#a chance to overshare and ramble?

[uchiha-gaeshi]

I’m calling off my SI/OC fic.

[lovewithoutresin]

18, 30, and 5!

5. Yes! I have two sisters and a brother all around the same age and a few years younger than me. We weren't super close as kids but I've really gotten on with them in recent years!

18. I got this from you and one other person so I'm giving each of you one. I also see that you're a lit major so I opted to give you not the classic answer gkfkg. But! Another favorite of mine that came into my life around the same time as that one is We Are Okay by Nina Lacour. It's hard to even fully explain why.. it just describes loneliness so accutely that it could actually kill me. Very carthartic but not without its light spots and a good read on unpacking trauma too.

30. A lot of my hobbies sort of slowly begin to feel like my job even if they're not so it's a bit tricky! But I really love storytelling if it wasn't obvious, so anything related to that I could at least enjoy trying. I also love going on walks and have been known to enjoy a good video essay, and while I haven't done it a whole bunch I do love painting as a way to have a hobby that doesn't feel like it's for anyone but me.

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

late sunday night. you know what that means!

[kyofsonder]

I don't talk about the overlap of these things often, but my gender can be complicated and my plurality can be complicated and they van both complicated each other. I'm a trans man, I'm nonbinary, and I have a large system with members of many genders.

I've often described my own gender to friends as a blue color that fades into green at the edges, and following that description I think my system is a series of other colors surrounding mine. Sometimes they blend into those edges, sometimes they creep all the way into the blue, and sometimes they almost overtake my patch of color entirely. We have to navigate our boundaries, deciding how much blending and covering is acceptable and how long it can last, but we try not to restrict each other too much. The main issue is having to mask some of the more feminine system members more thoroughly around people we aren't out to as plural, because we all feel how much it sucks when I get misgendered.

There are also times when someone's gender is so uncomfortable with mine that I don't even want them to be near front if we can help it, which makes navigating boundaries even harder. We like to joke that it feels like there's an "unexpected gender in bagging area," which our partner (who's also plural) says is the perfect description for gender clashes in their own system.

It makes me wish things were simpler sometimes, and we could just... be consistent and comfortable. I'll wish my gender wasn't complicated, so I could deal with plurality being complicated on its own, or that being plural was simpler for the same reasons.

At the same time, it's reassuring. We have all these genders within us, and I found the one that suits me. I can't always fully define it, I can't always hold it still, and others can influence it, but I can live it and it can be mine and the influenced/blended/shared versions can be ours collectively. It's a hard perspective to remember when we're stressed about someone being the wrong gender or wondering what our gender really is, but it's a helpful one.

DID is fucking with my gender rlly bad and my friend said I should reach out so. Trans systems with complicated genders reblog so I know ur out there???

I would love to hear ur experiences bc I’m getting my ass kicked by gender

[yuurivoice]

We've hit the stage of Echoes of Evalas' creation that I'm spending a lot of my quiet time with scenes and characters, including time that is usually occupied by...well, nothing creative. At least, it hasn't been creative time in a long while.

Some of the dearest and most important moments of my young creative daydreaming was before bed. If I might overshare, it was specifically as I lay in bed and tried to drown out unpleasantness I'd hear from other rooms of the house. I'll spare you the details.

I didn't even have music at the time, though in later years as I became a depressed teen, I'd throw some music on my computer to fantasize and fall asleep to.

Oftentimes, these stories and characters I'd contemplate were favorites from various things I enjoyed. In time they'd adapt and evolve into something of my own, in worlds and stories of my own making.

Sometimes it wasn't so grand. There were no sweeping narratives or adventures. Just some self insert character being comforted by a friend or a lover.

Recent nights, I've thrown on my EoE playlist and let my mind wander. I haven't really done that in a long time. Haven't had the need to these days. I'm not running from much. Life is quiet. But as I start to turn over more stones and find what's beneath some of the characters and themes I'm exploring, I've found myself here again.

I don't know if anyone will love what I am making, and I never have. Every person who has let my characters and stories into their hearts means a whole lot to me, though. I've not forgotten when all of this was nothing more than a comfort to myself to soothe away all my fear and loneliness.

As it all starts to come together I'm seeing a stark difference between where I am at as a writer and creative in general in comparison to BitterSweet Chapter 1, as I've revisited it recently.

