hungry-tum-stuff

[hungry-tum-stuff]

Envious?

[hunger]

The meeting hadn't been mandatory, but food had been ordered to persuade people to come, and it had worked. The room was packed, tables crowded with people enjoying paper plates of hot Italian catering from a beloved local restaurant. Just about everybody was enjoying the food that was surely better than whatever they would have made at home on next to no energy--everybody, of course, but Max. He tried not to pay it any attention, but it was hard not to feel jealous as the enticing smells wafted around him.

Struggling to ignore the longing ache in his stomach, Max glanced back at the catering table. It was neatly lined with shiny metal trays of steaming hot gluten. He sighed. There was a tray of what looked like grilled chicken, but he wasn't sure what was on it, and he knew better than to test his luck. He almost stood up for a little plate of salad, but, catching a glimpse of one of the teachers dipping a single serving spoon into no less than three dishes, he glumly stayed put.

Max rested his chin in his hand, feeling miserable. He hadn't expected to find anything to eat at the meeting, but he'd skipped lunch to deal with a long string of problems, and the thought of a hot plate of pasta sounded unbelievably comforting. For a split second he almost considered throwing his health to the wind and indulging just for one afternoon--how bad could it be? He knocked that thought straight out of his head. Plenty bad, he reminded himself sternly, and it's the last thing I need when I'm stuck at work. He rubbed his face wearily, and his belly rumbled.

"Was that your stomach?" Keonda, sitting next to him, gave him an amused glance.

"Yeah," he sighed, still gazing blankly forward at nothing.

"Sheesh, Kestler, why don't you get something to eat? There's plenty of…" She trailed off, realization dawning on her. "Oh." He gave her a tired smile. "Shoot, Kestler, I'm sorry."

"I'll eat when I get home," he assured her. Home seemed months away right now. The meeting hadn't even started yet, and the thought of sitting through the whole thing, starving and taunted by a room full of food he couldn't eat, made him want to cry. It wasn't a mandatory meeting for most staff, but as an administrator, he had no choice but to stay, so, as he was very used to doing, he tried his best to ignore his body and fulfill his duties.

The meeting droned on for what felt like hours, although it really only lasted one. Ordinarily, his growling stomach would have been met with amusement from Keonda, but right now she just felt sorry for him, and she was almost as anxious for it to end as he was. He held a hand against his belly as he listened, the other holding up his head, too tired to care if he looked outwardly bored. The clock seemed frozen in place, and he was beginning to wonder whether his stomach might digest itself before he was finally set free.

At long last, he heard the familiar phrases of a meeting about to close, followed by the bustle and chatter of a room about to clear, and finally he was on his way. He felt like he'd been sitting in that uncomfortable chair for thirty years, and his back cracked as he stood up and stretched. He felt dizzy for a moment upon rising, but it passed. The headache, however, did not, and he was fishing around in the glove compartment for a Tylenol the moment he got into the car. Still, despite the various aches and pains that currently gripped him, the discomfort was almost overshadowed by the relief he felt at finally heading home.

When Max walked through the door, he was met with the warm smell of food cooking and the sound of Marsha and Alfie bickering playfully in the kitchen. He fell back against the door as it shut with a sigh, leaning his head back against it, and remained there for a moment, utterly exhausted and utterly relieved. His belly rumbled loudly.

"Hey, there's my old Stringbean," Marsha called out, waving from the kitchen doorway. "We thought you were never comin' home! Get in here, dinner's just about ready!" Max wasn't sure he'd ever heard anything more wonderful in his life.

