BOTH New Size for the Season - by Nemovolo (~BHM (multiple), FFA, ~BBW, Romance, ~MWG)

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Durin

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I like this cast of Characters. I keep hoping that Charlotte ends up with Pierce though.

:)
 

NemoVolo

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Part VII (Vincent)

Vincent paced idly, waiting for Thomas and his own, private physician to finish examining Charlotte. He understood how it was indecent for him to be there whilst she was being examined, but still, he was worried. It was a wonder no one died all those years of fashion when women were forced to wear those stupid corsets.

If he was ever left alone with that stupid woman, he wasn’t sure he could hold his tongue. To almost kill your own daughter? And for what? Just to make her look a little more presentable? To get a higher bid from a prospective husband? She was a human being, not a horse!

It’s my fault, he suddenly realized. If I hadn’t made her dance, she would have sat and waited it out. It’s my fault she almost died.

No longer able to stand, he sunk onto the small couch. He had almost killed his very good friend’s beloved sister.

“Oh, Vincent, I figured you had gone back to the party.” Thomas stepped into the room, looking exhausted. “You could have, you know. But thank you, for letting her rest here.”

Vincent stood with an uneasy smile. “It’s the least I could do, really. I fear if I hadn’t made her dance, we wouldn’t be here.”

“She danced? With you?” Thomas sounded both incredulous and enraged.

“How was I to know she was wearing that bloody contraption?” Vincent asked, crossing his arms defensively. “Anyway, what did the doctor say?”

“She has a few bruised ribs and somehow managed to sprain her ankle when she collapsed,” Thomas sighed. “I’m not supposed to move her, but I can tomorrow.”

“Nonsense, Tom, as long as she doesn’t mind being a little bored. If she isn’t to be moved, she won’t be. This is plenty big. You can stay here as well, Tom, of course.”

“That would be fantastic, Vincent, but I must return home. My father, at least, will worry about Charlotte. It will be nice to keep her away from Mother.”

“She may stay here as long as she needs to.” Vincent was not quite sure where this need to help was coming from. He’d had to stop himself from offering that the poor girl could stay forever. He certainly could not send her to ace the ridicule of her mother and sisters. “Must you leave immediately? We left before supper was served, I’m afraid. Are you hungry?”

Thomas shook his head and sank onto the couch. “No, I’m sure they haven’t even noted our absence yet.”

“I see…so other than the parties thrown by friends and family, what will you spend your time doing this Season?” Vincent asked, changing the subject away from how dreary the sister’s life was.

Vincent was glad his mother left it up to him to choose a bride. Ever since his father and brother died, she wanted him to be as happy as possible. He knew she wanted grandchildren, so he was still actively looking for a wife, but his whole heart was not into it. After the Scandal with Pierce, he did not trust women, either; though, he had to admit any woman who eloped on him with a commoner would be stupid. He was much better off than Pierce and whoever gave it up was too stupid for his liking.

Now with the new title, however, he was facing an entirely new hurdle.

“What will you be filling your nights with? What is there for a young, unmarried duke to do?” Thomas asked with a teasing, albeit curious smile.

He gave a longsuffering sigh. “Unfortunately, I will be dining with regularity with our dear Prince Regent at his club.”

Thomas’ brow arched. “Why is that so unfortunate? Men would die to have that privilege.”

“Perhaps you didn’t notice, but my older brother was putting on a substantial amount of weight when he attended the dinners in our father’s stead. The trouble with dining with Prinny is we have to eat as long as he eats…and given his constitution, you know that’s a lot of food to tuck away,” he explained.

Thomas’ nose wrinkled a bit. “So, in essence, he fattens up those in his company to match him.”

“Something to that effect, yes,” Vincent agreed with a bitter smile. “And a few even surpass him.”

A small chuckle escaped his friend. “I see. Well, better you than me, mate. My dear mother would die of shock if she had two children as plump as the Christmas goose. You, at least, are rich enough to still attract a wife even I you’re too fat to chase after her.”

“You’re too kind,” he drawled, a smidge miffed at his friend’s obvious amusement at his future misfortunes.