The pieces were there but it's so clear to me that I didn't have the conviction that I do now. I didn't have the comfort or security of knowing that I can take chances and be bold. I thought I had to color within the lines, and lacked the confidence to really let it rip.

So as much as I've been looking forward, I've also looked back. Further back than I typically like to.

When Charlie said he never thought he'd be this old, that was real shit man. I was a morbid kid. I have a crystal clear memory of being on a school bus in Washington state. Blink 182 just dropped an album. I hate Blink 182, but I listened with a friend whose face I can barely remember. As the high schoolers got on the bus I remember thinking...damn, I'll never be that old.

Not sure what could possess a child to feel that way. Or how that feeling could linger for years. It took a long time to find enough faith in myself to live. Now that I've got it, I think I'm encouraged to give breath to those lost dreams and wandering fantasies. Echoes of Evalas is an exploration of that.

I can't even grasp what that really means yet.

Things like faith, anger, insecurity, and longing for change. I've rattled a lot of locked doors while digging up this story and putting it together.

I am uneasy. That's probably how I've ended up writing this essay in bed, and boy is it a rambling one.

There was a point somewhere. I am excited for what's to come, but uneasy. Not out of fear that anyone will like it or content brained thinking like that. More like...a reverence for this magical thing I've found. Storytelling is magical for me. And that's not me waxing poetic, I think there's something terrifying and beautiful about it. It is the thing I was made to do, and the actual experience of crafting a story like this isn't just fun. I'm removing chains from my soul.

If that ain't magic, I don't know what is.

Anywho, I need to sleep. If you read all that, thank you for putting up with my yapping. 💖

[leviathism]

i have a request. reader showing belphegor their marble collection. [i have a pretty one that's somewhat translucent and looks like a night sky. belphie would like it imo ☆.]

belphegor x gn reader

These demons knew everything about you. Well, almost everything. So they were constantly trying to get ahead of each other to know something about you that the rest didn’t know.

It was a daily competition.

“I know that they have a mark on their left thigh.” Asmo grinned evilly at breakfast one day.

“So do I,” Beel mumbled through his food innocently. Asmo screamed.

“I know something you all don’t,” Mammon crossed his arms proudly, “their favorite color when they were four was—”

“Blue,” all of them chimed except for Mammon. Mammon groaned.

Even Lucifer was in on it.

“Their deepest, darkest secret is that they’re scared of being alone.”

Such a dad thing to do. To overshare a secret of someone so shamelessly. But to be honest, Belphegor already knew that. But he let the old bastard believe he had won, because he had a plan.

He was going to ask you upfront what your secret was and then rub it in his brothers’ faces, especially Lucifer, the next day.

So he asked you, straight up, “Is there anything you have never told any of us before?”

And luckily, you answered.

It was top secret, you told him, despite knowing he’d bring it up the next day at dinner.

You led him into your dark room and dug around in a storage bin. Belphegor held his breath.

Were you hiding tons of money in there? A bunch of severed body parts? Asmo’s special cologne that had gone missing for two months?

He watched as you pulled out a jar of small spheres.

“An eyeball collection,” he breathed out. He should’ve known.

“What?! Eyeball? No!” You clutched the jar protectively to your chest. “What is wrong with you?”

Belphegor tilted his head, wondering if you really wanted him to answer that question.

You let out a sigh, calming yourself down. “It’s my marble collection. Marble. Not eye.”

He kneeled down beside you, getting a closer look. “This is your big secret?”

“Well… it’s not a secret, but it’s something none of you guys know about. I mean, our topics of discussion are usually never on marbles. I never get a chance to show these babies off.” You pouted. Belphie rolled his eyes and took the jar from you.

He lifted it up so the light from your lamp hit the jar. “You only have one jar?”

“These are just from the Devildom. I have more at home but I couldn’t bring them.”

“Oh.” He shook the jar before you gave him a look. “Why do you collect them?”

“They look nice.” You shrugged. “You can have one if you want.”

Belphegor stared at you for a moment before he opened the jar and started to dig around. He listened to you ramble on about how marbles were so hard to find down here and then thought about how he absolutely could not tell his brothers about your marble collection.

If they knew, they’d ask for a marble. And Belphie could not let that happen. He wanted to be the only one to have a marble from you.

He picked up a midnight blue one and put the lid back on the jar.

“That’s a nice one.” You nodded in approval. “Maybe you should start a marble collection. Or do you collect other things?”

Belphie thought for a moment, his eyes flicking up from the marble to you. “I have a lot of pictures of you. Does that count?”

