his bullshit tonight. Every time I hookup with someone Carter
always pops up right after they leave, like some sort of fucking stalker. He
lives in the apartment opposite mine; I’d be more scared if he weren’t so
literally obsessed with me. I always wonder if he stands there all night
watching the peephole, waiting for me to come out. It’s fucking creepy if you
ask me. Every time I hookup he saunters out in minimal clothing and gives me a
hard time. I barely glance at his disciplined abs and bulging biceps. He’s got
a bubble butt going on, but still not even close to big enough for my tastes.
“I’ll let you go if you answer this:” Carter says, playing
coy. “You’ve had seven guys, that I know of, over in the last semester. All of
them are gigantic whales, but you
won’t even look twice at me.” He drops his voice and leans against the wall
with his dense arm just above my shoulder, trapping me. Our faces almost touch.
Despite his shit personality, he’s definitely not ugly. “What’s up with that,
Josh?” He lets my name linger on his lips. God, I wish he weren’t taller than
me. I wouldn’t consider myself short, standing at 5’10, but he’s 6’4 and all lean
muscle. There’s no way I can escape his beefy trap.
“You’re not my type, Carter. I don’t hookup with assholes.”
I aggressively explain, trying to get him to leave me alone. He smirks and half
“Apparently your ‘type’ is too fat to wipe to his own ass.
Tell me I’m wrong.” He egotistically demands. He knows he’s right, I can see
the victory in his shit colored, piercing eyes. He’s not going to budge.
“So what if I’m not as shallow as you?” I ask. “Maybe I
don’t care about body fat percentages and negative BMI’s.”
“Say it.” He whispers. “Say you like them fat.” A strand of shitty,
medium length, wavy hair falls in his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
I’m annoyed. “For christ’s sake Carter, I like fat guys. Not
gym rats who won’t take no for an answer. Now let me in my fucking room.” I shove him
off me, he doesn’t resist. “And stop watching me through your peephole, it’s
creepy as shit.” I tell him as I unlock my door.
“Like I have time for that,” Carter scoffs, watching me. “I
can hear the fatties’ footsteps from a mile away, genius.” My door won’t
unlock; god this is awkward. He can feel the tension too. “But hey, let me help
you with that, handsome.” His tone changed to something nicer. He comes behind
me, grabbing the key from my hand. He unlocks the door and squeezes my
shoulder. “Goodnight.” He says, sweetly.
“Go change your underwear, I can see the precum starting to
show through.” I say, shutting the door in his face. I bet those puppy dog eyes
would make any other man drop his boxers immediately, but I’m not falling for
it. He’ll have to gain a few hundred pound before I look twice at his twitching
The next day I go to my morning classes on campus, which is
only a few minutes’ drive away from my single bedroom apartment. Everything’s
been pretty stressful this semester, I’m really glad it’s almost over. I’ve
barely gotten to hang out with my friends lately, especially with finals week approaching.
It’s only my sophomore year as an art major, I shouldn’t be spending every
waking moment in the studio or with my head up an art history textbook.
I grab a bite to eat on campus and head over to the student
gym, looking to destress before having to write a monster essay tonight. I
change clothes, put in my earbuds, and get on a vacant treadmill. Running’s
always cleared my head, ever since I started doing cross country in junior
high. I even got pretty good at track throughout high school. I’m zoned out,
thinking about a particular race when I realize my treadmill’s going faster.
I look down and see a large hand turning my speed up. I
follow the hand up a muscled arm and a broad shoulder to a face that could
belong to a model. His soft lips are moving, but my music is too loud to hear.
I shove his hand off my settings and take out an earbud.
“What do you want now, Carter?” I ask, not really caring to
hear the answer. I don’t know if he followed me to the gym or if he just never
leaves this place.
“Besides for you to go out with me tonight? I want you to
turn your speed up, maybe even lift a little with me today. You know I could
get you stronger.” He tells me with that shit eating smile.
I turn off my treadmill. “Look,” I reiterate. “I don’t go
out with beefed up muscle jocks who stalk me. Now please, go bother any other
twink in this gym.”
He’s not giving up. He sighs, “Josh, what do I have to do to
get you to go out with me?”
I sigh. “If you really want me to go out with you, gain 50
lbs of fat. If you can get up to 230 lbs without working out, we have a date.
Until then, you leave me the fuck alone.” He thinks for a moment before opening
his dumb mouth.
“Okay, deal.” He decides, holding out his hand. I shake it,
knowing he’ll never actually go through with this.
Over the next several weeks, I don’t see Carter. Not in our
building, not in between classes, not even at the gym. I don’t hear him, I
don’t smell him, I don’t even think about him. Between trying to balance my
social life and figuring out how I’m going to get through finals, Carter
totally escapes my mind. I even have a 400 pounder come over and, for the first
time, Carter doesn’t show his creepy ass up. Maybe I had been too harsh on him,
maybe he wasn’t actually stalking me. Coincidences can happen, right?
The weather gets colder and classes come to an end. The day
after my last final I pack up a few of my things and get ready to drive home
for the 6-week long break. On my way to my car, a pillow falls out of my box of
stuff and onto the parking lot concrete.
“Here, let me get that for you,” I familiar voice calls. I
turn the other way and see Carter walking over to me. He’s got a sizable greasy
bag of fast food in one hand and a very large soda in the other. That’s really
unusual for him. Where’s his protein powder and vegetable shakes? He puts the
food down and grabs the pillow, now caked in light snow. He dusts it off and
puts it back in my box.