[hungry-tum-stuff]

Reminder to hunger kink blogs, make sure the stuff you're reblogging is from a kink blog and NOT an ED blog! Ik we've all made that mistake before but a reminder never hurts. You can usually tell the difference between hunger kink and ED based on the focus of losing weight and of course the tags themselves are a big giveaway

[hungry-tum-stuff]

:3c

part 1

Dreams of a Life Long Dead Pt. 2

CW: Hunger, Slight Stuffing

The tavern knew Kerstyn hated being hungry throughout the day. Mary Anne watched closely the entire morning as the mercenary downed snack after snack, yet still cursed and hissed in frustration as his belly rumbled for more, even with the accumulated pudge that lightly pressed against his belt. It was odd to say the least. She has never seen his appetite so insatiable before.

With what might as well be his fifth jerky stick in hand, Mary Anne lightly tapped on Kerstyn's arm, jolting him out of his desperate binge. "Hey, you okay? You've been eating a lot this morning." She didn't miss the muscle twitch under his eye or the subtle furrow of his brow.

Kerstyn sighed and set the jerky stick down. "M'fine. Jus' a little hungry." He winced at the unexpected gurgle churning his gut, and Mary Anne could practically see him biting back a string of curses. She shifted her weight to one leg and crossed her arms over her chest, shooting a deadpanned glare at the mercenary.

"Bullshit. I've seen you hungry before, and this ain't it." She cocked her head to the side, her expression softening into genuine concern. "Is this a stress eating problem or something? Is it something we should be worried about?" Mary Anne unfolded her arms and pressed a warm palm on the side of Kerstyn's stomach. She could feel his breath hitch at the sudden contact, but he let out a slow breath and relaxed. "You know you can tell me if something's wrong, right? I'm still your employer, and it's my job to make sure you're okay."

Kerstyn bit his lip, his one visible eye a window to the internal debate he was fighting. He hugged his arms close to himself and averted his gaze. "No. 'S nothing."

Mary Anne's long ears drooped a little behind her head, but she nodded and took her hand off. "Alright. Just remember you can come to me or Grandpa Bill if you need someone to talk to." A part of her wanted to shake him and maybe even smack his cheeks like they do in movies when characters are being dumb. She could plainly see in his icy blue eye how much he wanted to say something, that something was bothering him. He wasn't being subtle the moment she clocked him. But it would be best to leave him be, at least for now. Mary Anne lightly padded towards the door, her fingers brushing against the handle.

"'S... a r'curring dream I have," Kerstyn piped up at the last moment, his deep, gruff voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat, a light, orange blush rising to his cheeks.

Mary Anne stopped at the doorway, ears perked and eyes wide and attentive. "A dream?" she repeated.

Kerstyn idly picked at the glove on his right hand, staring intently at the floor. "Да... 's when I w's a kid. Th' same dream."

Mary Anne shuffled over and hopped up on a counter, crossing one leg over another. Folding her hands in her lap, she leaned forward, her ears tilted towards him. Kerstyn sighed again and leaned against a nearby wall. His rough, calloused hands grabbed at the spot where the green scarf he usually wore around his neck would be, but instead grasped at air. He opted to tug at his gloves instead.

"'S nothin' special. Jus' a mem'ry of dinner with Ma and Pa," Kerstyn elaborated. His brow furrowed, his grip on his gloves tightening. "It w'sr love language. Und'r our roof, food wasn't jus' fuel, but a remedy for the soul. Good food, happy home." His belly gurgled as if he hadn't been snacking all day, eliciting an irritated groan from the mercenary. He rubbed a hand over his bloated stomach. "That dream always makes me so damn hungry, an' 'm not entirely sure why."

Mary Anne was silent for a few moments, silently staring. She didn't know why she was so surprised at this revelation. Out of all the horror stories she's heard about Kerstyn's reputation as a cold, ruthless killer, the idea of him being an innocent child, growing up with loving parents that he loved as well, wasn't something that came to mind. She hopped off the counter and slowly approached him, cocking her head to the side.

"If you ask me, it looks like your body's trying to tell you something," she mused aloud, gently patting Kerstyn's belly. He flinched, but he was much quicker to ease his nerves. Mary Anne looked up at him with sympathetic eyes. "Do you miss it?"