You gaped. How he was so upfront with stuff like that amazed you. “I mean… I guess.”

“I have this really good one, of you, me, and Beel. I’ll have to show you all of them tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You smiled at him.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Tumblr has removed the edit option for asks, so... we're doing it this way until they fix their shit:

The emotional eater Bucky thing got me thinking…would you ever consider writing a gif where Stucky has been together for a while and Steve is called away on a mission for an undetermined length of time. Poor Bucky is worried sick and just keeps stuffing himself at every chance he gets and piles on the weight. When Steve gets home, Bucky’s embarrassed and instead of Steve getting upset, confesses he’s into it and they live happily ever after. With the occasional light teasing thrown in. Bonus points for burpy and hiccuppy Bucky. 🥺

emotional eater Bucky, original ask

Ooooh, this gives room for lots of different scenarios in my mind, so, sure! I can do some writing where we explore a few:

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink, warnings for stuffing, weight gain, insecurity, hurt/comfort, kink discovery, etc.

Bucky gets on the phone with Steve whenever possible. He’s on an undercover mission, so it really isn’t that often, he has to be somewhere completely secure where no one can see the mask of the character he’s playing slip off. It’s not often and it’s not for long but, still, Bucky will take what he can get. Even if what he gets is listening to the way Steve tries to talk to him normally, but… he can’t hide from Bucky. He hears the undertone of stress and exhaustion in his voice, and without realizing it, Bucky transitions from mindlessly pacing their apartment to mindlessly eating.

He stops in front of their fridge/freezer and listens as Steve rambles to him, pretending he’s fine, cracking open a new gallon of ice cream. When Steve yawns - speaking to the dark circles that must be shadowing his eyes, running himself ragged without anyone to look after him - Bucky shoves a heaving spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

Without realizing it, Bucky eats faster and faster, making quick work of the whole gallon as Steve tells him everything he can. Some mission details, but mostly how much he misses being home, how much he misses him, and how much he misses everything else.

Listen. Swallow. Listen. Swallow. Listen. Swallow. It’s the only two things Bucky is doing. So, by the time his spoon hits the bottom of the gallon, Bucky isn’t trying to repress his stress or his worry for Steve anymore. No, he’s trying to repress the hiccups and burps that want to come up. His lips are cold, and so is his packed stomach. He shivers and barely doesn’t groan out loud, using the hand not cradling his phone to massage his stretched abs apologetically. Every hiccup shakes his tight belly (which is getting less and less solid the longer the once-frozen cream sits in his body, he’s beginning to slosh noisily. He just hopes Steve’s super hearing can’t pick it up over the phone). Every burp is gas that doesn’t get released, staying trapped in him instead, and he’s starting to bloat up like a balloon. His abs feel hot with how stretched they’re getting. It feels kind of nice - warm and tight - sort of like cuddling. It’s distracting.

He’s lured back into the conversation, though, when Steve catches onto his heavier breathing and asks what’s wrong.

Bucky fumbles to tell him that he’s pacing too much, ignoring the fact that he’s a damn super soldier, he wouldn’t start panting the way he is right now if he went for a jog and talked to Steve the whole time.

Steve doesn’t think that hard about it. Instead, he apologizes for oversharing.

No. No, Bucky shakes his head. He’s fine. He tells Steve that. And, privately, he thinks he overdid it. Oversharing but… actually under-sharing because no human should eat so much fucking ice cream in under 30 minutes. He’s had way, way too much ice cream. It’s all sloshing and churning in his guts.

Then, the phone call ends with soft goodbyes.

Alone again, Bucky decides that he feels like a swollen tick, engorged with so much blood that he’s expanded. Doubled or tripled in size. How can his stomach get so big? Is this normal? Being able to swell so much? Is this a super soldier ability?

No longer smothering his sounds out of embarrassment and wanting to not worry his partner, Bucky slowly, gingerly bends over to grab a can of soda out of the bottom shelf of the fridge door - hoping to clear out some burps - and groans loudly, grabbing his heavy belly with both hands. He hiccups. He nearly falls back onto his ass, bending over and jolting like that. But he doesn’t. Barely.