He let it pass, mostly because Thomas was right. His money could still attract a wife even if his body didn’t. It was only vanity and pride that was making him upset.

“Are you leaving a note for your sister? It’s about time to return to the party if you won’t join me for supper.” He wasn’t really trying to dismiss him, but he was famished after all the dancing and stress of the night.

Thomas sighed and got to his feet. “I suppose you’re right. Father needs to know that Charlotte’s well taken care of. I really cannot thank you enough, Vincent, and yes, there’s a note on the bedside table.”

“Nonsense.” Vincent’s smile was easy and he, too, stood from the seat he had retaken. “It’s the least I can do. And besides, she’ll recover faster in a friendly environment where your mother and other sisters cannot harass her.”

All he got in response was a small nod and a sigh.

Vincent followed his friend to the door, as it was the polite thing to do. He genuinely felt for Thomas, too, for having a hellish mother. Once they said their good-byes, Vincent shed his coat as he watched the butler close the door.

“Adam, tell the cook I’ll be taking dinner in the study. And I have a guest, too, who isn’t allowed to be moved, so her meals must be in her room,” he said as he headed for the stairs.

At the top, he peeked into the room where Charlotte was resting. She looked tiny and elegant in the huge bed. It startled him at how strongly he felt that she belonged, not just in rich furnishings, but also in his home.

Hunger is making me a bit loony, he thought. Shaking his head, he quietly closed the door and continued down the corridor. He had some business to attend to now that his party was over.

(continued in post 26. located on page two of this thread)
 

NemoVolo

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[Author's Note:] People keep asking for more Pierce, which I find amusing since he was never intended to be an important character. Here's a bit to cheer you all up, I hope, and tide you over.

Part VIII (Avon)

Avon glanced around, waiting for the master of the house to return from the party. He had fought against going, but she managed to convince him with the help from a very rich, very stubborn, friend. Poor Mr. Blackmoor, having just lost his fiancé in a scandal, wanted nothing to do with society. Avon could understand; common people loved to gossip, so she couldn’t imagine how bad the upper class ladies did so. He must suffer terribly!

Ever since the Incident, she had striven to make him as happy as possible. Whatever he asked for, she got plenty of. For the most part, it seemed that was mostly food. If he was his happiest eating, she made sure he had plenty to eat all the time. And the side effects on his waistline weren’t completely unnoticed. She secretly found his bulk attractive, but that was pointless. Except for fantasizing, there was nothing down that road.

Unless he gets so fat that no woman wants him, she thought, startling herself. Then he would be all mine.

The figure of the aging butler rushed by, alerting her to the young master’s return. Smiling eagerly, she hurried down the hall, knowing she would have to help him. After dinner parties, he always needed help peeling himself from his own clothing. Avon made a mental note to make an appointment with the tailor. Her own sewing skills could only let out his trousers, shirts, and vests so much. He was just getting too rotund.

Avon watched as her gentleman waddled into the entryway. From her place respectfully back so that James, the butler, could take his coat and hat, she could see that his pants were cutting deeply into his swollen belly. It was even bigger than it had been when she sent him off; it looked as if he’d tried—and succeeded—in swallowing a large melon.

Once James stepped aside, Avon descended on her boss like a mother hen.

“Sir, welcome home!” she greeted cheerfully. “Ye look mighty tired, sir, let’s get ye ta bed!”

Mr. Blackmoor nodded wearily. “Sounds like a plan, Avon. And call me Pierce, please? ‘Sir’ makes me feel old.”

“Yes, sir—I mean, Pierce.” It made her blush faintly to call him by his first name.

It was so unnatural to her, but she couldn’t deny enjoying the familiarity. She just had to make sure it couldn’t go to her head. Not that it was likely to; a poor Irish girl knew her place.

Not thinking much past it, Avon helped him remove his vest as it was getting too tight across the shoulders for him to remove himself. While she folded it up neatly to put with the other dirty laundry, he continued on toward the stairs, unfastening buttons as he went. Avon let him get most of the way up the stairs—no reason to embarrass him with how out of breath he was no matter how slow he went—before starting up after him.

