Immobile Snake
A standalone of my B/lack Butler blob drabble! Enjoy :3
Snake woke to the sound of curtains being drawn across the dining room. The fat boa around his neck hissed and curled itself tight between his second and third chins. “Oi, who let the bloody light in?” he translated, and then responded. “Excellent question, Wilde…” “Good morning, Snake. I trust you slept well?” He didn’t respond. Wilde slithered up and across the hill of fat that comprised the back of his head, and then down of the cheek as fat as a sack of flour on his way to the edge of his belly far below. “Right,” Sebastian smiled, calm as ever. “I took the liberty of relocating the dining hall’s furniture to the east wing. I felt that it would impede on your… continued growth in here.” Snake continued to stay silent, his last act of rebellion now that his snakes were taken to the green house. All except Wilde, who was allowed to keep him company. “I did, however, bring in something from the ballroom. You must be wondering how large you’ve become by now, I can see it in those delightful yellow eyes of yours.” The boy’s fat cheeks flushed, no small feat at this size. “What in the ‘ell is he on about?” he asked for Wilde. He, however, decided not to play into it. “I’m glad you asked.” Sebastian gave the chubby snake a courteous nod, and walked over to a large, rectangular curtain. Without further ado, he yanked the curtain away. A… painting? A painting of a molten mountain of sweet cream piled more than ten feet high, spilling out in every direction, threatening to engulf a nearby man? And then he noticed the curled snake at the base of it, tongue flicking out into the air. It wasn’t a painting. It was a mirror. “Breathtaking, no?” Sebastian spoke, and retrieved a silver dish from the breakfast cart. That can’t be me, he thought. Impossible… His yellow eyes darted to the sunken divots of where his limbs should be, long buried into uselessness by all-consuming fat. To the massive ass that spread out further to each side of him than his heaping, oozing sides. To his breasts, that sagged beneath the rolls of what could, at one time, be considered his armpits. It wasn’t until his eyes fell on his face that he truly felt his size. Cheeks, pale and fat as sand bags blobbed down past his neck. Four chins at the least— he could spot the hint of a fifth accumulating at the cusp of his chest— sat like slightly-damp waves frozen in blubber. His own eyes were almost buried between the roll of back fat and his globular cheeks, glowing yellow gems pushed into a raw dough. “At any rate,” Sebastian began, and stepped onto his belly carefully. Snake grunted and Wilde hissed, but he persisted, climbing his way up to his face. “Breakfast is served.” He uncovered the turkey-sized serving plate, revealing a mess of sausage links, bacon, pancakes, and biscuits all drenched in thick maple syrup. “Open, please. I’d hate to have to dredge up the machine again, it makes such a dreadful noise.” Snake recalled the last time he’d used it, how his belly had swollen nearly to the roof in a taut balloon he was sure would burst. It had taken nearly three days to digest, and Sebastian had not slowed his feedings for a second. Begrudgingly, he parted his lips, hanging them open. Sebastian smiled and patted his bloated cheek, sending it jiggling like a water balloon. “Good boy.” he praised, and began to shovel in the first of many meals.