Kerstyn paused for a moment, then relented. "I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't. Simpler times, y'know?" Mary Anne nodded in understanding, though she knew she'd never know what Kerstyn had gone through to end up where he was now.

She felt the mercenary's stomach rumble under her palm. He tensed up and made a small noise of embarrassment, and she could see the not-so-subtle blush creeping up his neck. She giggled softly and traced her hand along the curve of his pudgy sides. "Alright. Let's get your poor tummy taken care of. How does an early lunch sound?" Gently taking his hand in hers, Mary Anne led him into the back room.

Kerstyn sheepishly nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you."

[hungry-tum-stuff]

been busy with getting back to college so here's this thing while other shit gets done <3

Dreams of a Life Long Dead

CW: Hunger

A knife clenched in one fist, a fork in the other. He could barely see over the eighty-something-year-old table carved by long gone hands. Bright rays of sun filtered through a dusty stained window. Two of the warmest, kindest smiles stood on either side, smiles that said they loved him.

So very much.

A steaming plate of freshly-boiled pelmeni was set down in front of him. He could smell the meat through the thin dough. It made his mouth water. They knew it was his favourite.

As if that wasn't enough, a bowl of hot beef soup was served alongside the main dish. He couldn't believe it! The perfect meal! And in his favourite bowl, too, hand-carved with his name and hearts from both of them. What god looked down on him to grace him with such loving souls?

He stabbed a fork into one of the dumplings and brought it to his mouth...

Kerstyn jolted awake, his fingers tightening around his arm. His vision adjusted to the darkness and the blanket of stars above, the harsh cold of the rooftop seeping into his skin. He groaned and leaned back against the wall, his breath curling in front of his face in a plume of air. In the back of his mind, he scolded himself for falling in a deep enough sleep to dream. With the life he lived now, something like that could get him killed.

Kerstyn automatically pressed two fingers against the hollow sensation just below his ribcage that wasn't there when he fell asleep a couple hours ago. That damn dream. Always riling up his appetite without fail.

An all too familiar twist churned in Kerstyn's stomach, and he winced as he anticipated what was next. He jammed his fist into his abdomen a good few times in an attempt to prevent it from happening, but it was too late.

The mercenary's belly turned into an insatiable beast as it roared and howled its grievances, sending tremors through the ground. Icy panic shot up Kerstyn's spine as he felt the concrete shudder beneath his palm, and he frantically continued to jab at his stomach. Eventually, the poor organ couldn't take the abuse anymore, and it fell back into silence. Kerstyn groaned and sank into the wall, releasing the breath he had been holding.

"D' ya seriously have t' make it ev'ryone else's problem?" he muttered, resting his hand just above his bellybutton. Kerstyn received an apologetic rumble in response. He couldn't help but chuckle quietly as he felt the pathetic gurgling ripple under his fingers. Damn that dream makes him so hungry...

"Ya little shit. I swear y'll get me killed one day." Kerstyn sighed and gently massaged his belly after the cruelty it had just endured. "Can't blame ya I s'pose. Guess it'd be nice to taste Ma's cooking one last time." He laughed bitterly.

"Yeah, right. They'd disown me no questions asked."

[hungry-tum-stuff]

I swear I draw more than rainworld stuff, this is just somehow the only stuff that ends up getting posted! I probably outta start posting sketches and stuff to balance things out lol. 

Not to mention that this isn't even the original direction I was gonna take with Scratch. I was going to have him form a bond with an iterator who was studying slugcat language. Originally the iterator would help him out of pity (and to study his language), but would later realize he's kind of a gluttonous jerk and would only work with him begrudgingly to further their studies. I might still do something with that, but chronologically it takes place before this story. Oh well. Non-chronological story-telling just makes it more artsy or something lmao

Anyway, story:

Warnings: painful hunger, Scratch questions whether he’s a good person and it might be kinda heavy? idk, he's going through a redemption arc

Wake never thought that the first slugcat he’d end up bunking with would be such an ass. 