“Did ye ‘ave a good time?” she asked. It was obvious he had certainly enjoyed the meal that was served.

He nodded, falling behind her as he struggled to catch his breath after the stairs. “Yes, except for Thomas’ sister collapsing.”

Avon glanced at him, startled. She remembered young Master Rycroft from the times he came to call on Mr. Blackmoor. He was quite handsome, too, if a little thin. She had not even thought he had a sister.

“What happened?” she asked, hurrying over to turn down the covers on the large, four-poster bed.

It was still early spring, so the bedding hadn’t been exchanged for the cooler linen of summer. Mornings and nights were quite chilly.

“Apparently her harpy of a mother forces the poor girl to wear corsets to hide that she’s a smidge plump.” Mr. Blackmoor sounded angry, but Avon couldn’t tell if it was at the mother, the girl, or the idea of being plump.

She glanced at his bulging, round belly and blushed faintly. He was too busy getting out of his dress clothes, so that he could put on his nightshirt for bed. She busied herself getting the room ready to keep her modesty. He disappeared behind his screen anyway, but she already got teased for being a maid to a gentleman with no manservant.

The nightshirt was incredibly unflattering on Mr. Blackmoor’s physique. Loose and flowing, it hung on him and emphasized his stomach, giving the appearance of a woman already far into her pregnancy. She wanted to touch it and see if it was as soft as it looked. It’s probably hard with food right now, she thought with a grin.

“I hope she’ll be a’right,” she murmured about the girl he’d mentioned.

He nodded with a sigh, sitting heavily on the bed. A hand subconsciously massaged his middle, hoping to relieve the tension from all the rich food he had consumed. Avon blushed again and tried not to stare.

“I’m sure she will be,” he said reassuringly. ”Thomas and Vincent whisked her away to Vincent’s London estate. I’m sure they’ll take marvelous care of her. She will be in pampered heaven.”

Avon watched him with amusement. He was beginning to mumble and ramble, a clear sign she should dismiss herself and let him sleep. The sudden fantasy of crawling into the bed with him was almost overwhelming. Squashing it, she lit the lamp next to the bed and fluffed up the pillows.

“I’m sure the duke will take care of her,” she agreed.

She slipped from the room as he was slowly lowering himself onto his side, too stuffed to lay another way. Avon wanted him to get so fat he overflowed his clothes. The idea of him growing so fat his wide hips couldn’t fit through the carriage door made her bite her lip to smother a moan.

Hurrying through the rest of her chores, she slipped out through the kitchen. Almost all the shops were closed, of course, but she still hoped she had enough money on her person. There was one place she knew would be open, even if she had to cover her pride and travel down Whitechapel to get there.

The Crimson Butterfly was home to the highest class of prostitutes available in East End. It was also the basis for Madame Benoit, a reputable, if a bit shady, midwife who prided herself on knowing as much about all things medicinal as an apothecary. Avon knew that Madame’s real name was Mary Flemming, and that her husband really was an apothecary, so she got her services for a discount price as long as her mouth stayed shut.

The whores—who fancied themselves courtesans—winked and waved to her as she slipped through the first floor on her way to the basement. She ignored them, the fantasy about her employer still much too fresh.

Madame Benoit, a woman who might have been quite pretty had she bathed more and had an easier life, looked up at her from her table. A small flash of irritation crossed her face, before disappearing so quickly it might have been imagined. She might hate the blackmail, but Avon was still a paying customer.

“’Ow are you, darleeng?” she asked in a nasally French accent. “Eet ‘as been too long!”

Avon rolled her eyes. “Shove it, Mary. Ye don’ need tha’ wit’ me.”

Mary rolled her eyes and huffed. “Yes, well, I can hope you’ll forget, can’t I?”

Avon shrugged, moving to sit on the stool across from the older woman. Mary sighed and set aside the romance novel she was reading.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to buy some abortive, are you?”

“No!” Avon flushed. “I still ‘ave my virtue, thank ye.”

This time Mary smirked. “How long? You’ve been after that master of yours for years. He’ll get a real lady for a wife, you’ll see.”