He decides to ride out his mistake on the couch, leaning back, sipping his soda, and burping loudly, unashamedly. After a while, he feels his stomach deflate a little. It’s not as hard, at least. He still sounds like a washing machine, sloshing and gurgling, hiccupping and burping, groaning and moaning. But, one good thing can be said about the entire experience, he’s not thinking, for a second, about anything. No anxiety. No stress. No worry. Abstractly, he wishes Steve was here to nag him and rub his belly, but his mind is as clear as it’s been since Steve left.

❤️

Not too long later, after that first nearly instinctual belly-filling distraction/coping mechanism, Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night sweating. He’s so, so worried about Steve that it’s appearing in his dreams. It’s not even a normal dream with images and some semblance of real life, walking around, and seeing and experiencing. It’s just the feeling of being worried. Stress. Anxiety. Teeth-chattering.

Bucky has to get up. He thinks about showering off the sweat, but instead, he tugs off his shirt and sleep shorts, wandering only in his underwear to wherever his feet want to take him.

They want to go to the kitchen. His mismatched hands are on board as well, immediately finding the fridge and opening it, going straight for the pan of left-over lasagna that he had for dinner. It’s an entire family-sized dish. He stopped himself at 3 servings during the evening, but now, shaken awake and needing some kind - any kind of comfort, he can’t quit. It should be gross, he’s eating it cold and only using a fork to carve large chunks of cheese and meat and noodles and sauce out that smear the corners of his mouth, but it isn’t. He’s not thinking. He’s eating. He can’t think when he’s shoving food into his mouth. He can’t think when his stomach is struggling to stretch bigger and bigger. He can’t think when his belly aches with fullness. All that occupies his mind is the slow, intense fullness that grows and grows inside him. He likes the way it feels - being full.

Bucky doesn’t know when he woke up, he didn’t look at their alarm clock in their room, nor did he bother to open his phone, so he has no idea how long he spends ravenously shoving food into his mouth. But he’s there for long enough that he finishes the rest of the dish. The entire family-sized lasagna. Thick, greasy, and rich, sitting in his gut like a brick. A couple of bricks, actually.

“Oh, God,” he moans to himself when his fork hits the empty container with a clang.

His poor belly!

Oh, it’s so heavy. And round.

Jesus.

He’s never seen himself like this! Not even after he scarfed down a whole gallon of ice cream and bloated up like a balloon from the excessive dairy, sugar, and fat. He’s even more round and tight. His body sounds like a drum when he taps his hand against his belly, whining.

So, it’s all Bucky can do to shut the fridge and flop back down onto the tile floor, his belly sticking up like a mountain from the rest of his body. Pale and exposed. When he stuffed himself with ice cream, he was wearing a shirt - clothes - this time he isn’t. He’s basically naked. If he bothered to lift his head, he can almost see the way his belly shivers and ripples, his stomach and intestines struggling to contain, let alone digest all of that food. It’s so much more intense, seeing all this weight attached to him, under his skin. He’s all belly!

Bucky burps so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors woke up and heard the commotion. Maybe worst of all, though, he can’t stop puffing, “oh, oh… oh,” the sounds are all breathy and soft. He’s overwhelmed with the weight of himself. His belly. It’s so tight. Hot, too. Bucky feels like a bug pinned to a board under a heat lamp, ready for examination. God, he can’t even roll around and get onto his hands and knees. He’s stuck. He’s, actually, Jesus, he’s wiped out, yawning after hissing out another burp... tired because it’s the middle of the night and tired because he’s so ready to collapse into a food coma.

He might as well sleep right here, right? Catch some shut-eye while he can with his head quiet, and his body is weighed down?

❤️

In the same week as the lasagna night (which wasn’t a dream, by the way. Bucky really woke up on the floor, and despite still being full in the morning, he made the poor decision to have breakfast. He should’ve regretted it with how his gut throbbed after devouring two whole boxes of cereal, one brand-new gallon of whole milk, and two cream cheese-slathered bagels, but… he didn’t. It made him feel better to keep up the overwhelming tight, heavy, hot fullness, barely able to drag himself to the couch to sleep it all off) Bucky watches Clint and Natasha come home from a two-week mission. They’re both scraped up and bruised, eyes dull from their exhaustion. Neither of them has any serious, terrible injuries but…

Bucky can’t help but think about Steve. Steve can heal minor injuries (and more than minor injuries) easily, but he’s taken advantage of because of that ability. Often. Bucky has seen it, again and again, Steve will go on new missions while still healing injuries from the last mission. Bruises fading. Broken bones still mending. Cuts hardly scarring over before disappearing entirely. Dislocated joints still tender.

