the specific kind of indulgent mommy-ing that hides darker intentions… are you sure you’ve had enough to eat, sweetheart? you look so thin and sickly. if your tummy hurts, that means you need to eat more. walking isn’t good for you, remember? it gets you all out of breath.
The unexpected third chapter, in which the former MechWarrior settles into her new noble lifestyle and we give up any pretense of having breaks on this weight gain train.
(also available on Ao3)
Her steps were languid and plodding as she waddled her way across the plush carpet. Always going around barefoot at home, the cold marble floors had been yet another excuse for Natalya Matsuo to move less – until Emilia had ordered a carpet for the hallway between lounge and master bedroom.
Perhaps Emilia had a point. When she first moved into the mansion, the freshly minted Countess Matsuo had felt awkward having servants around. But as time passed, she had grown accustomed to their services. Maybe a bit too accustomed, as the ease of noble life on a planet at peace made her softer and more indolent. It was just that their new house was so big. And for some strange reason everything was getting more tiring. Left with little else to do than eat and enjoy herself, Natalya was always a little sluggish from overindulgence – and then there was that aforementioned cold floor!
Thank Odin for that carpet, then. This late at night the servants had time off, and Emilia was out. And so Natalya had to go all the way to the lounge to refill her snacks herself. Fortunately the room was well-appointed, with its own bar stocked with their favourites and plenty of snacks, pastries and instant ramen – somehow always within easy reach. Natalya was completely oblivious to it, but the servants were observant and well-trained and kept a close eye on which items disappeared the quickest and made sure those most popular with their mistress had pride of place on the shelves, counters and in the glass-faced fridges.
Dumping her haul, Natalya only held on to the bucket of drumsticks as she practically rolled herself onto the vast bed she shared with her girlfriend. Emilia had technically banned her from eating in bed, complaining about crumbs and stains. However, lounging in bed was so much more comfortable, and so Natalya defied her more and more often – especially as she grew more laid-back and complacent. And for whatever reason, Emilia seemed less concerned with the matter as she did so.
It's not like she's here anyways, Natalya thought to herself as she got settled in – not without a hint of resentment. It wasn't that it was that much trouble to get her own snacks. It was at most ten meters to go. Still... she felt a bit annoyed at having to do so – and a little out of breath. Asking Emilia to “just grab something” had become such a habit that Natalya hadn't even noticed how common it had become. Emilia, however, definitely had – hence the purchase of the carpet in an attempt to cut down at least one of Natalya's excuses.
Leaning back against the enormously plush pillows, Natalya made herself comfortable with bucket of chicken that settled snugly on her left, pile of snacks on the right. Fortunately the entertainment system was voice-activated, so she did not have to interrupt her leisurely repose in order to bring up the Solaris match on the gigantic vid-screen in front of her.
One of the downsides to Zathras being off the grid now was the lack of HPG-transmitted entertainment, but knowing people in government – and a travelling 'Mech circus! – made it easy to acquire recordings that were fairly up-to-date. The servant in charge of such things always made sure the mansion's server was replenished every morning, to the point where Natalya had started to take it for granted. Things were very different from when they first moved in when she would diligently keep track of arriving merchant ships and provide the performers in “MacKenzie’s Magnificent Mechs” with carefully curated lists of gladiator matches and films to track down.
Solaris VII's “Ishiyama” came into view on the screen before her, an arena she herself had battled in several times. How long had it been now? Ten years? Long enough for her to get soft, but not long enough to make the itch to get back in the cockpit fade entirely. And so she lived vicariously through Solaris Game broadcasts – and filled her time drinking and gorging herself.
The chicken was cold, but copious amounts of ranch dressing and specially imported Rasalhague dill relish more than made up for it. In the commotion, the luxuriously thick bathrobe Natalya wore had slipped open to reveal a hefty gut that spilled into her lap. She didn't mind: Easily the size of a beach ball, her overindulged belly simply provided the perfect table for her snacks, supporting a nice spread of dips and sauces.
In fact she barely even noticed it. Usually wearing tank tops that had a curious habit of turning into crop tops, Natalya had gotten used to having her belly on display. Mostly it was Emilia who noticed how tight her clothes were getting and replaced them – often without Natalya even noticing, apart from the looser fit...
As a noble, Countess Matsuo was expected to dress a bit more elegantly, which she hated. Therefore she did her best to outsource as many official duties as she could – no one could police her fashion sense in her own home! Increasingly her “fashion sense” meant loose-fitting robes; even baggy combat trousers and cargo shorts had gotten a bit uncomfortable once she exceeded 100 kilos. And the once-unwavering Natalya Matsuo had grown to detest the slightest discomfort as she settled into her noble lifestyle.
Not that it posed any problem. Whenever she had to get dressed up, her clothes always fit. Natalya was well aware that she had gained a bit of weight, but it couldn't be that bad if she could still squeeze into her dress uniform. Just how many times said uniform had been adjusted and replaced she was, of course, entirely oblivious to.