Avon’s green eyes hardened as she glared at her. “Ye don’ know tha’ for certain. Anyway, I’m here for ‘im. Ever since the tramp up and left, he’s ‘ad problems wit’ his diet. Do ye have anythin’ for tha’?”

She knew that Mr. Blackmoor never traveled anywhere near the circles Mary frequented, so she would have no idea about his weight. She also knew Mary loved showing off her knowledge.

Scoffing softly, the woman stood. “Of course I do. Some women need a li’l help with that when they lose a child.”

Excitement coursed through her and she squirmed a little in place, glad Mary’s back was turned. The next part had only occurred to her as recently as her opening the door to the brothel.

“He’s lost an unhealthy amount of weight, too, ye see. Us servants are worryin’ ‘bout him now, but we don’ want ta distress him. Is there anythin’ ta add ta his food tha’d help ‘im put some back on?”

“Of course,” Mary repeated, fiddling with her stores of herbs. She got out a mortar and pestle. “Most of these remedies I give to women, but they’ll work on a man sure enough.”

Avon smiled and busied herself with adjusting her skirts while Mary ground the herbs into fine powders. When she was finished, she gave two small paper pouches to the waiting red-haired girl.

“Mix these in with his meals, us a couple pinches at first while he’s not eating much, but wean him off as his health improves. Do not let him have too much liquor with his meal. It numbs the senses so he might not realize he’s full; he could hurt himself internally, at worst, and at best only make himself sick,” Mary cautioned. “If for some reason he needs more, don’t hesitate to come back.”

Avon nodded, tucking the packets into a little pocket in her money purse. “He likes a bit of wine wit’ dinner, tha’s not too much is it?”

Mary laughed. “Goodness, no. I forget the upper-class gents don’t drink as heavy. I meant hard liquor, dear, like whiskey or rum.”

“Oh, well, he never has tha’ as far as I know.” Avon relaxed, before eyeing the midwife. “Why do ye work here when ye speak proper-like? Ye could be an upper-class midwife, not down here in th’ slums.”

“The women here need me just as much, maybe more. How many unwanted children do you think I prevent from becoming orphans? No, I’m better off here.”

“Why th’ disguise, then?”

“They wouldn’t trust someone better off than they are, and refuse pity.”

It made sense and Avon respected her for it. She knew a lot of ladies would never want to hire her, with her uncultured language. At the Blackmoor residence, she tried hard to speak more properly. Here, however, it was easier to speak rough.

She ended up having enough money after all, so she quickly paid. “Thank ye, Madame Benoit.”

The trip back to the Blackmoor House seemed longer, but she blamed it on her exhaustion. The cook wouldn’t notice her adding the powders; she often helped when Mr. Blackmoor had a lie-in, and he was undoubtedly going to the next day. She would be allowed an extra hour of sleep, too, and she looked forward to it.

Her dreams that night were filled with a massively gluttonous Mr. Blackmoor.



Continued in post #33
 

NemoVolo

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From here on, the actual gaining starts. It might be a little dark and twisted for some of you, so I'll try to put warnings in the author's note at the beginning of parts that might need extra labels.

I wish I could go back and fix typos and details, but I don't seem to have that power after a couple of days :rolleyes: so y'all are stuck with them. If you'd like to read them with the changes, you should check out my deviantart. It's mostly coding fixes and changes of names to fit better into historical accuracy.

Um...I don't know if anyone is reading this anymore, since no one has said anything after Avon's.
 

Observer

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FYI, you are correct that there is a timer on how long you can make changes to posts before the post is frozen - it should be around 20 minutes

However, we have a workaround for this. If you will send revised chapters to me at [email protected] I can and will splice them in as instructed. We do it all the time for our authors.
 

NemoVolo

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FYI, you are correct that there is a timer on how long you can make changes to posts before the post is frozen - it should be around 20 minutes

However, we have a workaround for this. If you will send revised chapters to me at [email protected] I can and will splice them in as instructed. We do it all the time for our authors.
That's so weird! On other forums we could go however long we wanted, but oh well. I'll keep that in mind, thanks.
 