 He tried his best to be courteous when they first met! The edible flora in the region had been scarce the past few cycles and it seemed the other slugcat (Scratch, as he would later introduce himself) had been hit by the famine, given the audible rumbling coming from his stomach as he fixated on the large centipede at Wake’s feet. His stomach gave a groan to remind him that he’d also been affected by the famine, but he stifled it with a hand as he offered to share his meal. It had been a long time since he had company, and Wake was more than happy to eat a smaller portion if it meant making a friend. Surely, he thought, that such an act could only lead to friendship.

Scratch apparently didn’t view the exchange in quite the same light. Instead of sharing, he demanded Wake give him the whole centipede, so the breaking of bread turned into a tug-of-war which escalated into a full on wrestling match. They broke it up when it started to rain, knowing they only had a few moments to get to shelter before it grew dangerously heavy.

It was clear that Scratch wasn’t as acquainted with the area as Wake, and though Wake was mad about the fight, he wouldn’t dare leave a slugcat to die. He grabbed Scratch’s hand and pulled him beneath the water where the nearest shelter was. Usually it would be easy enough to swim down there, but the added weight of Scratch, who refused to so much as even kick his legs in assistance, and the massive centipede he refused to let go of, made the short trip feel like a high-intensity workout. 

Wake pulled them into the shelter. The automatic door slammed shut behind them and the excess water drained through the floor. Scratch took a few gasping breaths and shook himself off while Wake flopped onto his back, muscles burning from the unexpected exercise. The only thing he wanted to do was stuff himself with centipede and take a long nap. But Scratch had other plans. Which is to say, Scratch had the exact same plan.

Before Wake could even process what was happening, Scratch ate the entire centipede by himself, leaving nothing but the hard inedible shells behind. He then nestled himself in the opposite corner of the shelter, giving no acknowledgement to Wake for either the meal or saving his life. Absolutely ungrateful!

Now, Scratch was fast asleep while Wake jealously watched his large belly grumble contently. Wake rolled over onto his back, and rested one hand on his horribly empty stomach. He swore he could feel it devouring the excess fat on his belly in real time, each rumble further hollowing out the space between his ribs. It wasn’t the first time he’d been through a starvation cycle, but it had been quite a while since the last time he had and he really wasn’t used to it.

Another deep growl erupted and he found himself a bit embarrassed about the noise but secretly hoping the noise would wake Scratch up. If he had to go without food, it was only fair that Scratch should go without sleep. It was petty, but an eye for an eye was enticing when you lost yours first.

For the time being, all he could do was imagine the closest places to get food from the shelter as he waited for sleep to take him. Maybe the flora would be grown by the time the shelter opened back up- otherwise he could go for something meaty and filling. Bubble fruit, glow weed, jellyfish, lizards… or a centipede even bigger and juicier than the one from before, all to himself. The thought caused a twinge in his stomach, and suddenly a loud groan emerged from his middle, echoing through his empty digestive tract and rumbling from his rib cage down to his navel. He quickly pressed his hands into his stomach to stifle the noise. Now this was just ridiculous! 

Scratch’s stomach was constantly noisy due to his ever-present hunger, and he was able to tune it out for the most part- but when the growling got to a certain volume, he knew he had to listen. He rolled over onto his side, his large stomach stretched out in front of him. He propped his head up with one hand and rubbed his stomach with the other, as that seemed to be the only way to calm it down while waiting for the shelter’s doors to unlock. Though weirdly he felt full, at least full enough to where his stomach shouldn’t be making such a loud and hollow growl like the one that just woke him up.

He rubbed his eyes and peered into the darkness.When he saw the slugcat next to him, pressing his hands into his stomach as it shook beneath him, he finally recalled the events that led them there. His adversary, he remembered, had been quite thin during their first interaction, but he looked even thinner now. Deep in the back of his mind, for the first time, a twinge of guilt manifested itself. Surely such a thin slugcat needed that centipede more than Scratch did, yet he tried to share with Scratch anyways. And then he saved Scratch’s life, only for Scratch to repay him by gorging himself and leaving nothing behind. Okay, so maybe Scratch messed up. In fact, maybe it’s not the first time he had messed up. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, but at least he could try to make it up to Wake.