Overestimating the drumstick's ability to hold all the condiments she had foisted upon it, Natalya felt a big dollop land on top of her overfed gut. Okay, maybe the next parade will be trickier, she had to admit as the rogue dressing forced her to look down at her vastness.
“Fucking Hel, you're fat”, Natalya chuckled in disbelief, unsure just how to feel. Instead of interrogating the emotion she scooped up the mixed sauces with two fingers and blithely popped the greasy concoction into her mouth.
That was one of the reasons Emilia had relented a little on her rule about no eating in bed. Her complaints had grown markedly rarer once her girlfriend's gut got large enough to catch all but the most unpredictable strays. Always a little bottom-heavy, Natalya's thighs had flourished nearly as much as her beer gut, adding even more width to her bulk as she lounged on the bed – and pushing bulging lovehandles up into plump rolls to form a veritable cascade that spilled out a good hand's breadth or more on each side, compared to the time when she first happened upon Emilia's bar, all those years ago.
Reaching into the bucket, her sticky fingers came back disappointed. Empty already? a puzzled Natalya mused and instinctively called out to Emilia before recalling that her girlfriend was not home. Stifling a belch, she grumbled about how hungry she still felt. Well maybe not hungry but... unsatisfied.
Natalya had always had a hearty appetite, used to eating what she could when she could get it. Idleness had hardly diminished her voraciousness. If anything, having little to do but overindulge had made her accustomed to eating more, and more often, to the point where she felt peckish if she went more than an hour without a snack. Emilia would shake her head at her girlfriend's fussiness and say something about her 'getting worse and worse', but that was about it.
Once, the hardship of mercenary life and constant exercise had kept Natalya's natural gluttony in check. Even after retiring from active combat she still instructed troops and kept to a certain training regimen, as behoved Lady Valenti's bodyguard – albeit a regimen that waned a little as peace started taking its toll on her waistline.
These days, however, the Countess was excused from even those light duties, with predictable results. Only growing more insatiable as her appetite was indulged, the lack of activity meant that, once she moved into the mansion her weight really ballooned.
Peace and quiet had made her soft – not unreasonable considering sudden shake up in her lifestyle, the frequent visits to Emilia's pub and Duchess Valenti's endless parties. Becoming a countess had made her fat. Not just in the sense that she was much heftier than ever; she was becoming overindulged and demanding as well.
Natalya 'Valravn' Matsuo, the MechWarrior, always had trouble relying on others. Lady Matsuo, the Countess, thought nothing of asking her girlfriend to get her another six-pack of beer because it was just too inconvenient to do it herself. The floors too cold, the duvet too snug. The Countess herself too sluggish from eating three whole racks of ribs, because who would tell her “no”?
It had been a gradual development, a bit of character growth that Natalya was even more oblivious to than her physical one. Sure, there were brief moments of realization; moments of self-awareness that made her question the path she was on, but these were rare – and always overcome by another bowl of butter ramen.
Moments like this one, where Countess Matsuo – surrounded by crisp bags and plates of pastries, candy bars and hors d'doeuvres – asked the voice-activated computer system to send a message to her girlfriend to pick up freshly-made dumplings because she didn't feel like eating the food she had. It would tide her over, of course, and immediately after dictating the message she tore into a bag of shrimp crackers.
Greedily she used them to scoop up the remaining ranch dressing before cramming them into her mouth. Used to eating snacks by the handful, she wasn't about to cease that habit just because she was bulging with the feast she had already consumed. If anything she shovelled in the sauce-drenched handfuls faster, gluttony begetting further gluttony still.
Natalya had completely lost track of the Solaris match, too busy revelling in the surfeit of flavour. The freedom to eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, with no thought to tomorrow. The feeling of being fully, truly satisfied.
Draining the last can of beer, Natalya's arms went limp at her sides. Empty cups and bowls teetered on her bulging belly as the feast within pushed out – faintly visible even the through the abundance of fat. She could eat more of course – her belly wasn't even taut yet – but she was tired. Tired and finally sated – for the moment.
Letting out a liberating belch, Natalya realized she had slipped down far enough on the bed for her belly to block most of her view of the games still unfolding before her. Grunting and huffing she made a half-hearted attempt to get herself upright, but she was too sluggish and heavy with food, so much that it seemed like too much effort.
Letting her head fall back on the pillows, Natalya let herself rest before she considered making another attempt. Before she could do so, however, she was roused by a sudden intrusion.
“Having some trouble, honey?” Emilia quipped in her rich voice. Natalya glanced over to find her girlfriend smirking. The way she leant on the doorframe suggested that Emilia had been observing her struggles for some time.
“The... uh... screen is too low,” Natalya said sheepishly.
Emilia set down the bags she was carrying, then strode over to the foot of the bed to properly take her all in. The robe had completely unravelled by now, covering only Natalya's arms and shoulders, leaving her bared but for her underwear. Boy shorts that had given up on covering her rising belly at all hugged thick thighs; sprawled out on the bed, each leg was nearly as thick as Emilia's waist. Sure, Emila was quite short, living up to her callsign 'Smalls', but retirement had left a bit of a mark on her midsection as well. And yet, Natalya's thighs threatened to rival its girth. A sports bra completed the ensemble: The stretchy, unobtrusive kind that Natalya preferred.