JimBob

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Most excellent, it's nice that you added that bit at the end about the Midwife - it's good when a story isn't completely fixated on the gaining part and has something else to say.
 

chubsixtysix

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This is fantastic! You are doing a terrific job with the historical aspects and I can't wait to see what Mary will cook up with the mid-wife's herbs. I'm looking forward to more.
And, hey, if you ever despair that no one is reading, check out the counter on the far right on the recent additions page and you will see that the silent majority is reading like mad.
:wubu:
 

NemoVolo

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Part IX (Charlotte)

A month passed after Charlotte awoke to find herself in an unfamiliar setting. The letter Thomas left her was a great relief, even though the events that transpired to place her there were humiliating. Lord Amberly, who insisted once again on being called Vincent, visited with frequency. He brought her books from his library, played cards with her, and chatted. Also, the maids supplied a never-ending array of sweets. Her meals, which Vincent sometimes joined, were rich and satisfying.

In all, she felt as though she was on holiday in her very own paradise. Even letters from her mother and Anne, berating her for being so clumsy and selfish, and warning her not to get spoiled by the food couldn’t dampen her spirits. The only thing she dreaded was the eventual return to her family. A diet would be enforced the moment she was within the house, she knew. Already, she felt the effects of being bedridden and fed so wonderfully on her body. Not to mention, she could see her belly pushing higher in the blankets even while she was flat on her back.

Upon the doctor’s advice, she began short, easy journeys downstairs to the sitting room. Here she could observe the goings on of the household and could regain her strength slowly. Thomas often snuck away from family outings to come keep her company, especially in the evening when Vincent was away at the favorite club with the Prince Regent himself.

The first time she saw him come home, she had actually fallen asleep on the sofa entirely by accident. As she slowly made her way to her room, she caught a glimpse of Daniel, Vincent’s manservant, helping him undress. Yet instead of hurrying away in embarrassment, Charlotte had paused to peek through the door that was slightly ajar.

To her complete and utter shock, Vincent’s stomach was grotesquely swollen in a mockery of a very pregnant woman. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps as he undressed. He even complained about the laudanum needing an increase for the next time. Apparently this was routine, for Daniel only murmured soothingly to him and nodded.

She had scurried as fast as possible back to her room. The next day, Vincent arose late as usual, the ball of a stomach gone, and joined her in a late brunch. As he tucked in heartily, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, let alone been so stuffed the night before, Charlotte took notice of the way the young duke’s cheeks seemed just the slightest bit fuller. Or was that the giant bites of food?

His shirt didn’t seem quite so loose and baggy, though, either. Surely not, she argued with herself. He wouldn’t allow himself to put on any weight! I’m just being ridiculous. And she resolved never to think of it again.

Unfortunately, the vacation from her mother was over. With his personal physician’s permission, Vincent had invited both her mother and Anne to come and call. Thomas was to join them and together they would all leave.

The gown Thomas had ruined was turned into scraps. Vincent had paid a seamstress to come take her measurements for a gown all her own. No more hand-me-downs to tailor, for once. And it was a beautiful gown! Charlotte even felt beautiful in it, and no one had seen her in it yet.

Once her temporary maid declared her ready, Charlotte took care not to wrinkle the gown. There was no corset for the first time since she had her coming-out ball.

She descended the stairs early enough that Vincent was still in his study. When she heard his footsteps, she turned to watch him. His suit fit him perfectly, as always, and she was struck with how handsome he was. Not that it mattered; he would marry with someone like Anne. As pretty as she felt right now, she would be immediately overshadowed by her sister when she arrived. At least Thomas would talk with her while both her mother and Anne usurped the young duke’s attention.

“Charlotte, you look beautiful,” Vincent said with an easy smile. “That dress is simply perfect.”

She quickly curtsied to hide her blush, but it was still there when she stood. “Thank you, Vincent, for both the dress and the compliment.”