He’s thinking about Steve.

Only Steve.

And, suddenly, his body on autopilot, Bucky is outside the Tower, away from his teammates and other reminders of Steve. Before he catches up, his fingers call an Uber using his phone. Then, his mouth has the driver take him to one of his favorite spots, a rundown, old-school diner that serves classic Americana food. The actual classic shit that Bucky remembers eating.

By the time he arrives, all of Bucky is on board with this plan. Except for his stomach. He tries to promise it that he won’t go overboard but…

He’s so hungry.

Easily, Bucky pops his most charming smile, showing off his dimples, and asks the waitress seating him for the booth in the very back corner where he won’t be easily seen. She lets him have it even though he’s alone, and normally corner booths are reserved for bigger groups. Good.

Then, as soon as he’s handed his menu, he goes down the thing, ordering what feels like the entire fucking menu. Not to mention how he double orders some of what he’s had before and knows is good. Still, the waitress dutifully writes down the entire order and brings it to him in manageable waves. If we were thinking properly, he would swear that she does it on purpose, eyeing him with… maybe disbelief? Maybe challenge? Maybe even interest? Either way, she keeps him pliant with lots of refills of creamy, sugared coffee and bubbly, non-diet soda. Then, without even being asked, she brings him a flight of all the different shakes they make.

Bucky is deep in his waking food coma by that point and he’s pretty sure, at first, that he’s hearing things when she claims that they’re the house.

Oh, God.

He has to have even the shakes then, doesn’t he? He can’t refuse free food. Even if he’s about to pop!

The shakes give him a much NOT needed second wind and he vacuums it all up, scarcely remembering that he’s in public and can’t freely belch and moan and hiccup and generally make a scene of how he’s swelling with food. Still, he’s unthinking. Just eating. Stuffing. Growing. Expanding like he doesn’t give a single fuck about the damage actively being done to his waistline.

Bucky eats until he feels so heavy that he could be entirely made of metal, not just his heavy arm. He eats so much that he tiptoes the line of feeling sick. Overstuffed. Weighed down by good full-fat, sugar-sugar (no sweetener for him, thank you very much) food that tastes like home…

“O-oof,” Bucky puffs to himself, shocked by how much harder it is than he remembers to scoot and lift his ass out of the diner booth. Heavy. He doesn’t really fit in the booth anyhow, with his belly pressing painfully against the edge of the table and flowing onto the table itself. He’s so swollen. He needs to get home. He wants to crash and sleep off all these calories. He can’t function he’s so full (but… isn’t that the point?).

❤️

Soon, Bucky has a jittery day, all day, for a few days and he ends up solving the issue by marathon stuffing himself. He JUST went grocery shopping but, there’s nothing that can stop him from cleaning out the entire apartment - the cabinets, pantry, countertops, top of the fridge, fridge itself, and freezer - before giving in and ordering piles of take-out for every meal. Keeping any of his worries for Steve at bay by shoving food into his mouth that only shoves his stomach out fuller and fuller, rounder and rounder, heavier and heavier. It gets to the point that there is no fucking food and he’s sick of take-out despite its convenience.

So, with his belly bursting from his clothes like a dame who’s expecting but didn’t budget for maternity clothes, so she’s making do with what she’s got, he pulls himself out of the apartment on unsteady feet to go grocery shopping. The weight of his belly keeps pulling him forward, making his back arch and hurt. And… Bucky wonders, his cheeks hot, if any of the people around him think he’s round in the family way, not the greedy, stuffing himself beyond sound reason or logic way. He’s seen men be pregnant in the future. Palming his gut in front of the produce, rubbing it, Bucky looks down - he could see it. He could really see it. He looks pretty pregnant. Like. About to pop pregnant. Maybe even overdue. If it were Steve’s baby, though, maybe not. Steve’s baby would be pretty fucking huge and strong and -

Oh, God.

Bucky feels the way the food inside him shifts and churns and his temperature seems to rise at least ten degrees. He needs to stop before his prick gets any ideas and he’s indecent for public with how he’s fantasizing about being stuffed full of Steve like that.

Fuck.

Bucky shivers and hides it by biting into one of the apples he picked out. He needs to keep shopping. Quickly. He needs to get home. (If he’s honest with himself, the thing that he’s looking forward to doing once he gets home is slowly but surely packing every bit of this food into his huge, beach ball belly. How big could he possibly make himself? How badly can he stuff himself full? Hnng.)