Emilia watched how that bra dug into Natalya's chub, forming a plump roll that bulged out between it and her arm – just about visible under the dishevelled bathrobe. That malleable pooch had been the first sign that Emilia had picked up on to make her realize her girlfriend hadn't just let herself go; she was getting fat. Like properly pot-bellied, waddling-when-she-walks, stretch-marks-on-her-ass fat.
Since then Emilia couldn't help but pay special attention to this particular omen of obesity, as it filled out into a nicely plump half-donut that was beginning to bulge out over the underside of Natalya's arm – even as the bosom beside it would not be nearly as blessed by its mistress's bounty.
At a glance it was desperately hard to spy the hardened warrior her girlfriend had once been, but Emilia knew better – even if she too found it trickier as of late: “Are you sure it's not because of this thing getting in the way?” she said as she crawled onto the bed and slapped the underside of Natalya's engorged gut.
“Oo-oof...” Natalya exhaled, not just from how her packed belly got jostled, but just as much from the way this made it jiggle. She had long since grown used to the slight quiver of her softening midsection as she let herself go, especially when that growing spare tyre escaped her tank tops. These days, however, her belly shook and swayed. Wobbled and quaked. It was a sensation much harder to ignore. To justify.
“Nooo... I'm just a bit bloated...” Natalya said evasively.
“Are you sure?” Emilia smirked over the horizon of Natalya's belly before she disappeared to place a kiss on its tender underside. “It gets in the way of... a lot of things...”
“Hey!” Natalya exclaimed, blushing as Emilia's lips moved a few centimetres further down. “You were the one who left me to eat the whole supper feast alone! I'm stuffed!” she pointed out, then added derisively: “You aren't gonna make me work for it now, are you?
Emilia's caresses paused for a moment: “Honey, if you work any less, I'm going to have to put on your shoes for you.”
“Hmm...” Natalya mused, pretending to consider this offer. Instead she sighed: “Speaking of... could I get a foot massage? My feet are killing me...”
Emilia's scoff turned into a disbelieving laughter: “I don't know how I put up with you!”
“Because you love me, dumbass.” Natalya's own chuckle came out in a snort.
“Even love has its limits,” Emilia warned as she surfaced to rest her chin on Natalya's belly.
“Should I be worried?” Natalya countered.
“I'd better check...” Emilia smirked and slipped back behind the mountain, leaving a trail of kisses down its slope.
When they were convinced that whatever was going on between them had become a relationship, the two of them had gotten matching hip tattoos to commemorate their love. Now Natalya had not seen hers in years because it now dwelled on the dark side of her underbelly, but Emilia would routinely inspect it and joke that their love was “growing and growing” – as her overindulged girlfriend's ballooning weight stretched it out.
Showering the tattoo in kisses – it took more and more each month to fully cover it – Emilia resigned herself to her fate. She would indeed have to do all the work tonight. Again.
Natalya gasped as a kiss slipped into her underwear.
And after that, the Countess would no doubt be in the mood for all the dumplings Emilia had brought her.
"don't go grocery shopping when hungry" doesn't work for me because Not Hungry Me cannot conceive of a universe in which food is needed so she buys like a cup of pomegranate seeds and some fancy cheese and thinks that'll get us through the week.
FUN FACT the scientist who said that made it the fuck up! he's also the same dude who said that if kids made eye contact with the character on food boxes they wanted it more. so now all the cereal mascots/kids mascots look downwards to a child height. but THEY MADE IT UP and it's allllllll bullshit and bad science to the point cornell deleted the fuckin cereal eyes study from the face of the earth and modern research is saying you SHOULD shop when ur hungry because it makes you put more value on food that would give you more nutrition and actually sharpens your ability to feed yourself well
So I think the cereal box guy was Brian Wansink and honestly that tracks. If Wansink thinks we should be grocery shopping when full then we should definitely be doing it when hungry. Bruh is an absolute joke.
imagine being so bad at science that your university forces you to stop
things he also came up with that are BULLSHIT:
eating around fat people makes you eat more junk food??? (wtf?)
portion sizes affecting how hungry you feel
"if you are served second portions you are more likely to take seconds"
the entire concept of mini and fun-sized portion sizes (based in fatphobia btw!)
the idea of boredom eating and stress eating being bad for you and not normal
the idea of eating in front of a screen being terrible for your digestion
that julia child's cooking was trying to make you fat (based on 18 of 4500 recipes...)
the idea of western food being unhealthy
the cereal eyes thing
the shopping while hungry thing
and much much more!
also he committed kickstarter fraud in 2018 and is a massive fatphobe who thinks fat people recruit others to become fat by just existing. fuck him lmao
Brian Wansink won fame, funding, and influence for his science-backed advice on healthy eating. Now, emails show how the Cornell professor a
Cornell University food behavior scientist Brian Wansink has retracted another paper — his fourth this year. “There is no empirical support
Cornell University scientist Brian Wansink is facing yet another formal correction — his eighth this year, along with three full retractions
Brian Wansink of Cornell University publishes headline-friendly studies about food psychology and oversees a $22 million federally funded pr
Here's a few articles by Stephanie M. Lee about Wansink's multiple p-hacking scandals. Initially I just found these looking for more information but now I'm also extremely amused by how much she was on this guy's ass for his shitty science.