“Hey, thanks.” I say. “… I also wanted to apologize for
before. For being a dick and everything. I’m sure you’re not as bad as I made
you seem, so… Sorry.” I’m not the best with apologies, but I mean what I say.
“Don’t worry about it,” Carter tells me with a shit-eating
smile. “Is our deal still on?”
“What deal? OH, wait.” I remember. “Oh my god Carter, I
can’t believe you took that seriously.” This fucking boy still can only think
“Hey man, we shook on it. That makes it official.” He’s not
fazed by my annoyance. Maybe he’s just joking around. I wish I could see his
frame better, but he’s wearing a thick coat. It’d look better on him if he
gained 50 lbs, but I really hope that’s not his plan.
“Fine, you got me.” I confess. “The deal is official. I’ve
got to get going, though. Got a long drive ahead of me.” We say goodbye and he
hugs me. It wasn’t the worst hug in the world, he’s just so… stiff.
I put my things in my car and look in my rearview. I see
Carter struggling to enter our building with so much food in his beefy hands.
6 weeks later. I really needed that break. I missed a lot of
my friends and family back home, and it was great seeing all of them again. I
really enjoyed myself, not thinking about school, stress, Carter, or anything
else that’s awful.
Saying that, it all came flooding back as soon as I entered
my old apartment room. As soon as I set my stuff down on the living room floor,
I notice a photo in front of my door, as if someone had slid it under while I
was away. It’s a picture of someone looking down on a scale reading “230.2lbs”.
On the back is written “Let me know when we’re on, -Carter”. Fuck. Instantly I
feel terrible for so many reasons. This can’t be real, right? I decide to just
ignore it until it comes up again. Classes start up again tomorrow and I’m
hardly ready, anyway.
Tonight in bed I mentally go through the timeline of
everything that’s happened since we made that deal. It’s been at least two
months. Can someone even gain 50 lbs in that short of a time period? This has
to be a joke. No guy in their right mind would actually put on 50 lbs just for
some random guy like me. It just doesn’t happen. At least, I don’t think it
On Tuesday evening I’m woken from a nap by a knock on my
front door. I get off my couch and go look through the peephole to see who it
is. The guy’s tall and standing kind of close, so all I can really see is his
slight double chin and pudgy chest. I open the door, wanting to see who the
cute pudge belongs to.
“Hey there handsome, did you see the picture?” Carter asks
when I open the door.
Holy shit, though. This is definitely not the same Carter I
left behind weeks and weeks ago. This man is changed, suddenly I want to
impress him. I always knew that he’s a few years older than me, but I’ve never
felt so young. He’s still Carter, just fatter and cute as hell. Is it bulking
season, or did he do all of this for me? I’m not sure what to do in this
situation, this isn’t something they teach you to deal with in college.
“Uhhhh.. Um, yea,” I stutter. “I just didn’t believe it
until now. Here, come in.” I move to the side, welcoming him in. “Have a seat.”
I gesture towards the couch, trying not to stare.
Trying not to stare at what? Trying not to stare at his
beginner gut. It’s absolutely gorgeous in his tight blue workout tank. The
smallest sliver is poking out; I can see just a hint of a stretched out happy
trail. He may be 230lbs, but he’s also 6’4. Despite his height to fat ratio, he
carries the weight well. He heavily walks passed me and I see his beautiful ass
through his painted on light grey sweatpants. So plump, so round, so in my
living room. I can’t believe this just happened. He takes a seat and sinks into
the couch cushion, you can tell he’s not used to being chunky just yet. He puts
a stocky arm around the back of the couch and looks back at me.
“You gonna si?” He asks with those eyes that stare into my
soul. Without saying anything, I sit on the opposite end of the couch, facing
him. “So…” Carter starts, awkwardly. I realize I’m just staring at him, but I
don’t know what to say. How can you put words into your mouth when all you can
think about is putting his dick there instead?
“Soo…” I try to start. “About the date.” He’s face goes
down, like he thinks his work was all for nothing. I can tell his heart is
beating as fast as mine. Do I feel like how I make him feel? Is this always how
it’s been for him? “How about right now?” I ask, nervously. I can’t stop
glancing down as that sliver of belly peeking out at me.
“Hmm, right now?” He’s smiling. “I dunno, I’m kind of
hungry..” He puts a hand on his modest gut and sends it shaking. Two months ago
there were thick abs there.
“Oh yea? Hungry for what?” I ask, ready for whatever he has
“Mmmm, I dunno. Maybe some cookies, maybe some pizza… maybe
some cock.” He explains, sending shivers down my spine. I think this is how
every other man on earth reacted to him when he was nothing but muscle. I
definitely see the appeal of him now, it’s obvious why he was so full of
himself. I wonder if his sharp jawline brought the same reaction out of others
that his now almost double chin is bringing out of me.
“I’ll order you a pizza,” I barter, scooting close to him.
“If I get to take this off of you,” I say, pulling at his shirt. “It’s getting
a little tight, don’t you think?”
He’s smiling like a dork- his cheeks have the slightest
amount of fat in them. “I’ve got Pizza Hut on speed dial, I’ll take care of the
pizza if you take care of the rest.” He negotiates. I nod in agreement.