His trip takes a turn for the worse then, his tummy is unbearably tight and solid and it keeps hitting the handle of the cart as he waddles behind it, pushing it. Also, with every turn down a new aisle, he keeps seeing Captain America themed cereals and snacks and drinks, and… he misses his guy so badly. So, he snatches it all up. Still! His monstrous gut growls.

Hungry, always so fucking hungry.

How can he still be craving more? It doesn’t make sense! He doesn’t have room for more. But, he supposes he would rather be dealing with an unending appetite than unending, heart-breaking loneliness and stress and anxiety. So… whatever. Bucky eats another apple out of his cart, burping as softly as he can around the juicy flesh of the fruit.

By the time Bucky gets to check out, he has a good amount of empty wrappers to pay for, things that he’s snagged off the shelf because they looked good and he needed to sate his worries, so, he kept stuffing himself.

Eating everything.

Bad, bad idea to go shopping when he’s hungry (even if it seems like he’s always hungry now).

The clerk checking him out doesn’t look pleased with him. But, also seems to have some restraint, appearing to take pity on him (or be making fun of him), murmuring, “bad pregnancy cravings, huh?”

Bucky’s brain short-circuits. He fucking hopes she can’t read his mind. It’s all gluttonous filth now. He does look fucking pregnant. Obviously so. Round and tight. A big fucking globe pulling his back into an arch and making his walk into a waddle, ankles and feet swelling, he’s so goddamn heavy.

“Uh, yeah. Yup,” he grits out awkwardly. He’s very glad the checkout stand comes up to his waist.

It’s too much. Everything. Too much.

Once Bucky’s back at their apartment, he has to have security bring the bags up because he can hardly haul himself out of the car, wedged in behind the steering wheel, let alone the mass amount of food he bought to feed two super soldiers. But! Not even two… just him. Just one.

Just him…

Bucky eats more then. Because Steve enters his mind again.

He eats rapidly as if he’s a half-starved stray dog finding last night's leftovers in the garbage outside, he sweats like a pig while he does it, he pants and huffs and can’t catch his breath with his stomach encroaching on his lungs, pressing out and in, too, he bursts another pair of jeans the button flinging across the room and hitting the wall with how much weight was behind it, and he pops the seams on the side of his shirt with how far his belly expands out after literal days of nonstop eating. He can’t help it. He can’t do anything. He can’t breathe with so much food inside him. He can’t stop panting and moaning, his head spinning. He can’t move yet again. He can’t think about worrying.

❤️

In the morning, Bucky groans like he’s dying, lifting himself out of the dent he’s made in the couch, and heads to the shower to wash off the sweat and crumbs he managed to miss and not suck up like a damn vacuum.

He showers, steps out, and as the steam disappears from the mirror, he’s confronted by the fact that…

He’s chubby.

Like, really chubby.

It looks like he’s swallowed a beach ball or a pillow. His gut is big. There’s some soft fat overlaying his sudden belly (and his thicker thighs and arms as well as bubbling his butt out into a fatter shelf), but really, it’s solid. Solid. Densely packed with so, so much food inside him. God. How did he ever get all of that down his throat? He’s bloated, too. That isn’t helping at all. It’s making it so much worse. After his stuffing spree last night (and the past couple of days), he’s so bloated and tight, and pressing on his belly just makes him ache, it doesn’t get any burps or belches out.

He ends up with the fucking hiccups. Oh. Jesus. He whines to himself between the jolting hiccups. He’s aching with the pressure. The weight. The fullness. His gut and… and underneath his gut, too. He’s so full and swollen, he can’t help it. It’s such an intense feeling and Steve hasn’t been here to, to touch him or do anything, and -

Steeeve.

Bucky tries to stop himself, now worried about Steve being away and Steve when he comes home to find him like… like this.

Blown up like a balloon.

His abs don’t just look stretched, they’re gone! Beyond repair! He had abs the last time Steve saw him, now he’s… round. Big. Heavy - heavier.

But Bucky can’t stop himself. Because he’s an emotional eater. And he’s more worried now than ever. What is happening to Steve on his mission? Is he okay? It’s been a long time since they’ve gotten to call or text, so he has no idea what might be happening… if anything? When is he going to come home? When Steve comes home, how will he react to Bucky being fat? What will he say? Will Bucky be able to lose it if he’s less worried about Steve and he can see Steve and touch him and hold him? Will Bucky blow right back up into the stuffed turkey he is the next time Steve goes on an undercover mission where they can’t keep in touch? It’s all he can think about.

