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#must be as bland and clichéd and random as fuck
jotunvali02 · 3 years
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"OMG! Moffat doesn't know how to write women! Also he kills off his queer characters! He's such a sexist and a homophobe!"
He writes his female characters with their own past, personalities, qualities and flaws and tastes, makes them proactive throughout their whole story arc and he made his queer characters IMMORTAL!
Next to that, we have in the 13th Doctor arc a fucking disgusting "pro-life" episode and the only interesting female characters are either dead or star in only one episode! Sorry but 13th Doc and Yaz are the blandest, most boring and substance-less female characters I've ever seen. We could easily replace them with any random it wouldn't change a thing in the plot! Making the Doctor a woman doesn't make the series "more" feminist or progressist! As keeping the Doctor a man doesn't make it "less" feminist! It's called "feminism-washing."
"OMG! Black Widow says she saw herself as a monster cause she's sterile! Whedon is so sexist!"
Sorry WHAT?? Joss Whedon, the same who created fucking Buffy, the vampire slayer?? Are you kidding? Also Tasha thinks she's a monster cause she was trained to be the perfect assassin, and forced sterilization was a part of that training and so it constantly reminds her of that training.
Watch/Read what you accuse of being sexist or queerphobe before throwing curses in the air!
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mightysteelix · 3 years
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Hunger - A Bleach Weight Gain Story
Yeah, another finished story. In the clichéd plot (but who reads kink stories for the plot), Grimmjow discovers the joys of fast food and being Grimmjow, goes too far with his newfound passion.
Grimmjow growled. The orange bastard had dropped him to lounge on the bed, counting the seconds while he came back. “Amuse yourself,” Ichigo had said before nudging the door close. “I’ll be home once college ends!”
“And how you propose doing that?” Grimmjow roared after him, but the strawberry ignored him and ran to catch the bus or something. Grimmjow did not care about the human world customs; it was a temporary lodging until Ichigo tired of it and came to Hueco Mundo.
At least, that was the plan. But his patience was stretched thin, and he wanted to tear the flat so that Ichigo had one reason less to stay. He barely held himself back - and the mocking mustache guy on most book covers made it worse. That face was made for being slashed.
If Grimmjow went and destroyed everything, Ichigo would only anger - onetime fury, which would not help him. Fine, no wanton destruction, no matter how much Grimmjow wanted it. How should an Arrancar enjoy this boredom?
Leaving? Grimmjow snorted. He had to stuff himself in a damn uncomfortable gigai that was tight in the wrong places and limited his powers until he was a weak human. Why would he wear it? If he left as is, one pathetic shinigami or another would chase him and waste his day with the blandest fight ever. They should send captains after him, at least!
He did not do much in the tiny apartment, either. The TV set lost its charm after a few hours of sitting; why did humans enjoy it like a bunch of brain-dead zombies? Another thing he would never understand. And reading Ichigo’s extensive collection of ‘The Canterbury Tales’ or ‘The Waste Land’? He would rather fight the weakest shinigami! (It had happened once - that fourth squad twerp, who only flailed and ran.)
What did Ichigo enjoy about this life? It was bland, long-drawn, and so secure that Grimmjow was going to be sick. Where was the excitement of fighting for one’s life? Where was the push to survive and grow stronger? How had someone like the strawberry become so powerful in such a peaceful place? In Hueco Mundo, they’d be at the top of the food chain; hell, they could kick Tier off her throne and show her the real boss!
As he thought of that, Grimmjow’s stomach rumbled. “Could have let me hunt, at least,” he murmured while patting his abs above his Hollow hole. “But no, even that would be too much.” Pluses were off-limits, per Ichigo’s orders - not that he cared about his opinion. Still, if he angered him too much, it would give him a fight - and also break whatever connection they had. He could chase a random Hollow or two, but they tasted like shit. Anything short of a Menos Grande wasn’t worth the effort.
“Damn, where did he throw it?” Ichigo wasn’t starving him. He had explained something about ordering takeout and left a number on a note, along with some paper scraps. It could not be that easy (who gave food for them), and Grimmjow would have to force himself in the gigai, but if it quelled the hunger, he would handle it.