Please keep writing in your Ploughshares/PPC world, but I Really want to hear more about Duchess Valenti pls!
I didn't intend to write a follow-up, but there were some more things I had thought about... so here we go!
(I don't think there will be a Part 3, but now I'm not going to rule it out)
PPCs to Ploughshares: Part II
Her steps were heavy and measured as she climbed the short, wide stairs leading up to the gallery. Paced perfectly to keep her breathing steady; her determination unquestioned. A 20-something Natalya Matsuo would have been flabbergasted to see herself so composed, but who's to say an old MechWarrior can't learn new tricks.
Or grow up, present-day Natalya thought to herself, only to chuckle to herself as she watched young aides, snivelling careerists and hapless pencil pushers shrink, back away and salute shakily as she approached. Nah, she was having way too much fun toying with these uniformed civilians. It was one of the few upsides to visiting the Lord Commander's office, after all.
And a few other benefits, she mused as she felt her belly bounce with each step up the stair, her thoughts reflexively drifting to what refreshments might be served. Yeah, she hadn't grown up, she had just gotten a little wiser; a little more self-aware. And secure enough that the way the fresh-faced recruits and bureaucrats treated her like some ancient, unknowable war veteran did not mean that she was getting old. It meant that her efforts had ensured a peace so enduring that these kids could scarcely imagine it. In the 31st Century that was quite the accomplishment.
Outside the Lord Commander's private office, Natalya stopped to straighten her dress shirt where it had ridden up during her ascent. With collar and sleeves, it was obvious Emilia had picked it out, for which Natalya now found herself very grateful. Not because her usual style was too casual for such a hallowed place, but rather...
“Ah, Natalya!” the voice of Duchess Valenti greeted her as she stepped into the office. The place was bustling with a handful of aides and advisors, who found themselves promptly sent out of the room upon Natalya's arrival.
Not that the Lord Commander of the Zathran Defence Force did not already dominate the room while it was crowded. While of average height, her presence had belied her size even when she first ascended to the position. Since then the years of prosperity had only made her physically more imposing as well. As her lands and power had grown, so had the duchess – and by now her wealth and power was second only to the Emperor himself. However, one of the benefits of being Lord Commander of a whole planet was that you were free to design your uniform and Valenti's complimented her fabulously. Elegant lines swept into her impressive bosom, the cut of the long jacket flattering her stout waist even as it draped itself over the colossal curvature of her behind only to flow sublimely into trousers hugging thick thighs. Gold trim and the blue of the Zathran Defence Force complemented her dark skin perfectly, only further reinforcing the idea that this woman was born to wear the uniform of the supreme commander of the planet's armed forces.
“Did you enjoy your time off?” the duchess followed up, even before the crowd had fully dispersed, her smile warm.
Natalya waited to see the back of the last aide before replying. “Very much so, as you can see,” she laughed and gave her belly a slap. She had scarcely noticed putting on weight during her little vacation, but luckily Emilia had, hence why her new shirt fit as well as it did. It was mostly Emilia's fault anyways, or so went the excuse Natalya told herself. It didn't bother her so much if she could blame someone.
“You deserve it,” Valenti said firmly as she fiddled idly with the buttons under the double breast of her uniform. “Speaking of... Avila! Bring us some refreshments!”
The assistant poked her head back into the room to confirm that she had received the order before she scurried off to comply.
“Now then...” Her shirt unbuttoned, Duchess Valenti gestured to the luxurious sofa at the other end of the office.
Following the duchess, Natalya plopped down so quickly it took her a while to realize how much the buttons on her shirt strained. Shifting slightly in response, she leaned back and draped her arms over the back of the sofa.
Leaning back as well, on account of the way her rear pushed her away from the seatback, Valenti folded her hands over her stomach, bare now but for the undershirt under her open uniform. “Thank you for coming. I know the Defence Ministry isn't your favourite place to be, but I had some business that could not be handled back at the mansion.” Valenti chuckled: “I already miss orchards and the kitchens.”
“You could've called earlier,” Natalya said. She'd rather have Emilia's pub grub than the fancy cuisine of Duchess Valenti's household... but memories of staying there still made her hungry just at the mere mention.
Valenti laughed kindly. “If I did, you'd just drop everything to come. You've gotten better at taking time for yourself, but I still don't fully trust you in that regard.”
“I think you have Emilia – I mean 'Smalls' – to thank for that,” Natalya snorted, then bashfully scratched her cheek.