After he’s done ordering a large meat-lovers and a two
liter, I tug his shirt off. He’s flabby as all hell. I run my hands over him as
I press my face against his. His tongue plays with mine, like he knows he’s
wanted this for so long. I fee his flab, all of it. I make sure that not a
single pound goes unnoticed. Before long the pizza’s here, and I send Carter
off to the bedroom. When I step in the room, he’s naked with his chubby legs
crossed. Saving the best for last, I guess. I take my clothes off and get on
top of him, my hard cock pressing into his fat gut. I feed him slice after
slice of greasy pizza, making sure he eats the crust. No calories wasted, not
when you’ve got someone this beautiful to feed. His greedy mouth opens for each
bite, waiting to have food shoved in him. He’s too good at this, I know he has
to be into it too. When he’s eaten all of the pizza and drunken most of the
soda, I pick up stray pizza sausage and throw the last bits into his mouth and
kiss him long and hard. He tastes like grease; he tastes like greed. I sit back
on his lap and feel his boner poking at my defined ass. I lay down next to him,
feeling his fatter sides already starting to mold into my thin frame. I grab
his cock and go to work, and he does the same for me. I can feel his whole body
jiggling with each stroke. I kiss him, feeling his thick neck shake from the
movement below. Soon, we cum at the same time.
Half an hour later we’re still in bed, my head laying on his
puffy chest. We haven’t said a word. It’s not late, and I’m not tired, but I am
dozing in and out of sleep. I decide to ask before he decides to leave.
“So…” I start, awkwardly. “You actually did it. You actually
Carter takes a beat. “If you can even call me fat yet, yea I
guess. I just knew that I wanted you, and that I was tired of going to the gym
all the time. I was thinking about becoming a personal trainer, but I hated the
thought of making other people fit all the time when I want to look like… Well,
like this.” He lets his hand fall on his gut and my head bobs on his chest. “If
you weren’t into it, I was just going to play it off as a hardcore bulk.”
“I definitely am into it.” I tell him, genuinely. “Also, if
you ever want to go on an actual date, I think I might like that.” I don’t
usually fall for guys, but this fat boy is getting to me. Maybe it’s just
pillow talk, but I think I might like him.
“Yeah, I think I might like that too.” He says, and pulls me
We spend the rest of the night together, not saying much.
It’s nice to just be with him. Before bed I feed him some oreos and milk, which
he happily devours. The tubby man can eat like a horse. I don’t ask him to stay
the night, but I don’t need to. I fall asleep in his still strong arms.
That Friday, we have our first
date. I haven’t seen him since that night we spent together. It’s only been a
few days, but being away from him has given me some clarity. As much as I hate
to admit it: I have a crush. It’s official. I can’t get him out of my mind. Not
when I’m in class, not when I’m working out, not even when I’m with my friends.
It goes without saying that I’ve been looking forward to this date since the
second he left my apartment.
It’s Friday and I haven’t seen Josh in days. After months of
chasing after him, giving him my all, and gaining 55lbs, we finally fucked.
Four times. In one night. I’ve never chased after someone like how I chased
after him. No matter what I tried, though, he always got pissed off at me for
no real reason. I never cared though, I just tried to show him that I’m not as horrible
as he thinks. I wish I knew why he always thought I was stalking him. We live
right across from each other, went to the same university, and worked out at the
same gym. I didn’t think it was a crime to say hello.
Maybe I did go overboard, though. Sometimes, he’d hookup
with these gargantuan men. My temper would get the best of me, especially when
it was late. Not gonna lie, I was always jealous of those men. They don’t care
what size they are, they’re fat and getting fucked by Josh. There’s not more
that you could want. At least, there’s not more that I could want. I don’t like
to talk about it, but I’ve always wanted to let go and be fat. I fucking love
My friends have been concerned, but I tell them I’m just
doing a long bulk. I think they see through the bullshit. I used to work out
seven days a week, and that’s completely stopped. Before the deal, I can’t
remember the last time I had eaten more than 2000 calories in a day. Small
portions of grilled chicken salads were replaced with double quarter pounders
and dozens of donuts. I think the last time I drank water was a few weeks ago.
At first my body rejected soda, but now I can’t start my day without a bottle
or two of coke. I received a glass dessert display for a Christmas gift a few
years ago, but it hadn’t seen much action until the past few months. I forgot I
had a sweet tooth. I know if I want to stuff more in me, I can always handle
more sweet shit.
As I shower, I think about the way Josh smiles. I think
about how one side of his face lifts slightly higher than the other and how I
fall for it every time. I can’t stop playing the moment of when he first saw me
after break, dozens of pounds heavier. The shock in his dark eyes, the obvious
hard-on in his shorts. I knew he wanted me, and I wanted him like never before.
As I lather my body, I realize how utterly fat I’ve gotten over the past two
months. Instantly my cock gets hard, but it doesn’t reach the height that it
used to reach. There’s too much fat blocking it. I run my hands over my chest
and feel it bounce. Deep down I know I want it bigger, I want all of it bigger.
I’ve been stuffing myself since the day Josh and I made that deal. I haven’t
even worked out, and it shows. My legs aren’t toned, my arms are getting
flabby, and my chest is looking more feminine every day.
I dry off and grab a pair of jeans. 36’s and they’re skin
tight. I suck in my gut to button them, and it hurts when they finally latch. I
put on a white undershirt, knowing that my fat is going to strain the buttons
on the size large black button up I’m putting on. Should I wear a bowtie? No,
that worked when I was slim, but not anymore. I grab my belt and put it on, but
realize I can’t it to reach where it’ll fasten. Fuck. I knew I should’ve bought
a bigger one, but I was too busy jerking off and eating Burger King. What about
suspenders? No, there’s no way I can tuck in this shirt. Maybe soon my belly
will hide my straining pant button, but not yet. I’ll just have to deal with
it. I do my hair casually messy in the mirror. I’m still hot as fuck, if you
ask me. Just chubby now. Hopefully Josh will be impressed with the tight
clothes, I think to myself. I can’t lose him this early in.