One phone call later, the extra-large menu was on its way, and Grimmjow was forcing himself into the damned artificial body. The cursed shopkeeper must have made it uncomfortable on purpose. Grimmjow felt as if his clothes - two sizes too small - would tear apart at the first movement. Still, somehow he dragged himself to the door, picked the food, and gave the papers. He even got some metal pieces - spare change or something like that.
Fine, perhaps the living world was not completely shitty. But the food had to taste worse than the sand. It couldn’t be so easy!
Grimmjow sniffed the burger and licked his lips. It smelt delicious - but not in the way of freshly killed souls. His fangs tore an enormous chunk of the meal, and he gulped down. Then he had another bite. And another. Compared to Pluses, it was still nothing. To the rubbery butter as hell Menos Grande? A universe of difference - and all that a mere phone call away as long as he could throw some papers.
Once they ran to Hueco Mundo, Grimmjow would struggle for food once again. One never knew when they would find prey in that dark desert. So, why not let himself enjoy a chance any Hollow would kill for? He would order those extra-large menus over and over until the money ran out. Ichigo had told him to amuse himself, had he not?
----
In the past few weeks, Grimmjow had realized some things. First: not hunting the food down was damn amazing. Second: human foods had more variety than the Menos. And third - most important: he had to try them.
Once the door slapped shut behind Ichigo today - “I’m coming back soon, I promise!” - Grimmjow punched the number of a pizza place. His stomach growled; he could barely stand hunger. A horrible habit for Hueco Mundo, where food was scarce. But here, where he could stuff himself after a single call - not a problem! His lips dried as he ordered all the snacks he wanted: a pizza after a pizza, heavy with toppings and sauces, plus countless bottles of soda.
“Twenty minutes!” Grimmjow roared as he slammed the phone close. “I’ll starve!” At least, it gave him enough time to force himself into the gigai. The constant junk food was a godsend for his appetite, but not his waistline. His trim body - sculpted by the harsh life - had succumbed to the calories, and now he sported a new, soft belly. If he sucked in and flexed, he could still notice the distant memory of abs. Not that it mattered. Grimmjow wanted to eat; anything else was secondary. The damned strawberry had better decide to pack his things for Hueco Mundo before Grimmjow grew even larger.
Although - an insatiable smile formed on his face - if he gained so much, he would frighten most of his enemies. Who would want to challenge a wrecking ball of an Arrancar? Grimmjow patted his belly and felt it jiggle. It was small, far from a proper gut. If he wanted to reach that size, he had to double - no, triple! - his efforts. To keep his stomach stuffed and stretched, always seeking more. To eat and eat, to be pinned under the weight of his overfilled stomach and force more greasy fries and sugary donuts in his maw. To grow unrivaled, unstoppable, gargantuan.
Grimmjow got hard. Fuck, where was the pizza? He had to stuff himself on the verge of a food coma and jerk off now!
Fine, he’d get in the gigai to pass the time.
Was the damned thing always so tight? The washboard, fake abs pressed over his newly formed flab. The pecs cramped his sightly sagging moobs. His arms and legs felt squished into sausage casings. Did the cursed shopkeeper expand those? To hell, even if he did! Grimmjow would not ask him! He’d break this one and order a bigger size!
Slowly - because at any sudden movement, the thing would split at his stomach, and Grimmjow wanted to juice as many uses as possible - he stood by the door and waited. At the set hour - roughly the same every day - Grimmjow opened, took the tower of pizzas, and threw the man his money. “Be faster next time!” Not that it mattered; next time, he would buy something else.
Finally, he left the damned gigai. And for the best, since that puny fake body would not survive longer. Grimmjow plopped on the bed and rubbed his achy belly. His fingers sank in the soft flesh.
“You’ve rested enough,” Grimmjow decided, opened the first box, and grabbed a pizza slice. The gooey, salty cheese melted on his tongue, and he forced it whole in his mouth before he could sample it better. Damn - he’d eat the second one slower for a better sense. Expect, as soon as the greasy slice entered his mouth, he devoured it to sate his craving. Fine, he’d stuff himself first and then taste-test! In quick succession, the slices disappeared. One pizza had not made a dent in his hunger. At least he had nine more.