Neither had time to say anything else, for her family was announced. As Thomas entered first and saw her, he grinned wide and nodded in approval. Behind him, her mother and sister were both looking perfect, although the former had dimmed down her finery so that Anne was a spectacle. Any happiness fled as her mother caught sight of her; the pursing of her lips clearly said she noticed the lack of corset. That wasn’t her choice, none had been provided! Still, Charlotte felt her face burn and she looked down. The swell of her tummy made her look a little pregnant, so she hopelessly, desperately sucked it in.

“Lord Vincent Amberly, Duke of Derbyshire, may I present to you my mother, Mrs. Jane Rycroft, and my sister, Miss Anne Rycroft,” Thomas said formally with a bow; their mother and sister curtsied behind him. “You already know Charlotte, of course.”

“I do,” Vincent answered, before bowing in return. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s our honour, please, Lord Amberly,” Mrs. Rycroft said. “And may I say, you have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but please, Vincent is fine.”

Anne stepped forward. “I am forever in your debt for taking care of my beloved sister,” she simpered.

From where Charlotte stood slightly behind and to the side of Vincent, she saw Thomas roll his eyes. Vincent just smiled.

“It was my pleasure. Miss Charlotte is always welcome here.”

Now with her family, the familiarity was gone. She was demoted to “little sister” and knew she was to fade into obscurity. For the first time ever, that bothered her. She didn’t want Vincent to forget her.

It turned out, she need not have worried.

Dinner started as predicted. After her mother hissed a comment about her eating her regular portions—the ones from home, of course—she was pretty much left to herself. Thomas complimented her a couple times, which she happily returned, before both turned to see how Vincent reacted to Anne’s flirtations and their mother throwing her at him.

Vincent was too busy eating to really notice! Charlotte wasn’t too surprised; that night when he had been bursting from his clothes suddenly came to mind. He must have eaten a lot to get to that point and, once again, she suddenly noticed the little details that were easy to spot now she was so close.

The tailoring was, perhaps, a bit too perfect. Now that they were close, she could see the sleeves of his coat hugging his arms close and his collar looked a smidge tight. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one to have gained a couple pounds in the past month.

Most of the meal passed with Anne and their mother talking, with Vincent politely, but voraciously eating everything within reach. Not just that, but he was consuming a lot of what he could reach. It was almost as if he’d not eaten in days. Whether her sister and mother noticed, she had no idea. However, Thomas did, because he alternatively stared in shock, or tried to hide his amusement.

When they took their leave, Vincent’s stomach was straining the buttons of his waistcoat and bulging out in a nice arch into the high-waist trousers. It wasn’t nearly as grotesque as that one night, but she doubted he had planned to eat as much as he had. She kept sneaking glimpses at him, only to find him smoothing his hand over his middle, or gently rubbing on the side of it. She recognized the latter as a response to being too full, as she sometimes did it herself when she was allowed to eat to her fullness.

The carriage ride home was a nightmare.

“Charlotte, how could you shame yourself by attending Lord Amberly’s present without a corset?!” her mother asked in exasperation.

She stared at her lap, while Thomas came to her defense.

“Mother, that corset you put her in almost killed her! I had to cut it open with my boot knife.”

“It wouldn’t have if she hadn’t gained another stone this winter,” Anne sneered.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Corsets like that aren’t even in fashion anymore.”

“We have them made for her. The corsets these days simply don’t constrict as well as they used to.”

“Not that it matters,” Anne said, primping her hair. “He’s clearly above her and completely uninterested.

Thomas gave Charlotte’s arm a gentle pat. She leaned against the side of the carriage and sighed. A month of freedom was more torture than a blessing. She finally accepted what she had written on the scrap of parchment and slipped into the last book Vincent brought her to read.

Her mother would be happier if that corset had killed her.
 

plushkitty

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Great work so far, NemoVolo! I love the Regency setting. Poor Charlotte; Spanx are bad enough, I can't imagine the pain that a tightly-laced corset would cause. :(

Do we get to witness one of the Prince's infamous dinners at some point?
 

Molly Ren

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Here I was just thinking "I hope there's some kind of mix-up and Vincent ends up stuffing himself too!" And he did! So you have made me rather happy. No skinny men allowed in this fic! :D

I really like all the characters you have here and their different body types. You seem to have something for everyone who reads this.
 
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