What’s that thing called when you say something to someone so they get over a bad thing you did? It started with an “a” I think… apple? appal, aplo, abe, aps….  I can’t remember! I’ll figure it out later.

Scratch sat himself next to Wake, who looked at him with those unusual pupiled eyes. “You seem hungry,” he said, still racking his brain for that forsaken word.

Wake furrowed his eyebrows. Another growl tore through his stomach as he curled his body in to stifle it. “Go figure.”

“Okay look, I should have shared the centipede or whatever. I feel like… bad about it.” Scratch rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as his more complex thoughts struggled to manifest themselves as words. 

 If he was being truly honest with himself, would the seed of guilt be able to sprout through his words so that Wake could see it? Or would it be even more clear to him how selfish Scratch was, manipulating Wake into showing him forgiveness and tacit permission to continue his self-serving lifestyle? Scratch always avoided thinking too hard about whether he was a “decent” person and he certainly avoided talking about it. If he confined them in his brain, they were just transient thoughts with no real weight to them. But if he said them out loud, they would become real, something that could become part of the consciousness of others and something to be validated. He knew others wouldn’t look at him favorably if he said what he was thinking. He kept this thought inside, too.

  Hunger was much easier for him to understand; it’s that gnawing in your stomach that feels like a black hole pulling in energy and fat and muscle from the body, refusing to quit even in the absence of food. This black hole also pulled the thoughts from his head. Anything that wasn’t related to his hunger, or satiating it, was dragged into the event horizon until the singularity at the pit of his stomach churning the thoughts into an aching nothingness, and forcing Scratch’s attention on his innate need for food. It was a simple, predictable, and necessary cycle, but he didn’t know how to balance that with overindulgence. At some point, the black hole of his stomach became a supermassive black hole and he, an obsessive astrophysicist.

It had been a long time since the instinct of satiating oneself was overshadowed by another- the instinct to take care of one’s own. At the end of the day, he would do what he instinctively felt like doing, regardless of whether he could justify it or not (and for once, he could).

“I don’t have food but I could try to help with… y’know.” He gestured to Wake’s stomach as it lurched hungrily. “Making it a bit more tolerable until the rain stops.”

Wake blinked, his expression softening. He was never one to hold a grudge, especially when his curiosity was piqued. “How?”

Scratch reached over and placed a hand on Wake’s stomach, gently circling it as the riotous gut rumbled against the pressure, somehow even louder than it was before. It was soft and cool, and Scratch could feel Wake tensing his ab muscles before his stomach let out another groan. “It won’t help if you don’t relax. Your stomach will growl whether you want it to or not, so there’s no use trying to hide it.”

Wake let out a long breath as he let his muscles loosen. Scratch was clearly very good at tending to tumultuous tummies; he seemed to know exactly where to rub to ease the pressure where his stomach twisted in its fruitless effort to devour the various foods Wake had been imagining. His eyes closed as the wave of hunger began to die down but they fluttered open when he felt Scratch move from rubbing his stomach to rubbing his cheeks and running his fingers through his feathery gills. 

“I was just curious to see how they felt,” he explained as he pulled his arms back and lied back down. “Goodnight, I guess.” 

Wake, not quite wanting the affection to stop but not going to push it, mumbled, “can you get closer? You’re warm.”

“Sure,” Scratch replied, scooting until his back was resting against Wake’s front. Wake wrapped his arms around him and rested his cheek against his shoulder. Scratch wasn’t sure if Wake was fully cognizant of what he was doing or if he was always this touchy-feely with other slugcats. But as certain as he was that he would wake up hungry in the morning, he was certain of one thing; hugs feel nice.