“Then you should convey my gratitude to her,” Valenti nodded solemnly, an impish smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. “Speaking of gratitude... I wanted to thank you again for all the work you've done for me.”
“You're... welcome...?” Natalya replied warily.
“And for Zathras, obviously,” the duchess added hastily. “Anyways, I know this job hasn't always been to your liking, and I appreciate the sacrifices you've made in that regard. Zathras is peaceful and prosperous because of it.”
“Well, at least the food is good at all those functions and conferences,” Natalya joked, offering a grin as wide as the duchess's behind.
“Oh that's for sure...” Valenti said with a big sigh, patting her well-fed midsection. “Any more banquets and I don't know if I'll be able to button these anymore!” she laughed, tugging at the waistband of her trousers.
“Just bill the government for new ones, you've earned it,” Natalya chuckled. Few could imagine being this casual with the Lord Commander, but then those people had not known her for years – and fought beside her in a civil war.
“Don't act like you haven't paid your dues several times over as well,” Valenti reminded her. “On the battlefield, sure. But that's where you've been at home, unlike the arenas we've been fighting in since the war. I realize I've been taking you for granted.”
“Not at all!” Natalya assured her. “I joined your service of my own free will.”
“For which I am also grateful. However, I would feel selfish if I did not at least offer you to step down. Before you say anything: I will of course help you get established and offer any assistance you might need. The finest 'Mech from my Star League cache – and transport to Solaris VII if that is what you wish.”
Natalya could not help but be dumbfounded by the offer. Certainly, Duchess Valenti was wealthy – and she had already been well compensated for her service – but any one of the ancient BattleMechs from the so-called “Boomerang Base” were priceless. Lost technology from the Golden Age of Humanity. Her MechWarrior instincts kicked in and she could practically feel herself in the cockpit of one of those sleek masterpieces. Controlled with ease through an almost ethereal neurohelmet – and without any of the many quirks built up over centuries of abuse and neglect like the average Battlemech. With such a machine... could she shake off the cobwebs? Get back in fighting shape. Lose... this. Natalya reached down and grabbed the side of her hefty gut. Lose...
Natalya shook her head: “Like I told you all those years ago, Zathras is my home now. It's where most of my friends are. It's where my liege lady is. It's where...” She blushed, thinking of Emilia and paused to clear her throat. “I won't leave.”
Valenti reached over and grabbed the hand from Natalya's side and clasped it in both of hers. “I knew you'd say that,” she smiled. “Still, I felt like I owed it to you to ask. I suppose that makes this my 'real' offer...”
Natalya cocked her head as she waited for the duchess to continue.
“Thanks to you my lands are more extensive and prosperous than ever,” Valenti explained – and Natalya couldn't help but briefly glance at the duchess's own great tracts of land, before snatching her eyes back and blushing slightly. “And I don't think 'Knight of Zathras' quite captures the service you've rendered to me and this planet. What do you think about Baron– no, Countess Matsuo?”
Blinking in silence a couple of times, Natalya erupted with laughter, shirt straining as her belly surged and fell. “Wait... wait... you're serious? Oh...”
Valenti offered a good-natured chuckle: “I suppose it might seem fanciful. But I have the lands to offer in vassalage. As for the title...” She smirked. “Let's just say I expect the Emperor to be... amenable.”
“You've planned this for a while, haven't you?” Natalya retorted.
“I didn't get to where I am today by leaving things to chance,” the duchess winked. “But the choice is still yours. I know you might have... reservations.”
“It's an honour. Really!” Still flabbergasted, Natalya struggled to find the words. “But... I'll have to think about it.”
Her instinct was to decline. Duchess Valenti might have improved her opinion of the nobility, but some misgivings lingered. Of course, by all accounts she already belonged to a warrior aristocracy simply by virtue of being a MechWarrior, but she didn't see it that way. To Natalya there was little difference between a humble tanker and herself – despite the obvious privileges granted to the select few fortunate enough to pilot one of the unparalleled kings of the 31st century battlefield.
Although she had barely seen the inside of a 'Mech cockpit in years, Natalya still saw herself as a warrior. And the difference between even the most prestigious of soldiers and an actual noble with proper land holdings was too big to quite comprehend for her. She tried to imagine what it would be like, but all she could see was herself as Duchess Valenti: Imposing and voluptuous – in every sense of the word.
Before she could gather her thoughts, Natalya found herself brought back to the real world when the door to the office opened.
“Ah, excellent!” Duchess Valenti exclaimed as her assistant arranged the bountiful spread of afternoon tea staples, liberally peppered with luxurious treats like Harvest Caviar and Exford Truffles imported all the way from the Lyran Commonwealth. Natalya could not help but notice the assistant pour her a glass of Hotei Black Label instead of the champagne served to the Duchess, a welcome concession to her tastes – and an extravagant one at that!
“Thank you, Avila,” Valenti smiled and raised her glass.