At 7pm I make the short walk to his door, wishing that it
were colder out tonight. Maybe I could wear a jacket and hide the tight shirt,
but that’s not really an option. I knock on the door and Josh quickly answers.
He looks adorable in a well-fitting cardigan and black skinny jeans, the kind
of jeans I used to wear. As soon as he sees me he pushes his cute glasses up
and takes a moment. “Hey,” I say with a smile. I want him to feel comfortable
“Hey.” He says, like he’s not
sure what to do. He’s eying me up and down and trying to hold back a smile. He
bites his lip, I step closer.
Carter steps closer to me and I basically lose control. I
swear he looks fatter than he did days ago, but maybe it’s just the tight shirt
he’s wearing. I wish he weren’t wearing an undershirt, though. Belly peeking
through buttons is always a plus. Not to mention that he’s not wearing a belt.
I can’t tell if it’s because his jeans are so tight that he doesn’t need one,
or if he outgrew his biggest. Despite that, and despite my horniness, I really
am glad to see him. That’s why as soon as things get awkward I wrap my arms
around him and hug him like a child. I don’t want him to see how he makes me
smile an idiot’s smile.
He takes me out to his car, a big truck. I don’t know much
about cars, but I know that this is a very douchy truck. Not surprising, but I’m
trying to not be judgmental. Conversation with him gets a lot more comfortable
as he drives, we actually have a lot in common. Apparently he started out as an
art major, too, before his parents pressured him to switch to finance. It
surprises me that (ex) Big Dumb Muscle Jock Carter from across the hall
actually has a personality, completed with actual emotions.
We arrive at this fancy Brazilian meat restaurant. Carter
says that you pay at the beginning and servers walk around you all night
offering you different meats. I can’t eat that much but it sounds like the
perfect place for him.
Carter pays for me at the beginning, and I’m so thankful.
This place is expensive as hell. I ask him if he’d rather go somewhere more
affordable, but he says he doesn’t mind. Over dinner, Carter makes sure to say
yes to whatever sample of meat is brought to him. 20 minutes in and he’s
already covered in exotic barbeque sauce and straining his shirt beyond its
“You might wanna slow down there,” I tell him. “It looks
like that shirt might burst.”
“Oh what? You mean like this?” He asks playfully and sits
up. He leans over a bit and the second to bottom black button flies off and slides
under a table across from us. A few of the men look at us before realizing what
happened. I can’t help but laugh. His gut shook for a solid 5 seconds after the
button pop. I don’t think this kind of thing usually happens at upscale places,
but nobody seems to care.
Conversation continues, and I
find out that Carter actually just graduated a semester early with a degree in
finance. He recently got a job as an accountant at a law firm, which I guess
explains how he can afford this dinner. It’s actually nice getting to know the
man behind the musc- well, fat. There’s a lot more to him than I thought. He
even compliments the paintings he’s seen in my apartment. I don’t tell him that
I painted them, but I do note that he likes them.
I’m getting painfully full as I finish telling Josh about my
new job. He really is everything I thought he’d be. He even laughed when I
accidentally popped a shirt button from stuffing myself too much.
Speaking of stuffing myself, my pants are really tight. I
can’t go on much longer, and I just grabbed a large plate of lamb. I wipe my
hands off and, while Josh is talking, subtly reach down under my gut and play
with my button until it pops open. My stuffed gut releases itself and I let out
a deep breath of relief. Josh looks at me and then looks to the side. He
casually covers his mouth, but I know he’s grinning. I think he thinks he hides
it well, but his eyes give his smile away. Just for him, I grab a plate of
thick sausages from a passing waiter.
That date ended in a lot more food, and a lot of fucking. The
entire weekend went the same way. Pretty much every weekend since then has,
which hasn’t been the best for work. I try to find a good balance between
hanging with my new coworkers and being with Josh, but my appetite always
pushed me towards Josh. It shows, too. It’s only been a couple more months but
damn I’m getting big. I actually have an overhang now, and a real double chin.
I get so fucking out of breath, though. We only live on the second floor but I haven’t
taken the stairs in so long. Not to mention that it’s getting hot outside. I
didn’t know I could sweat this much. Did you know that fat guys sweat under their
moobs? Also in between our fat rolls. It’s fucking ridiculous. I can’t tell if
267lbs is worth all this effort. It’s getting hard motivating myself to get up
and go to work now, when all I really want to do is eat, fuck, jerk off, and
I had to buy all new clothes when I hit 240. None of the
larges were even close to buttoning, and neither were my pants. I’m glad nobody
at work knows that 6 months ago I was body building, but they have noticed that
I’ve put on some weight. One day, after a particularly big company lunch, I sat
down in my office chair and my ass seam ripped all the way down. I had one of
my buddies who, lives in my apartments, bring me another pair, which were
equally as tight. I’m just glad I can hide my unbuttoned pants with my belly
now. There’s not much I can do about shirts that always fucking ride up,
though. I feel like a bloated balloon. A really fat balloon that can’t stop
eating and is scared he’s gonna break his desk chair.
Josh fucking loves it though. He eats this shit up like how
I eat cake. It’s like I’m getting addicted to fat and sugar, and I think I like
it. Sometimes, especially when I’m really full, I’ll just eat more instead of
fucking. I’ve been getting more fun out of it, and I can eat so much. I’ve been
tracking my calories and usually I don’t eat less than 5,500 a day. I’m used to
it; I’ve gotten used to the feeling of always wanting more. I think Josh is
getting used to it, too. His favorite thing to do lately is to shove my man
boobs together and try to fuck them. They’re not there yet, but I think they
will be soon. He’ll fuck any part of me, any part that’s fat. Especially my
ass. The other day he told me that my ass cheeks are getting to the size of my
belly when I was 230. I almost came right there.