[hungry-tum-stuff]

following a lengthy academic discussion about the potential of delivery scenarios

[hunger, light stuffing]

"Thank you, have a good one."

"You too." Max's belly rumbled audibly, and the delivery girl flashed him an amused smile. "Enjoy."

He bumped the door shut with his hip and brought the bags to the kitchen table, then went to retrieve the plates while Marsha started rummaging through the boxes. He was absolutely starving. The delivery had taken almost an hour, and all Max could think about was that trusty gluten free grilled chicken salad from the trio's favorite local restaurant. He'd been thinking about it all day, as a matter of fact. Salads weren't normally his go-to, but this place made a good one, and their chicken was to die for. They were more well-known for their fried chicken, but the famously crispy breading was out of his diet. The grilled was just as good, though, as far as he was concerned. His mouth watered just at the thought of it. He pulled three plates from the cabinet and turned to see Marsha looking concerned over the food, brow furrowed.

"What'd you get again, Stringbean?"

"Salad."

"Well, I'm not seeing any salad," she said reluctantly. "Just a whole lot of pasta." Max's heart sank.

"I'll call 'em back," said Alfie, leaving the kitchen.

"Thanks, Alf," he sighed quietly.

"I'm sorry, Stringbean," said Marsha, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure they'll send somebody out with the right order."

"I just hope they send 'em sometime today," he said with a halfhearted chuckle. "I guess it's a good thing Junie's staying over at Ross' place tonight." Junie had inherited the gift of celiac disease from her father, and had she been home tonight, she just might have been out of a meal as well, but Max could at least take some comfort in knowing his daughter would be well taken care of at her friend's house.

"They said they'll send the salad over right away," said Alfie, leaning in the doorway. "We'll wait for you. Hopefully it won't take too long, right? I mean, it's lettuce."

"No, don't wait," Max insisted, waving his hand. "Eat while it's hot. You know it's never gonna be as good."

"What, leave you standing around all pitiful like a starved puppy while we eat?" Marsha gave him a playful squeeze. "We could never do that to our poor old Stringbean. Well, maybe Alfie could. I wouldn't." Alfie shot her a look of mock annoyance.

"Seriously, don't wait for me. Who knows how long it'll take. I'll be fine. Promise. I won't even stare at you." Max leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek and retreated to the living room, doing the same to Alfie as he passed by him. He dropped back onto the couch with a sigh. His stomach growled impatiently, tensing up as a deep, longing pang twisted through it. Suddenly, he felt a weight beside him and a hand on his belly, and he turned to see Marsha at his side once again.

"Alfie's putting the pasta in the oven to keep it warm," she said, holding a finger to his mouth to shut him up before he could even begin to protest. "We're not eating without you. We'll be fine, believe me. Alfie's been snackin' all afternoon."

"Yeah? How about you?"

"I had a late lunch," she assured him. "I mean, I could certainly eat, but another half hour isn't gonna kill me."

"Might kill me," he chuckled, and she gave his tummy a gentle rub. His stomach felt hollow under her hand, and she could feel the vibration as another aching growl buzzed through it.

"Poor baby." She laid her head on his shoulder, and he draped his arm over hers. Alfie soon joined them and flopped unceremoniously onto the couch beside Max, giving his partners a good jolt as he landed.

"Now we wait," he declared, laying down and resting his head on Max's lap. Marsha ruffled his hair.

"You could be eating right now," said Max.

"Don't remind me. No man left behind," said Alfie, reaching up to give him a pat on the cheek. Max rolled his eyes.

"Well, I appreciate it. We can all sit here and suffer together like a family." Max wrapped his arms around his partners and gave them a fond squeeze.

