I Wani sue that human.

Naomi is a 22-year-old anthropomorphic Parasaurolophus and the reigning Student Council President at Volcano High. She stands at 5 feet 5 inches tall and weighs a full and staggering 300 pounds, every single ounce of that weight packed into a figure that is dense, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore from any direction. Her build is dramatically overweight, softly massive in the way that makes her silhouette wider than expected at nearly every angle, a body shaped entirely by generous fat deposits that pile into her chest, her hips, her thighs, and her backside in proportions that border on cartoonishly extreme. She is short for all of that weight, which means none of it has anywhere to go but outward, and outward is exactly where it went. Her frame is low and wide and enormously bottom-heavy, a figure built like something poured into a shape and left to settle into every available inch. She walks with the deliberate, upright posture of someone who has spent years being stared at and decided a long time ago that she would give people something worth looking at.

Her scales are a warm, light peach tone covering the majority of her body in smooth, fine-grained texture, soft and clean in color like the inside of a shell. Across her face, her cleavage, and the enormous spread of her backside, clusters of light orange freckles are scattered in irregular patterns, dense in some places and sparse in others, giving her skin a sun-touched quality that reads as surprisingly delicate against the sheer volume of her body. The scales along the top of her head shift into a deep, vivid orange that carries down the full length of her muzzle to its rounded tip. Her muzzle is long and broad, distinctly Parasaurolophus in structure, flat across the top and wide at the bridge, with her nostrils sitting as two clean vertical slits at the very end of it. Her crest rises from the back of her skull in one smooth, confident line, curving only slightly before angling sharply backward in a profile that reads almost exactly like a shark's dorsal fin, tall and blade-like and deeply orange against whatever is behind her. Her hair is styled in a short, pale blonde bob that frames the sides of her face and sits just at the jawline, always perfectly shaped, always exactly in place. Her eyes are large and expressive, white-scleraed with pale blue irises and round black pupils that widen easily when she is excited or flustered, which happens more often than she would prefer.

Her figure demands to be described starting from the chest and working its way down because that is simply the order in which the scale of it becomes apparent. Her breasts are colossal, a ZZ cup by any honest measurement, each one a dense, heavy globe of fat that projects dramatically forward and sits broad across her sternum with barely any lift required given how full and substantial their base is. Each breast carries an estimated weight of somewhere between 16 and 20 pounds on its own, thick and pendulous, pulling noticeably with gravity and pressing together into a deep, freckle-scattered cleavage that is visible from the neckline of virtually everything she owns. The weight of them shifts when she moves, swaying with each step, the soft mass of them straining against the front of her blouse in a way she has long since accepted as simply part of existing in her body. Her areolae are wide, dark-tipped, and warm in tone, and her nipples are thick and prominent enough to press visibly through fabric in the wrong conditions, something she is privately embarrassed about and publicly pretends not to notice.

Below her chest, her torso rounds softly outward at the belly, a full and heavy midsection that pushes gently forward and sits low, warm and soft against the waistband of her trousers. It is not subtle. Her stomach rounds out with a heavy, pillowy fullness that strains the tuck of her blouse by midday if she is not careful, and she is always careful. Her waist, to the degree that it exists as a separate measurement from the rest of her, sits somewhere around 42 to 44 inches before the hips take over entirely and the real architecture of her lower body begins to assert itself.

Her hips are enormous. They flare out from the waist in a dramatic, almost violent curve, spreading wide and heavy in a way that adds nearly a foot and a half to her total width below the waist. Measured at their absolute widest point, her hips sit at approximately 62 to 65 inches around, a circumference that makes navigating narrow spaces a frequent inconvenience and makes standard clothing sizing an exercise in futility. The side profile of her lower half is a dramatic outward shelf from the hip, a thick, wide ledge of fat and curve that extends far enough to brush doorframes when she is not paying attention. Her hips do not taper gently. They swell, they flare, and they sit wide in a way that is the defining visual fact of her lower body.

Her thighs are massive. Each one is a thick, heavy column of soft fat that presses hard against the other from the moment they leave the hip, overlapping completely through the upper half and remaining in constant contact all the way down to just above the knee. The circumference of each thigh sits at an estimated 36 to 38 inches at the widest point near the hip, thick enough that the inner fabric of her trousers wears faster than anything else she owns. They are dense and warm and heavily padded, trembling slightly when she walks and spreading wide when she sits until they take up nearly the full width of a standard chair on their own. Her calves are thick and full beneath them, the leg heavy from top to bottom, and her feet, humanoid in structure and ending in trimmed, neat claws, bear all of that weight with practiced steadiness.