Offering her thanks as well, Natalya took a sip of the amber liquid and sighed with utmost satisfaction. It wasn't the first time she had been treated to the premier whiskey of the Draconis Combine and, although she was loathe to admit it, none of the stuff she was used to drinking quite measured up after that. Natalya scoffed under her breath; perhaps she was closer to nobility than she thought.
It certainly had its advantages, as Emilia would no doubt have reminded her. Natalya stuffed a canapé into her mouth as if to distract from the realization that she didn't just have her own feelings to consider. She had no idea what the shape of her future with Emilia was, but she definitely had to ask her before making a decision. A former revolutionary, Emilia was hardly a fan of the nobility either, but she knew to extract every advantage her position granted – now that her kinship to the new emperor came to light.
Savouring the delectable treats on offer as she made small talk with Duchess Valenti, Natalya likewise examined her earlier vision. Following Emilia's example, if she was in Valenti's position she would dine like a queen. Inspecting the pile of caviar atop an exquisitely aged cheese on her next bite, she quickly changed her mind. No, she'd serve more modest fare. The kind of food she liked, not necessarily the ostentatious cuisine of the high and mighty. Although I guess I've also developed some more... expensive tastes, Natalya thought as she swirled the 5000 C-bill drink in her glass.
Luxury whiskey and street vendor ramen, she mused. It did sound like heaven. Maybe she should accept Valenti's offer just so she could have that for lunch every day.
“I will say, I am tempted,” Natalya said eventually, emptying her glass. It didn't take long for Avila to appear with a refill. “I just have to... run it by... someone first.”
“Someone?” Duchess Valenti raised a curious eyebrow. “Ah.” Playing coy, she took a long sip of her champagne before adding playfully: “Alliances are important amongst the nobility.”
A truffle dumpling got stuck in Natalya's throat as she caught on to what the duchess was saying. Colour rose in her cheeks, but she was too amused by the implication that hooking up in a dodgy bar was equivalent to a political marriage to be too embarrassed (even if said dodgy bar was owned by the emperor's aunt).
“I guess I'm just a natural at this nobility business,” Natalya joked and casually flicked a miniature quiche into her mouth.
Socialists, get into fat liberation theory right the fuck now. I am speaking as a fellow dirty commie, DO IT.
You all like to lump fatness into either the category of "product of bourgeoisie decadence" or "side effect of capitalism forcing us to eat bad food" when neither is the actual case.
Fat people exist in all social classes and all walks of life, often regardless of individual choices.
Fat people are victims of capitalist exploitation at the hands of the multi billion dollar diet and weight loss industry that pushes eating disorder behavior and unnecessary surgeries on to us all in the name of profits.
Fatphobia ties into beauty standards that capitalists use to manipulate people into hating their bodies so they can be sold beauty. Think about how many of the ads you get every day are for weight loss.
I don't know how many still follow me on this hellsite, but for those who do... if you've wanted to ask me to write a story, now's your chance! Send me a message!
It'll be a short thing (about 2 "pages"?), so don't ask for an epic saga. OCs, noCs and fanfic is all gucchi (no I won't watch 3000 episodes of Naruto for 'research'). I probably won't have time to do more than one, so there's no guarantee I'll do your request, sorry. Also I'm a picky bastard who won't write just anything, but you knew that. But hey, it's free!
I'll post whatever I end up doing on here (let me know if you want to be anonymous).
Self-indulgent thing I put up on ao3 and might as well share here...
Inspired by the ancient Battletech show Death From Above; a MechWarrior has trouble adjusting herself (and her wardrobe) to a life of peace.
Her steps were slow but steady as she stomped down the short stairs into the bar. Few would ever have described her as graceful, but where once her implacable gait oozed power and confidence, increasingly she seemed merely ponderous. Years of peace would do that to a motherfucker.
Not that there wasn't anything left of her intimidating aura: Trademark tank top showing off intricate sleeve tattoos, chronicling a life of violence and loss. Hair shaved on the side and done up in a warrior's topknot. Family blade at her hip. But that tank top also showed off the effect peace had on her.
Ever since their final battle to preserve the planet's independence, the threat of foreign invasion had disappeared. Disappeared along with the destruction of the cache of ancient technology that had been the only point of interest on this remote backwater, at least to the great powers of the galaxy. With that Zathras had fallen off of everyone's radar, just as it had fallen off the interstellar communications network. Isolated but for the occasional visit from merchant ships, Zathras was able to rebuild and recover. But where peace was a blessing to a planet torn asunder by conflict, it was hard for those who knew nothing but war.
Certainly, strife was not entirely absent, as renegades and troublemakers resisted the new order. But counterinsurgency campaigns and militia duty was below the notice of the personal bodyguard of the Lord Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces. Duchess Valenti had performed this job admirably and once the most pressing fires had been put out and her position secured, she turned the armed forces into a well-oiled machine capable of handling whatever cropped up. This left the duchess free to rule her lands, restore their prosperity – and hold the lavish dinners and events for which she had been known before the war.