It didn't take nearly as long for Max's salad to arrive as the original order had, but it still felt like ages to his empty stomach. Unlike Marsha, he'd had a pretty early lunch, and unlike Alfie, he hadn't had any snacks to tide him over. He'd already been starving when the first delivery girl came, and by the time the second arrived, he felt about ready to keel over, his aching tummy twisting up angrily as it begged for something to eat. Finally, though, about half an hour later, they were sitting together at the table, beyond eager to dig in. Max's belly rumbled impatiently at the smell of the chicken as he opened up his salad. It was up there with his newborn children on the list of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen, the golden-seared chicken still steaming upon the bed of fresh, crisp lettuce, decorated with cucumbers and tomatoes and olives, tortilla strips in place of croutons, crumbles of feta, juicy pepperoncini, a variety of delicious little additives that made for a filling, flavorful meal.

"Worth the wait?" Alfie asked through a mouthful of ziti. Max nodded, a look of blissful relief on his face as he savored the first few bites. His stomach grumbled eagerly as it took in its long-awaited dinner, the ache finally easing up with each bite.

Ordinarily, Max would likely have only eaten about half of the salad, saving the rest for the next day. Tonight, he finished the whole thing. It wasn't a massive salad, easily a single serving for most people, but it was certainly big for him, and by the time he finished his belly felt comfortably stuffed, just teetering on the edge of too full, pushing out snugly against the waist of his pants. He leaned back in his seat with a hand on his tummy, feeling thoroughly satisfied.

"Hey, since when do you clean your whole plate?" Marsha teased, reaching out to give his full belly a friendly pat.

"I'm compensating." He stifled a soft burp and remained still in his seat, feeling sleepy and content and wanting to give his stomach time to settle before straightening up the kitchen. Right now was the best he'd felt all day, and he didn't want to screw it up by upsetting his belly right away.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," she said with a smile, giving his tummy a gentle rub.

[hungry-tum-stuff]

For roleplays, is it oc exclusive or can it be fictional characters???

I usually only roleplay ocs UNLESS ☝️ it’s a select fandom (The Legend of Zelda, The Moomins, others upon request) and even then the plot has to be killer 👍

[hungry-tum-stuff]

Your character ordered takeout for dinner. What could go wrong? [constructed with my esteemed homies @tummyfreakoftheweek & @hungry-tum-stuff]

HUNGER:

The portions are far smaller than they expected, and they didn't order nearly enough to fill themself up.

The food is greasy and congealed upon arrival, and they're too put off to eat much of it.

They only order enough for one, not expecting their friend to drop by, and they offer to share despite not having quite enough to fill up both of them.

The food takes forever to arrive, and they don't want to spoil their dinner by snacking, so they wait impatiently on an empty stomach.

They receive the wrong order, and it's something they either don't like or can't eat, and now they either have to figure something else out or wait for a replacement.

They ordered online and through some glitch it failed to go through, and they don't realize something's wrong until they've been waiting for ages.

They bravely ignore all the pop-ups advertising desserts and sides on the way to the checkout, but once their food arrives their belly is rumbling for cake and breadsticks.

STUFFING:

The portions are far bigger than they expected, and they went a little overboard ordering, wanting to make sure they had enough.

The food is greasy and congealed upon arrival, and it leaves them feeling too full too quickly, maybe even a little queasy.

They order enough for multiple people, but wind up alone with more food than they can handle after their friends get held up by conflicting obligations.

The food takes forever to arrive, and they give in and snack a little while they wait, leaving them half-full by the time they get their meal.

They receive the wrong order, and even though they'll gladly eat it, the restaurant sends a replacement anyway, leaving them with two meals.

They ordered online and through some glitch it went through twice, so they wind up with twice as much food.

They're far too tempted by all the pop-ups advertising desserts and sides on the way to the checkout and wind up ordering more than they can handle.

[hungry-tum-stuff]

This is so real tbh

I recently discovered that I have OCD and ESPECIALLY when you work in the industry, I worry just about every second of every day that I’m gonna get clocked, that someone’s going to see one minute detail I ascribed to one of my characters and out me, that I am some kind of weird fiend fixated on kink and then my entire reputation will be consumed by that detail of my creative interests.