So, he uncontrollably stuffs and packs and shoves food into himself until he’s sprawled out on his back on the cold kitchen floor, groaning and rubbing desperate circles on his complaining belly at all hours of the day. Morning. Evening. Night. It doesn’t matter. He just can’t stop cramming food into himself. And he keeps getting bigger and bigger. Actively growing until -

Steve gives him word that he’s coming home.

Bucky is unspeakably relieved. But, oh, God, what is he gonna do about his weight?

The night before Steve is scheduled to come home, flying back, Bucky eats what feels like, at least, fifteen pounds of Italian takeaway. Everything is carb-heavy, oily, and rich. The only reason Bucky can get to sleep is because of the white noise of his tummy gurgling away, making him forget his worries. Any foolish plan he had to let his bloat go down all tomorrow, not eating until Steve got home, is ruined by the fact that Steve comes home at fucking 5:00 AM.

He crashes into bed with Bucky, and Bucky is so relieved to have him here (and so weighed down by enough pasta to give him a food baby… if babies were fifteen fucking pounds) that he just passes back out after being jostled awake. It’s not until he wakes up much later in the morning - almost noon - being spooned behind by Steve that he freaks out a little. Just a little. He’s remarkably cool, considering that Steve’s big, warm hand is resting perfectly on the fat crest of his gut. He’s pressed against his back where his gain might not be as obvious but… there’s no way he can hide it. When Steve wakes up and processes what he feels, what is he going to say?!

Bucky is jolted so strongly by his emotions that, in trained response, his stomach growls. He’s still stuffed. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t hungry. He’s hungry for relief from his worry and stress and -

Steve shifts, he stretches, he yawns.

He’s! Awake!

Bucky freezes.

His gut gurgles, loudly, trying to get Bucky to feed it.

“Hm, Buck?” Steve sleepily asks while nuzzling into his hair, assuming he spoke and it wasn’t just his overinflated stomach.

Tears prickle Bucky’s eyes, and he suddenly has the fucking hiccups.

Hic. Hic. Hic.

Terrifyingly, Bucky looks down through his watery vision to see his monstrously round tummy jolt and jiggle with each involuntary hiccup. He’s so fat. What is Steve going to say? What is Steve going to do?

“Aw, baby,” Steve’s sleepy voice is so warm on his skin, “got the hiccups?” He squeezes him, strong arms around his wide, soft middle, “you poor thing.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, he shakes his head tightly. No. Go back to sleep, Bucky wills him, testing any possible telepathic link they might have after their ridiculously long lives.

“Shh,” Steve tells him, patting (patting!) the fatty, soft side of his gut where it’s spread out huge and monopolizing so much of the bed, “it’s okay.”

“It’s - hic - it’s not okay,” Bucky whines.

“It’s okay,” Steve touches him so gently, rubbing his jumping, jolting belly, then - Jesus Christ - pulling up his tight sleep shirt to get better access.

Bucky is waiting for the other shoe to drop but it doesn’t. Hic.

“You feel good.” Bucky tries to suck in, but it doesn’t do anything, his abs are too fucking stretched - overtaxed by the sheer volume of food he’s put inside himself, gone forever after funneling so much fat and sugar behind them. “You feel like home,” Steve murmurs into his ear, kissing the back of his neck, “all soft and warm…”

“Oh.” Bucky says involuntarily.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckles, “you have no idea how happy I was to come home and feel you-”

“Feel?”

“Yeah, honey, it was dark. I didn’t want to turn the lights on and wake you up. So, imagine my surprise to feel you like this,” Steve drags his wide palm from the top of his tummy aaaall the way down, “you feel really good.” He squeezes him again. Bucky feels himself squish. Fat. Tubby. Excessive. “You’re all domestic now,” he noses his earlobe sweetly, the hint of an endeared, appreciative laugh in his voice, “soft and warm. Slow and big.”

Bucky swallows, he’s… he’s feeling warmer hearing Steve talk about him - about his body. He’s always liked it when Steve compliments and praises him. Touches him.

“You’re so cuddly. Gonna make it hard for me to let you go.”

“Don’t,” Bucky pleads, turning his head to look at him.

“I won’t,” Steve seals the promise with a kiss, “buuuut, if we wanna keep you like this, then we’re gonna have to get up and get your breakfast, aren’t we?”