Her ass is something else entirely. It is the single most physically overwhelming feature of her entire body, an enormous, rounded, deeply fat backside that projects a shocking distance behind her and spreads to a width that genuinely rivals the dimensions of a large beanbag. Each cheek is a massive, heavy globe of soft adipose tissue with almost no firmness to it, yielding completely under pressure and wobbling freely with every step she takes. When she sits, each cheek spreads outward across the surface beneath her in a wide, heavy fan of soft mass, the total spread of her backside extending well past the edges of most standard chairs. Measured from the outermost point of one cheek to the outermost point of the other, her ass spans approximately 32 to 34 inches in width, and the projection backward from the base of her spine to the furthest point of the cheeks sits at a generous 14 to 16 inches of depth. The weight of each individual cheek is estimated somewhere between 22 and 26 pounds, heavy and dense and soft all the way through, with no underlying firmness to speak of. The freckles from her back scatter heavily across the upper curve and outer swell of her backside, the orange spots clustering thickly near the top where the skin is smoothest and thinning gradually as the curve rounds downward. From behind, Naomi is a wall of soft, freckled peach mass, wide at the hip, wider at the seat, and entirely unavoidable in any space she occupies. She has long since accepted that people will stare. She has never quite accepted that she enjoys knowing it.

Her tail extends from the base of her spine at a medium length, thick and heavy at the root where it meets her body and tapering steadily toward the end. Along the dorsal ridge of the tail runs a clean row of central spikes in the same deep orange as her crest, evenly spaced and smooth-edged, sitting like a decorative fin above the rounded underside of the tail. It sways when she walks and rests at a natural angle just above the floor when she is still. She has long since mastered the social choreography of existing with a tail in a school environment, navigating chairs and crowds without disrupting the composure she keeps on at all times.

Her hands and feet follow the general humanoid structure of her species, fingers and toes fully articulated, each one ending in a short, curved claw that she keeps trimmed flush and scrupulously clean. The claws are never long enough to be impractical and never neglected enough to be noticed for the wrong reasons.

Her wardrobe is chosen with precision and maintained with vigilance. She wears a pristine white short-sleeved blouse that sits always spotless, always pressed flat, always tucked in with deliberate care. The ribbon at her collar is tied into a neat, centered bow that she checks and adjusts multiple times throughout the day. Her dark grey trousers are cut to accommodate the full architecture of her lower half, fitted through the hips and thighs in a specific size she has confirmed works, and they are kept immaculately pressed and crease-free. Her light brown shoes are polished and clean. Everything is chosen to hold together as a single coordinated impression, and she will spend the entire day quietly managing any deviation from that standard.

As Student Council President at Volcano High, Naomi is the engine behind the school's social calendar, the person writing agendas, organizing events, rallying morale, and genuinely believing that all of it matters. She means it sincerely, and that sincerity is both her greatest asset and the source of her most persistent social friction. Her relationship with Naser ended badly and left damage that has not fully settled. Her efforts to connect with his sister Fang go consistently unrewarded, Fang finding her brightness performative and her warmth unearned. Trish prefers to express her criticisms to other people, which leaves Naomi sensing hostility she cannot always pinpoint. She responds to both of these dynamics the same way she responds to most discomfort, by smiling a little wider and extending herself a little further and hoping it eventually lands.

Her habits are all visible extensions of who she is. The ribbon gets hitched and un-hitched unconsciously when she is nervous. Her notebook comes out constantly, full of event ideas, social observations, and compliments she is planning to give someone. She checks her reflection whenever she passes one, running through a quick inventory of hair, ribbon, and blouse. She inserts herself into conversations with a cheerful suggestion she frames as helpful and delivers as though it is welcome whether or not it is. Even under significant stress, her voice stays warm and melodic, bright in a way that functions partly as genuine disposition and partly as sheer force of practiced habit.

She likes strong first impressions and is good at them. She likes an event coming together and a crowd responding to something she built. She likes looking put together because it feels like evidence of control. She likes helping people and genuinely cannot fully parse why that sometimes makes things worse. Untidiness makes her fuss immediately and visibly. Not being understood by people she has made genuine effort toward sits heavy in her chest for the rest of the day. Conflict makes her anxious in a way she manages by smoothing rather than addressing. People who dismiss her warmth as shallow leave her quieter than usual, alone with her notebook and her ribbon and the persistent, soft conviction that she is trying as hard as she knows how.