Honour-bound to follow her employer, Natalya Matsuo had attended more feasts than battles over the last few years and it was starting to show. A hefty gut poked out from under her too-small tank top, bulging over the belt on her combat fatigues. Despite her luxurious new lifestyle, Natalya still dressed the same way as she had when she was but a scrappy MechWarrior with the ragtag mercenary company Mason's Marauders. Certainly she had to reckon with her changing body and go up a size or two on occasion, but she always left it to the last minute – and never changed the style of the overall ensemble, which remained quite at odds with the soft lovehandles peeking out over her waistband and the plump rear filling out her khaki trousers. By comparison, her breasts had benefited less from the years of peace, as if the extra weight itself slouched with indolence.
Despite all this Natalya strode in as if she owned the place, dumping down heavily in a seat at the bar. She could not help but notice the way the bare underside of her gut pooled over her lap as she sat down, distracting her enough that she didn't recognize the bartender.
“Natalya??” the small woman behind the bar exclaimed and slapped her hands onto the countertop in surprise. “Natalya Matsuo?”
Ripped out of her reverie, Natalya was no less surprised: “Emilia? What are you doing here?”
“I run the place, what's your excuse?” Emilia grinned brashly. Even standing up she had to look up at Natalya on the bar stool, living up to her callsign 'Smalls'.
“Honestly? I needed a change of scenery. And a stiff drink.”
“Now that I can help with,” Emilia smiled and poured her a generous glass of whiskey. “On the house, obviously.”
“Thank you. Wow…” Given the shabby surroundings, Natalya had expected notes of gasoline and paint thinner, but the whiskey turned out to be silky smooth. Seeing Emilia notice her reaction, she gave her an apologetic smile: “Sorry, I just hadn't expected…” She looked around. “No offence, but this place kinda looks like a shithole.”
“That's the point,” Emilia smirked. “Rough crowd means I get to break up more fights!”
Natalya chuckled and took another sip. “You haven't changed one bit, have you 'Smalls'?” she said wistfully. Granted, more laugh lines graced the diminutive MechWarrior's face and she filled out those jeans and flannels just a little bit more now that she was pushing forty, but Emilia's spirit remained undiminished. Could Natalya say the same for herself?
'Smalls' simply looked at her as if the question itself was absurd. Instead she turned to the dumbwaiter behind the bar and picked up a platter of poppers, chips and wings and plopped it in front of Natalya.
“Still, how come you're running a bar? Shouldn't you be at the palace, being the Emperor's aunt and shit?”
Emilia groaned and rolled her eyes: “I managed to stomach it for a while, but it was so boring! Don't get me wrong, it can be fun to throw your royal weight around – but here I can still do that and I get to throw hands too!”
“I feel that…” Natalya muttered. Without realizing it she had picked up a hefty pinch of chips and dipped them generously in the accompanying ranch sauce. This had become a common enough occurrence that she barely gave it any thought before she popped them into her mouth.
She had missed the cockpit ever since she stopped working as a mercenary and that feeling flared up now. As usual, rather than push her to do something about it, it only made her listless.
“So what have you been doing lately?” Emilia asked as she watched Natalya demolish the platter in front of her.
“Eating,” Natalya laughed, holding up a wing for emphasis. She had always had a big appetite and her more sedentary lifestyle had done nothing to diminish it – with predictable results. If anything her appetite had grown, now that she dined on the fine cuisine of noble households rather than gagging her way through Salty Nan's “grease cakes”.
“Sounds pretty great,” Emilia remarked and poured herself a drink.
“I don't know,” Natalya said sheepishly, tugging at her tank top in a vain attempt to cover up the pudgy muffin top bulging out over her sword belt. If she wasn't eating because she was hungry, or because the Duchess was hosting yet another dinner, she ate because she was bored.
“Bullshit, the Hero of Zathras deserves to enjoy herself,” Emilia said firmly and replaced the now-empty platter with a fresh one. The patrons who had ordered the original platter and now noticed Natalya being served the replacement called out to the bartender, who offered them a middle finger and a stream of invectives challenging them to do something about it. No doubt to Emilia's disappointment the group piped down, having suddenly found an abundance of patience.
“Fuck yeah,” Natalya chuckled – and almost believed it. It was hard to stay morose in the face of Emilia's carefree attitude. The extra bratwurst on the side also helped her mood considerably. “I guess…” she mused through a mouthful of sausage and chips. “I've also been reading – don't look so shocked; I read!”
Emilia laughed heartily and refilled Natalya's glass by way of apology. “I bet the mythology section is considerably bigger in Duchess Valenti's library than the one aboard the Yojimbo.”
Natalya nodded and took a big swig.
“You know, maybe you should write a book?” Emilia said with sudden realization. “You know so much about MechWarrior myths and beliefs.”
“Do you think I have the patience for that?” Natalya scoffed self-deprecatingly. The din of the bar encroached as they both fell silent. Natalya drifted into thought as she preoccupied herself with the food in front of her. Finishing the last of her whiskey she finally blurted out: “Do you… ever miss it?”
