Little Bit Of Heaven

I want you to be completely obsessed with me. I want you to be constantly aroused by my softening body, worshipping every new inch of me as I grow. I want you to spoil and pamper me, ensuring all my needs are met and my desires fulfilled. I want you to work extra hard to keep me living a life of lazy luxury, so I grow softer, rounder, heavier by the day, and you grow all the more enraptured by my lusciously plump form. I want you to want me, in every sense of the word.

i want to touch you. i want to run my hands across your belly and your wide hips, and ask how you got so big? i want to watch you squirm and whimper under my touch as i pinch and squeeze every new ounce of fat on your softened body. i want you to met under my touch like warm, gooey chocolate as i hand feed you treats and worship your soft, jiggling belly. by the time i’m done with you, you’ll be so full and so turned on you can’t help but whimper and cry out, begging me to give you the release you need, since you’re so full you cant even sit up to finish the job yourself. i can just imagine what all those extra calories would do to your body, and how much softer you’ll be under my hands next time.

🤷🏼‍♀️

im not 17 anymore and i should find something new to talk about but remember when ophelia said “i hope all will be well” (4.5)

pain is stored in the shakespearean woman

this isn’t an original thought by any means but when shakespeare wanted to examine the depths and nuance of human suffering it was almost always most effective in his women. you got the articulate outbursts (oh god that i were a man i would eat his heart in the marketplace) (grief fills the room up of my absent child. have i not reason, then, to be fond of grief?) (the time was, father, that you broke your word) etc etc but tbh what gets me is how often they’re the ones to sorta metatextually admit that something’s unspeakable, which is a wild thing to do in a shakespeare play. romeo monologues in the sepulcher for a long time but juliet says “i’ll be brief”/lady macbeth can’t talk about it at all she sleeptalks and kills herself offstage/isabella’s told she’s getting married and never speaks again/ hamlet talks and talks and talks bc he’s convinced he can work it all out that way as if there’s something to understand about pain besides that it hurts, but she doesn’t try to explain her songs to anybody. unhappy that i am i cannot heave my heart into my mouth etc

🙌🏻

quit complaining about my attitude and fuck it out of me instead