His belly rumbled. “Time to see if Hollows are truly insatiable!” Slices full of spicy meats and dense, caloric cheese were devoured by his gluttonous mouth. His fingers stained with grease, but he did not care - not as long as he had more to eat. His gut pushed out with every gulp, expanded, and still roared for more. Not bad - but he could do much, much better.
The second pizza - this one with multiple cheese toppings - was almost nothing, either. Grimmjow felt a faint sense of fullness, weak but there. His hunger won over it as he gulped the third one. The rim of his pants was digging in his belly and pressed deeper and deeper with each hearty gulp. He winced; he should take them off, but that meant that he would stop stuffing his face for a second; a second, when he would not chew and swallow. As if!
The fullness was replaced by a dull ache which would only grow stronger. How would it not when Grimmjow’s gut was protruding over him like a dome and poked out more and more before his eyes? It was sticking out, rounded than it had ever been, filled to the brim with food. And it rumbled for more.
Grimmjow was even hornier. Hastily, he devoured the rest of pizza number four and - using both hands - began feeding himself the fifth one. He did not tend to his dick as the Arrancar’s natural limitless hunger forced him to engorge himself into total temporary immobility. And through the mist of arousal, greed, and pain, he missed the door opening.
----
Ichigo entered his home. “Hey, Grimmjow!” he shouted in the small apartment. Strange: no murderous, bored out of his mind kitty had pounced on him. “Speak up if you’re jerking off again because I don’t want to see it!”
No reply. Ichigo shrugged, guessed it was safe enough, and entered the bedroom. A risk he should not have taken.
He’d rather have caught Grimmjow jerking off - then he could explain why he was so flustered. Instead, he had to deal with an overfed, bloated, greedy Arrancar, whose football-sized gut jutted out of his body, and he still was reaching for the next slice of pizza. Ichigo bit his lip. He was absolutely not getting hard at that sight!
He had to act. No, he should have acted when Grimmjow wasted so much cash on food or when he got softer. Actually, Ichigo did one thing: he left his not-exactly-boyfriend-but-more-than-a-fuck-buddy more money to satisfy his gluttony and hoped he would stop at a reasonable point. Except - and he knew it too well to be a mistake - Grimmjow was the opposite of reasonable.
“Are you only gonna watch, or you’ll help?” Grimmjow fisted his gut - taut like a drum - and drew Ichigo’s attention. “Bring the pizza to my mouth, for example! With this overfilled tank in the way, it’s painful to reach for it!” The stuffed sphere responded with a low rumble. The recently gained layer of flab was stretched, and it was rock hard to the touch.
He had eaten himself into temporary immobility and wanted more? Amazing. If Ichigo went and fed him... No! He shook his head. It was anything but amazing!
Even if Grimmjow had missed Ichigo’s growing erection, he must have seen his burning red face.
“Did a Hollow eat your ears? Come and feed me. I’m starving here!” A strong pat, accompanied by a loud echo, dried Ichigo’s lips.
Starving. Ichigo gulped. Four empty boxes were haphazardly thrown around the floor. The fifth one was lying nearby. All that food and Grimmjow still needed to indulge his gluttony more. If this kept on, Ichigo would jizz his underpants like a dumb, horny teenager.
And the Arrancar did not help. “Or take off my damned tight pants.” His fingers tweaked near their hem. The engorged gut left no breathing space, and if Ichigo pulled them down, he would find a sore, red line.
Cold shower: Ichigo needed one. Otherwise, he would make a very hasty, horrible decision.
“Or rub my belly, at least, because this thing is pretty packed.” Grimmjow gave it a few powerful pats. It gurgled, and the Arrancar let out a long-drawn burp. “Ya see?” Oh, Ichigo definitely did. Grimmjow had eaten like a ravenous beast, encouraged by Ichigo’s ever-growing sponsorship. Now, Ichigo was not sure if Grimmjow could eat without thrashing restraint. And it was all his fault.
Fine, Ichigo would think with his dick this time! “You want to be fed?” He came closer with a single shunpo and grabbed a slice. “Better prepare because I’m doing it!”
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