“Miss what? Combat? Striding into battle strapped into fifty-five tons of pure power? Tearing an enemy 'Mech in half with one shot of an AC-20?” Emilia grinned and winked. “Maybe a little.”
Taking a big swig of her drink, her expression grew more serious. “But I don't miss the deaths. Loved ones lost. All in all, I think I prefer peace.” She punched a fist into her palm, a devilish smile spreading on her face: “And I can always find trouble if I want to.”
“You make a good point,” Natalya chuckled and chewed thoughtfully on a jalapeño popper. She could always have left Zathras and found mercenary work elsewhere. She could have returned to Solaris VII and defended her championship title. But she never did.
“You could have gone with the Mackenzies,” she said, realizing she was projecting harder than an overcharged particle projection cannon.
“And you could've gone to Solaris VII,” Emilia countered, easily seeing through her.
Natalya nodded: “Instead of getting fat resting on my laurels.” For good measure she gave her gut a slap.
“Not everyone gets that privilege,” Emilia reminded her, not without a hint of levity. “I guess, after all that we sacrificed – that everyone sacrificed – to protect this planet, I couldn't just leave. And looking back, I don't regret it.”
“You're right,” Natalya admitted and raised a toast to lost friends. And that made her think. As an outcast; a loner… after all she had been through, she had found friends here. No, more than that: A family to replace the one she had been banished from. Why would she want to leave all that behind?
“This is my home,” she realized, staring into her drink, then looked up at Emilia: “I wouldn't trade it for all the accolades and C-bills in the Inner Sphere.”
“Damn straight!” Emilia drunkenly slammed her fist on the counter. “And… uh… I for one… uhm… I'm happy you decided to stay…”
It took a while before Natalya recognized the look in Emilia's eyes as the small woman leaned forward a little, face flush with alcohol… and more. She had spent too long feeling flabby and out of shape to even contemplate anyone looking at her like that. Feeling herself blush, she shifted awkwardly in her seat.
“Uhm… thank you? I… uh… I'm happy too. About that. About staying.”
Emilia laughed sheepishly and pulled back. “Haha… sorry, I didn't mean…”
“No, no, it's alright,” Natalya assured her, clutching her drink in both hands. “It's just… I'm flattered. Obviously, I mean… look at me. I'm not exactly in my prime!”
“Fuck off!” Emilia blurted out, clearly angered by the way Natalya belittled herself. “You're as hot as the first time we met!”
The little woman's face turned a deep shade of crimson once she realized what she had said. “What I mean is… ugh… okay, fine… I've kinda had a crush on you since then…”
“Fuck me… sorry, I've never been any good at picking up on that stuff,” Natalya said awkwardly, fumbling with her glass as if for support. “My usual 'flirting technique' is… well, was…” She gave Emilia a wry smile. “…a bit more direct.”
“I don't mind that…” Emilia smirked suggestively.
Natalya exhaled forcefully and groaned: “…if I wasn't so full of pub grub…”
“That's okay, I need to close up here anyways. I have an apartment upstairs, you can go sleep it off first.”
Natalya swallowed nervously as Emilia dismantled her excuse. She had always been weak to a badass woman – and anyone who fed her, for that matter – but how could she allow herself to do anything when she had let herself go like this.
“It' not you, it's me…” she muttered, afraid Emilia would think she didn't find her attractive.
“Oh I know it's not me,” the bartender said wryly and stretched as if to show off the slight hint of middle-age spread underneath that flannel shirt. “At least that's what my two one-night-stands last weekend tell me.”
“Oh fuck…” Natalya blurted out, feeling more desirable, certainly, but also a lot more intimidated. There was no way she could measure up. Before she could collect her thoughts, however, Emilia's lips were on hers. The small woman's hand already gripped the strap on her tank top. There was but a moment of hesitation, then Natalya melted into the kiss.
Once their lips parted, Emilia smiled playfully: “Sorry for not being… direct enough for you earlier…”
“How soon can you close up?” Natalya retorted breathlessly.
“I'll have someone else handle it…” Emilia said, slipping out from behind the bar to take Natalya's hand. “Come on now. And I'll have the kitchen open early tomorrow so you can have breakfast in bed…”
Late to the party, but FINALLY Star Trek Discwokery shines the spotlight on that most underprivileged, misunderstood and discriminated-against minority: Grumpy old men who refuse to get with the times. At long last the people who tuned out as soon as they saw the main character was black woman get some representation.
Thinking about women whose egos grow with their stomachs. Women who get fat and it makes them feel so powerful. Women who demand more food because they deserve it. Women who are huge and view themselves as goddesses to be worshipped and praised. Women who view the size of their belly as a status symbol to be flaunted.
I made a comic about every comment thread under any content involving a fat person existing. Ever.
This counts as my inktober #1 because I spent way more time on it than I should have.
One of my favorite underutilized writing tropes is "weight gain as a sign of growth and healing after years of trauma" so seeing Chubby!Jessie fills me with much joy you are an absolute star.
AGREED! I love domestic shit like that so so much. I love it especially for Jessie in the context of her past