I’ve been gaining really fucking
fast. I don’t know if I like it, and last night I brought it up with Josh
before we went to get food. I told him I wanted to slow it down, but it was
obvious he wanted the opposite. He told me that if I gain 40 more pounds by the
end of his semester he’ll be my boyfriend. We never became official, and
usually I don’t give a shit about that, but this is different. I’ve told him
what I want before, but he has commitment issues. If I ever want this to turn
into something other than weekend stuffings, I know what I gotta do.
It’ll be a lot easier now,
considering what happened after that conversation.
Last night I went over to Carter’s place, as I usually do,
but he seemed down. Laying on his bed, shirtless and rubbing his basketball
sized gut, I assumed he was hungry. But he actually said that he’s been wanting
to gain slower, or even stop. He looked so cute and innocent laying on the bed
with those fat cheeks that I almost said okay, but in all honesty he’s still
pretty skinny in my book. If he wants to be with me, like for real, he’ll have
to be bigger. I think he’ll like it, I really do. I’m just not really into relationships.
I’ve got way too much other stuff on my plate, and he’s still pressuring me to
be with him full time. At the same time, though, he has gained a lot for me.
Not to mention we do have fun when we’re together. We’ve only argued once since
we’ve been together, and that was over which fried chicken place we should go
I told him that if he really wants to be with me, he’d have
to gain 40 lbs in two months. If he can do it, I think I’ll know he’s worth
getting tied down for. We even shook on it.
After that conversation, shit hit the fan.
We were in Carter’s truck on our way to this new Korean buffet
his work friends told him about. He looked really good, at least by my
standards. I’ve gotten so used to seeing him in tight, stained old shirts and
small sweatpants he’s too lazy to get rid of, that him wearing pants and a
dress shirt was basically shocking. He did look really handsome, his thick neck
taking up his collar, the way his fat ass and thighs filled out those pants. It’s
hard to believe that he almost became a personal trainer. I love the chubby,
studly Carter much more than the muscled up asshole I once knew him to be.
We were having our usual conversation, talking about what he’s
going to eat for me after the Korean buffet, when we passed a four-way
intersection. Some drunk asshole ran his light and Carter, preoccupied with
thinking about food, didn’t notice. Luckily he’s okay, kind of. His hip was
shattered in the wreck and has been in and out of surgery since. He’s stable
now, but everyone is still on edge. Carter’s dad came to see him in the
hospital for their first time in months. He barely recognized Carter at first.
One of the doctors told him that I’m Carter’s friend, and his dad came to talk
to me. He looks a lot like how Carter did when he was fit, just an older
version. He asked about the weight gain and the accident, and I lied my ass
off. Hopefully it’ll all get sorted out soon.
It’s been a long 24 hours.
I hope you all liked part 1! If this gets over 160 notes I’ll write a part 2. And, as usual, feel free to message me with any suggestions, comments, or questions!
My friends i can finally present to you Gaster official design for the Playertale AU from the wonderfull game of Undertale !
I havent (just as to every character from the AU) gaved Gaster his own name, and i am still hard working on his character in itself. I just had to give this picture out and make you aware, that Playertale is alive and kicking ! Also i had and awesome idea of an design and i just had to share.
*Added Information concerning Gaster* - There will be a additional reference picture - just like with all the characters - containing information and some specific personal information, hints and the current status of Gaster in the Playertale AU. Thank you all, sorry for me being stupid and forgetting to ADD THIS ! - Also Gaster in this AU does exist not in the Void, but in the empty space between universes, A.K.A. in the dark space of the Multiverse. - He IS the father of Sans and Papyrus from his own universe - He IS/WAS a being of the Void - Gaster breaks the 4th wall speaking with the reader directly, existing as a provider (for better understanding, i add some picture) - For the readers mind isnt using his secret language of Wing-Ding, but he does use it for anyone else
Hey. I'm having a bit of a panic attack right now, if you could provide something short about Prince comforting Anx, I would be everlastingly grateful.
*Oh anon I’m so sorry, I really hope it passes quickly*
Prince often thought of Anxiety. He thought of him on purpose, and he thought of him on accident.
He would think about what the other was doing, or where he was. He often would get distracted because he caught sight of something that made him think of his lover.
Even before they were together, Prince realized one day, he thought of Anxiety very often.
Anxiety was counted among the many blessings in Prince’s life.
Even now, when Prince was holding the quivering other in his arms, did Prince feel this way.
He cared for Anxiety, no matter what.
“Today I saw a crow,” Prince whispered, “Did you know they’re actually really intelligent? He reminded me of you,” Prince kept talking about the crow in the park, attempting to distract Anxiety from his mental pain.
“This crow was flying all over the park, back and forth, back and forth, for well over two hours. I couldn’t figure out what it was he was doing.” Anxiety remained with his face buried, but his shivering had subsided, “Finally, I got up to follow him. When he came back across the park, I ran with him to the other side.” Prince chuckled, “He was very intelligent.”
“The crow was cleaning up litter that had been washed up by the river. Piece by tiny piece, the crow was picking it up with his beak, flying across the park to dump it in the trash, and coming back to do it again.”
“When it saw me, it stopped with a lit cigarette butt in it’s mouth,” He laughed, “I’ll have to show you the picture sometime. When I slowly bent down and began picking up some trash, it watched for a little while longer before accepting my help. Together, we cleaned the riverside. All afternoon, we worked and worked and worked. Until finally, it was done.”