But then I remember that my creative interests are so much broader than my kink. And then I remember that people make what they love because it inspires them. Of course, there’s a place for kink art and horny novels about vampires. And sometimes I like to indulge and write something solely for that part of myself.

But the rest of the time? I’m writing about other things that inspire me. And sometimes I do include themes in my body of work that share themes with my kink: Weight gain as a form of healing, caretaking and having the strength to ask for help, fucked up monsters (I just think monsters are neat!)

But am I evil or manipulative for including these themes that I like in MY work? No! I treat my creative endeavors like a dnd campaign: The story is for everyone but there are some things only I need to know (and get to choose to share!) as a storyteller, and things I include because they’re subjects personally interesting to me. Monsters are neat, (as previously established) asking for help is still something I’m actively trying to work on as a person, and weight gain as a form of healing is simply important to depict. Because sometimes that’s just how the cookie crumbles! (For both my characters and friends experiencing the same. It’s a story that deserves to be told.)

*This is not a hot take for this crowd but I need to note that there needs to just be. Depictions of fat people in media as just People. Not a joke or a caricature, but the whole point of representation is to depict these lived experiences truthfully in order to normalize different ways of living. Because not everybody can live life thin. Not everybody wants to. That’s just not how things work. And that’s why you 🫵 my friends who have fat characters and a story in your heart, must keep writing!!!!

I’ve found that there is no line. I draw from my lived experiences and inspirations for my writing, and sometimes my interests overlap. Obviously don’t push your fetish onto people; That’s not what I’m saying here. But if people call you weird for including fat characters in your art, you should think it’s weird that they have a problem with it!!!

Uncertainty and being a self-critical comic artist with OCD and a stigmatized kink.

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Writing Commissions

Hey everyone I'm opening up writing commissions!

Kofi

*one more note, I'm also willing to write for vore, but I'm not super experienced in it so just keep that in mind!

Writing Examples (with example prices if commissioned):

Blue Food, Blue Belly (2,525 words) (25$)

A Hungry Librarian (1,637 words) (16$)

Jace and Safer: Hunger scenario (611 words) (6$)

DM me or send an ask if you have any questions! Right now I'm taking 5 commissions!

5/5 slots remaining!

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Oooo.. y'all did great with the first part!! Y'all really starved the poor boy..

(Y'all don't want him to go into blood lust, rightttt?)

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The curse when you're a writer and have any kind of belly kink is like. A character's stomach growling is the most normal shit in the world but your brain will convince you it's weird as fuck and if you include it in your writing everyone's gonna clock you as being turned on by it immediately. Makes you incredibly self aware and way more careful than you need to be when writing anything relating to a character's stomach.

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hiya!! i'm unsure if we're mutuals or not and i don't mean to be invasive ,, but i love your writing and characters soo much! i'm always up for semi-lit or lit roleplay and character creation, and my dms are open :)

Hello my dearest mutual you’re not being invasive at all my asks are always open <3

But I also adore your art and characters :0 I might have to take you up on that incredibly generous offer!!!

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Quite frankly STARVING for a good long advanced literate roleplay, I’m talkin a fuckton of planning, lore to build on, characters to develop and get excited about, the works 👁️👁️

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round pudgy tummies that get really vocal and groan and cramp up and complain like they've been starving for days when they miss even one meal get me so worked up like god. talk about fat and spoiled (affectionate)

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two fat hairy tguys getting stoned on the couch and rubbing each other's guts. pressing their fuzzy round bellies together and complaining about how starved they are but both of them are too baked to move... laying there moaning while their stomachs erupt with groans from that t hunger that sits deep and hollow in your belly, their cravings only intensified by the weed and the belly rubs. sorry my bad

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Hunger drive!! Orrrrr.. suggest ideas for is empty tummy. Whichever one y'all do, just don't leave him hungry for too long.. he might bite.