Babe, the doctor said I needed an extra pillow to use when I sleep. That's why I need you to gain 100lbs. You do want to help me sleep better, don't you? 🥺
The Trump administration is cynically exploiting calls for stricter AI regulation to pass broad censorship measures at the federal level.
So, in terrible news, Trump's trying to pull some strings to pass this massive internet censorship bill, featuring all the kinds of internet censorship we're terrified of, including mandatory ID for accessing basically any website, specifically to crush state regulation of AI, because apparently this man will always see the moral bottom of the barrel and start digging.
So, if you live in the US and hate censorship and AI you know what to do, contact your congresspeople and tell them do not fucking dare let this through or so help us god...
IMPORTANT UPDATE: The bastards just worked out a deal on the package, and they're going to try and ram it through the House in the next couple of weeks.
So, if you've been waiting to call, the time is NOW. Do it ASAP, be polite, be informed, but light up those phones like a Christmas tree!
Cannot stop thinking abt feedee Wesker with a supportive s/o hhhhhh
Feels like I’m brain is rotting out of my skull atp <\3 there’s a criminal lack of writing about fat Wesker
he'd be absolutely hopeless, any semblance of moderation would be out the window. once his guard is down and he gets caught horking down a tastykake with that dopey look on his face, it's all over. fresh doughnuts in the morning, takeout and big gulps at lunch; and how could you forget the third helpings of dinner followed by a lavish, sickly sweet dessert. it'd be a miracle if he didn't completely outgrow his work shirt by the end of the month. he'd be too embarrassed to acknowledge the soft fat piling onto his love handles, but completely unable to help himself from accepting every little morsel put in front of him.
how could anyone help themselves from enabling his appetite? what a delicious secret, that albert wesker, the epitome of perfectly calculated, groomed, and disciplined- purred like a fat little kittycat when he ate. that when he does, a flush creeps up his neck and across his cheeks. patchy and warm, kissing his ears with such ferocity they nearly glow. that when he feels assured he is alone, he does not eat, he scarfs, and with the stomach capacity of a cement truck.
and so, when this facade is finally cracked, it breaks like a dam. ice cream portions starting at a half gallon tub, a dozen doughnuts in one sitting, innocent taste tests turning into the annihilation of an entire bowl of batter. if he can fit it in his mouth, he'll eat it- and eat it until there's nothing left. i can't imagine you'd be stupid enough to think the discomfort of overeating to be a deterrent; far from it. greedy little kitty gorges himself purely for the love of the game. he's simply enamored with every sensation of eating, and the overfull bloat satisfies him nearly as much as the fat and sugar on his tongue does.
boy, does it not spare his waistline. that svelte figure does not grace him naturally. each individual cookie and chocolate nearly fattens him before your very eyes. it gathers healthily on his lower stomach and hips, to say nothing of the way his face fills out almost immediately. the chubby cheeks and adorable lard collar of a neck suit him far better than he would've ever expected. he stores his fat almost entirely subcutaneously, leaving each new inch of him butter soft. harsh angles smooth into pillowy curves; the softness that lay inside him, previously hidden and undisturbed, now physically manifested for all to see.
while he wishes he could say he hates it, he simply cannot. it feels so, so good. it feels good to eat with joyous abandon, fill himself with warm delicacies and revel in the way they coat his mouth and tame his stomach. he loves the tug on his waist when he attempts to buckle his belt, the resistance against his middle when he tries slipping into a turtleneck. it's warm, and soft, and homey- and christ, is it hot. he had always known something about the idea of bigger, more, was appealing to him in a way nothing else ever was. dark glasses hiding the flicker in his eyes whenever words like "fattening", "engorged", even the innocuous "belly" arose in conversation; leaving him with an intense feeling he could not logic out.
and now the eating, the feeding, the growing- it overrides every other instinct and sensibility. why shouldn't it, when there was now a little voice over his shoulder constantly telling him to eat. and eat. and Eat. always plying him with candies and chips he hadn't even realized he was longing for. filling his empty plate back up before his fork clinks against ceramic. eliciting the world's most pathetic mewls by slipping a hand beneath his shirt and rubbing gentle, but firm circles into his sensitive belly. lovingly groping his growing fatpad and jiggling apron, whispering to him how gorgeous all of this thick, supple fat looked on him. how much more he surely needed- more of his dinner, more of his dessert, more snacks, more cake, more meals, more portions, and most importantly, more fat. it was only right there should be so much more wesker to spoil, fatten, and adore.
romaincrisis
pixelskylines
izzy806
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
gamechangershow
2087