“The rocks were clean of bags and cigarettes, and food, and all things that don’t belong. It was so beautiful.”
“Then, the crow flew off into the tree, where I noticed a nest sat alone in forked branches, two young crows peaking out.”
“Why does it remind you of me?” Anxiety whispered.
“Because,” Prince shifted so Anxiety sat properly in his lap, “Most people only see crows as they are and what they’re told of them- “Like the man who sat in Prince’s lap “-I got to see a whole nother side.” Exactly like Anxiety.
Can you do #72 and #87 for Montgomery De La Cruz ?
Here it is! Sorry I haven’t posted in awhile. I started my internship last week, which takes up a lot of my time, and I have other personal stuff going on, then I got sick, so things have been crazy lately. But I’m going to try to get back on track with getting these drabbles posted. Thank you bbs for being so patient with me <3
72. Are you really taking his side right now?
87. You gave me a black eye.
“Are you really taking his side right now?” Clay looks at his sister incredulously, his mouth almost gaping open.
She’s standing in the school’s courtyard between her brother and Monty while Tyler wipes blood from his nose. The fight happened before she walked by, but from the looks of the aftermath she can guess what started it and how it ended.
“I’m not the one in the wrong here!” Monty yells, throwing his hands up in agitation.
“You gave me a black eye!” Tyler yells back. His right eye is in fact bruising and swelling in a grotesque way. Monty really did a number on him.
“Well maybe you shouldn’t be taking pictures of people without their consent” she snaps at Tyler, her eyes narrowing.
The other night she had left her window open while she was changing. She almost always remembers to shut the blinds, but for some reason it had slipped her mind. Unlucky for her, a certain someone with a camera happened to be lurking outside at just that moment. Unlucky for Tyler, a certain low-key hookup happened to notice him leaving the premises. Judging by the situation at hand, Tyler must have gotten some pretty good (or bad, depending on how you fit into this scenario) shots like she and Monty and suspected.
“You were taking pictures of my sister?!” Clay interjects, turning his attention towards Tyler now. He didn’t know Tyler had been creeping outside of his house. He also didn’t know that his sister was sleeping with Montgomery De La Cruz, resident douchebag.
“Why is Montgomery even involved?” Tyler directs the attention back towards Monty, looking at him oddly.
“Yeah, why do you care?” Clay asks, his face confused. As far as he knew this literally had nothing to do with Monty.
“Hi, hey, hello, why don’t we focus on the real issue here,” she waves her hands to attract their attention towards her and away from Monty, “Tyler, give me the memory card, and if you ever try taking pictures of me again I’ll kick your ass myself.”
She outstretches her hand for Tyler to drop the card into, which he does before quickly gathering his belongings and taking off. She meant what she said and Tyler knew it. She was most definitely capable of kicking someone’s ass, and in that way she was a lot different than her younger brother. She’s smart like Clay and kind, but she’s also aggressive and impulsive. In that way she can relate to Monty.
“So, I’m just wondering, but when did you become my sister’s keeper?” Clay arches an eyebrow at Monty, his arms crossing over his chest. He didn’t know they were ‘friends’, or that they had even ever spoken to each other for that matter.
“Hes’ not,” she snaps before Monty gets a chance to open his mouth, “I’ll see you at home, Clay.”
She walks away from them, hoping that that’s the end of it. The last two things she needs are pictures of her in her underwear circulating around the school and her brother finding about her and Monty. It was sweet of Monty to defend her, if that what’s you want to call it, but it attracted attention, and she didn’t want that. Nobody could know.
“What, not even a ‘thank you’ for saving your ass?” Monty grabs her arm lightly, stopping her from walking any further.
“Thanks for wrecking Tyler’s face? Thanks for almost blowing our cover? I’m sure Clay is gonna have a lot of questions when I see him at home later,” she yanks her arm back.
“I had to do something. You know what would happen if those got out. People would have a lot to say about it,” Monty looks at her with wide eyes, his mouth set in a hard line. He thought she would be at least relieved that the pictures had gotten out. He also doesn’t like the idea of anyone else seeing her like that. He likes having something that no one else can have. Something for his eyes only.
“Yeah, people like you. Had it been anyone but me you would’ve been making crude comments the moment you saw them. Why don’t you think about that,” she shakes her head, leaving him to ruminate with her parting words.
He watches her walk away, the heat of frustration blossoming in his chest. He wants to hit something, but there’s nothing suitable within reach. She’s right, and he hates it. He’d be one of the first to jump all over pictures like that and make many crass jokes. It’s not a surprise she wants to keep him a secret. He’s got a long way to go before anyone would have the nerve to pair their name with his.
Three things happen when Harvey Specter gets stoned; he loses his inhibitions, becomes very touchy feely and lastly, he gets super horny. As a rule, he doesn’t get stoned. But Harvey trusts Mike, and the kids Grammy just died, so he lights the damn joint and smokes up, in a show of support.
Mike has a colourful history with weed, so when he gets stoned, he still gets high, still gets horny and giggles his ass off and maybe gets a little clumsy, but because of his eidetic memory, he can mostly still function as an average human.
It’s Harvey that brings up pissing in somebody’s office, and Mike is delighted. Stoned Harvey is life, and Mike can’t get enough of him, he thinks this might have been what Harvey was like back in college because he looks and acts so boyishly, a broad grin lighting up his face. They come up with a plan of attack on Hardman, and Mike volunteers to down the Gatorade.
On their way to the firm, Harvey pulls and pushes Mike around like he’s a toddler, he even reaches across in the cab and fastens his seatbelt. Mike thinks it’s weird and it must show on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Harvey asks, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
“Nothing really, you’re just super tactile and very DIY when you’re stoned,” he answered, watching Harvey closely.
Harvey started laughing, and those four perfect creases at the corner of each eye that Mike loves, appear.
“You’re right, that’s pretty much my M.O. when I’m high,” he replied, as he reached over and ruffled Mike’s hair.
To say even the simplest “I like you” (but not “I love you”), we need to change the syntax of the sentence. It’s not “I”, who is the subject, but “you”, or anything that is liked. So the most literal meaning of the Russian phrase “I like you”, which is “ты мне нравишься” is “you are liked by me”, though this “by me” formula usually works for Instrumental case. It may seem unusual for the English language, but German, for example, (and I’m sure many other languages) also has “du gefällt mir” (I like you) which is absolutely the same as in Russian. Here I’ve already tried to explain a bit the function of the Dative case, and I think it requires a little bit more commentary, especially about the personal pronoun constructions like “ты мне нравишься”.
Some of the phrases can be only learned. If you don’t know that “I like *anything*” should be said this particular way, there’s a small chance you can make it up correctly yourself.
But it’s easier with, for example, expressing feelings. When you’re about to say “I feel bad” or “I feel great” or “I feel ashamed”, “I feel bored”, then in Russian it’s most likely “мне плохо”/”мне хорошо”/”мне стыдно”/”мне скучно”. It would not be the Russian language if there were no exceptions, but it’s very common anyway. For example, you can’t say “I feel humiliated” or “I feel happy” the same way in Russian, because these two words are different parts of speech. “мне…” only works with adverbs. In Russian “bored” and “ashamed” are adverbs. And “humiliated” or “happy” are not. For this case, we have “Я чувствую себя” (I feel), but this one requires one more post, so I won’t tackle it now. In conclusion, if you can express your feeling with an adverb, use “мне…” construction, don’t say “я чувствую холод”, say “мне холодно”, because the first one sounds like “I feel the coldness” instead of “I’m cold”. The same is about the other personal pronouns of the Dative case - тебе, ей, ему, нам, вам, им.
One more interesting way we use them in modern Russian. First of all, “Она дала ему книгу” - “She gave him a book” - a typical Dative case example, where he is a recipient, so we change he into him - он into ему. “Она посмотрела ему в глаза” - “She looked him in the eye” - It’s also Dative, the same pronouns as in the first example in both languages. And while for English it’s not very common to speak such constructions, in Russian it’s absolutely ok to say “Она дала книгу ему в руки” (she gave the book him in the hands) or “Она ударила ему в нос” (she punched him in the nose”, though it’s also possible to say “она ударила его…” with Accusative. Ты наступил мне на ногу - You stepped me on the foot Мы сломали ему жизнь - We ruined him the life In all the examples the subject does something with a part of a recipient, whether it’s a body part or something that belongs to them. ”Они написали картину ему на день рождения” - they painted a picture [for] him for the birthday instead of “for his birthday”. This picture is for him, it belongs to him. Я приготовила суп тебе на ужин - I cooked a soup [for] you for the dinner. This soup is cooked for him, it’s “his” soup, though we don’t say it this way. Russians don’t use “my”, “yours”, “his” possessive pronouns as much as English speakers do, we more often say nothing or use a Dative personal pronoun.
“You like to comb my hair”. According to what has been said, the best translation for this phrase would be “Тебе нравится причёсывать мне волосы”.
The boy who sits next to me in math class, known for his love of partying and use of drugs, draws the most beautiful drawings in the margins of his homework. Pictures of flowers curling around radical signs and fire that swirls until the words are no longer legible. He sits in a lower level math class as if he belongs there but he can help me with the most complex problems when I am struggling. He does it without complaint. He shows me his pictures as he explains what he was trying to do, shyly as if he is not aware of his talent.
The girl who usually rolls in late on a Monday morning after a weekend of drinking too much and kissing too many, is the greatest listener. She smiles at me and laughs brightly, her mouth stained with liquor and regret. Her lopsided smile tells the story of the boys who treated her wrong, the bruises they left her not evident on her skin but in the way she is hesitant, always trying to avoid getting hurt but never getting far. She pauses too long before answering questions about her life in order to figure out the best way to present herself.
The girl who is my lab partner in chemistry, who patiently goes through the instructions with me every time when I am lost, helping me when I make mistakes with a positive attitude, never scolding me, has to take daily anxiety medicine to keep her under control. She helped me choose my schedule for senior year as I panicked in class. My hands shaking against my jeans and my teeth biting into my lower lip as she whispered to me the best techniques to stay calm.
The nerdy boy who helped me pass Algebra last year works 30 hours a week only to come home to an unwelcoming house. The school jokes about how he can wear a different Star Wars shirt everyday for two weeks without ever repeating an outfit but he uses them to cover up the bruises on his arm. He smiles shyly to disguise his chip tooth given to him too many years and too many incidents ago for him to truly remember what caused the fight.
The heartbreaking girl on the school newspaper came after me when she saw me leave lunch half in tears. She sat with me for close to an hour as she listened to my story and she filled the silences with her own. Not of the hearts she has broken but of the damages done to her own. She held a paper towel to my red face as she told me words of encouragement with a sympathetic look on her face. She sat me on the ground as she redid my makeup, she knew exactly how to hide the evidence of my meltdown.
I'm like 90% sure the clothes Luke is wearing at the end of ANH are borrowed from Han? They fit him oddly well if that's the case though.
Haha I mentioned that possibility to my mom and I was like “…Y'know they probably had to hem those pants for Luke”.
I saw someone’s what-if post once where the yellow jacket belonged to Biggs but that is ALL KINDS OF NOPE. THAT’S TOO MANY FEELS.
But see, now I’m imagining the pilots doing what my sophomore dorm hall did one year when a girl didn’t have an outfit for formal. We propelled her up and down the hall yelling “Clothes shopping! Where are our fairy godmothers!” And like six girls threw together stuff from their closets to make an outfit for her.
So now I’m picturing the pilots digging through their stuff like “does this fit Luke?”
“No, dude, your stuff is too big on me! No way it’s gonna fit the new kid!”
“Hey guys, these boots will work!”
“BUT I’M STILL WEARING THEM!”
Some of you may have complained of reposts recently, or seen people complaining about it on their dash. I know I have both complained and seen other doing it too, so it’s got me thinking. Maybe some people just don’t know how to spot a repost.
Regardless of your opinion on it, I thought it’s always good to know more about stuff, so here’s a little “how to”. Sorry if it looks horrible, I’m not skilled in photoshop writing and stuff. I love fushia.
So. first thing.
A repost is someone making an original post using a picture they saved on their computer that was edited or made by another person. How you may know it’s the case when you see it? Easy, if the reposter didnt take the time to remove the watermark of the original creator.
Here, I “reposted” a picture edited by the ever so lovely Duskybatfishgirl:
So here, the source (me) is not matching the watermark on the picture (Dusky). It means I saved dusky’s pic on my computer and made a new post with it. It means Dusky will not have credit for her edit, nor the notes. I’m the person who will get the notes. Sucks for Dusky, eh? (don’t worry, she gave me permission, but I also deleted it right after capturing the screenshot)
Second thing: “But,” you’ll ask me “what if theres no source next to the tags, like on your picture down there, Luna?”
If there’s a watermark but no source, like it does on my edit here, the name of the watermark should match the very first person on the list of notes of the post. Here is an example:
If there’s a match, like in this case, it’s an original post made by the creator of the edit (me), and all the notes “belong” to that person (me again.yay!). If they don’t match, it’s a repost.
Simple as that.
Don’t worry about how long it’s going to take to verify this, notes on reposts are normally below 100, so it goes rather quickly.
I have been working on this since yesterday when I read a great fanfiction by @scifellhell, a story that revolves around Scifell in a school setting.
I couldn’t help myself.
I just had to.
This is only part one of two, the Tumblr has a limit on how many pictures you can put in a single post, sorry about that. (^^“)
Just two parts, mostly because I feel kind of bad for illustrating a story that doesn’t belong to me, and I wouldn’t want to displease the original great author who made it. Also, because I’m starting school again this Thursday, and I wouldn’t be able to post more comic versions of the story even if I wanted to. It’s a lot of work, even without using color!
But right now, I’m happy with this. Because I love drawing comics. It’s my absolute favorite thing to do. I enjoy myself too much when it comes to doing something I like doing.
Also. It’s Scifell.
Did I ever mention that I absolutely LOVE Scifell?
If Auriana does have 32 biological sisters. It means that triplets or more runs in the family or in Voltan people. It might be possible. For me in this picture I can see like two sets of twins ( fraternal twins ) and I think her parents married young. I mean look at the mother, she seems young like late 20s, early 30s or mid 30s during this flashbacks in the S2 E14.
Holy shit why do you all like me so much it confuses me. I mean you’re all amazing people, but I’m surprised you guys like me this much. You are so amazing,kind ,accepting I got to meet so many wonderful people it’s great honestly to be here.
@jay-does-art , @jazminerodriguez0813 , @jcpearsall18 , @weird-lil-cloud , @undertalefan1111 , @xxpurplesketchxx and so many others that I don’t have the time to tag but ,thank you you all do really make my day whenever. I come on rp , chat or post art ,here and there so yeah thanks to you all for being my friends and such kind people!
Also second picture belongs to my good friend @jay-does-art her character Sy (used it for my main reaction lol)
Now time to hide in my corner and be flustered and confused on why so many like me and I had to put this in while I have a tiny bit of spare time.
Nanowrimo is upon us, and we all know what that means. Frantically scribbling down words, trying to reach that all important word count. But just hitting the word count isn’t enough for a lot of us: we want those words to matter, to form at least part of a novel. As many of you are familiar, there are two basic categories that we put writers. “Planners” and “Pantsters.” A planner is someone (me) who has to fully plan out a piece before writing it. A pantster is someone who does no planning at all before sitting down at the blank page.
While I don’t discredit the value of pantsing, when it comes to longer pieces of fiction, I highly highly recommend some sort of planning. While it is possible to pants a whole novel length work, often times is it not only frustrating but it requires at least double the editing that a planned novel requires. I encourage you to at least try being a hybrid writer. Try to incorporate a little of both in your style.
And here’s the great thing about the 10 step guide I’m going to show you. You can pick and choose the steps that work for you. You don’t have to do them all, and you don’t have to do them in order. And if you’re a pantster, you can do these steps as you go. But planning your piece immensely helps with creating deep, complex characters, a continuous and engaging plot, a rich and diverse world, and an intricate web of interesting subplots. You don’t even have to use this method. There are plenty of writing tools online that will help you with planning your novel. What I am going to show you is called the Snowflake method, originally coined by Randy Ingermason, but I’ve modified it a bit to be the most helpful to me. The best part is, if you do all these steps you will also have all the pieces for any type of Proposal an agent could request.