Bucky’s gut gurgles loudly as if screaming its agreement.

Steve just smirks, his mouth uncharacteristically sharp for how early it is.

With anticipation, Bucky licks his lips. Should he tell him he’s still tender and stuffed? He doesn’t know how much more he could possibly fit into his stomach but… Bucky doesn’t think he wants Steve to go easy on him.

[unsureofu]

overshare, ramblings at 1am in June:

I stopped smoking almost three months ago and it seems like my two and half year period of hypersexuality has come to a close.

I read the year of magical thinking and blue nights and the time keeper and the song of achilles and now I’m reading time is a mother and the five people you meet in heaven and I feel like I’ve been knocked back into my reality. I was falling in love with him, he said the kindest and sweetest words to me I have ever heard and we shared moments that I do not believe can ever be replicated with anyone else. he reciprocated every sentiment I gave him and more, so much more. he left an impact on me I’ve been trying to hide. the first person to tell me I’m beautiful. we shared stories of our favourite movies, both somehow detailing the great death of a man who leaves a woman behind, unbeknownst as to what was to come. I can still feel his fingers on my check, his hand around my throat, his arms around my waist. and then he ended his own life, two days after one of many phone calls where he said he would see me soon. this time, it won’t be until I pass myself.

I haven’t worn my contacts once since he told me he liked my glasses. I never fixed the broken dresser he promised he would. he was the very first person I told I truly want to be writer. I have had his obituary open as the first tab on my web app ever since. I’ve been waiting for him. now that I no longer smoke and my mind may just be returning from automatic, I dream of him again. I dream that he says he cares about me to such depths that I cared for him, saying the same things he has already said to me but in other words. I was falling in love with him, it was just the beginning. I was not yet done getting to know him, but I probably never would have been. I’m seeing that every person I threw myself at was not him, it could never be him. I feel I failed to honour him by touching any others. I don’t want to spend nights with others anymore and I’m so sorry I ever did. two and a half years after his death, I’m so sorry I ever tried to delay my grief for him. I’m so sorry I sought out others after you. I was not ready then and I’m still not ready now. I want him back and no one else. what happened between us, no one can take away from me. I will always hold those memories, however haunting, and I hope that it’ll never be too late to honour them.

I never believed in any kind of afterlife but now I feel I must, the only way I’ll survive. my mind instinctively refers to what we had as the greatest love story never seen, never given the chance to flourish. because he took his own life in the middle of I falling in love with him.

[freaky-dan]

EXTREMELY LATE UPDATED INTRO

My Name Is Dan

My Pronouns are They/Them

I Speak English

Basic DNI including tallyshippers

I have a tendency to overshare and ramble and I type very dry a lot of the time so please don't take it as me being pretentious or disengenuous because theres a 90% chance I am giggling gleefully behind the screen.

I draw surrealist art and funny stuff

SOME OF MY ART MAY CAUSE EYESTRAIN!! be warned

whenever i get passionate about something i'll either start swearing like a hazbin hotel character or spitting out brainrot terms like the kindergarten mafia of the elementary school prime black market.

also I carn't spel.

bye!!

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Hello! I was wondering if you could match me for Haikyuu, Bungou and Genshin.

Pronouns: I use he/him pronouns only, im a trans guy :D

Sexuality: I am gay! and acespec :D I only like men

Zodiac and MBTI: Im a Taurus/INTJ

Appearance: Im 5'6, Ive got a pretty pale complexion, my eyes are close to a chocolate brown. Ive got a short bob cut to my chin, brown hair with a bunch of pink highlights, all different shades from not dying it correctly. Gold-rimmed glasses that are kinda rounded with thick lenses, ive got really bad eyesight. Ive pretty much got a twink build, so look at Venti? Yea like that.

Personality: im pretty introverted, i dont really talk to people all that much until i get a chance to ramble ablution my interests, and then i could go on for hours. I tend to be quite sarcastic with most anyone, and get annoyed really easily when people make obvious mistakes/being idiotic, despite me doing similar things myself. Even tho Ive said all this, i sometimes get shoved into the therapist role to have everyone talk to me about their life problems. I also sometimes tend to overshare about things in my life to literall strangers. So fun.

Likes: Cosplaying, anime, music, VOCALOID, Story and lore heavy games like genshin, collecting rocks, any kind of gemstone, sea shells, manga collecting, reading, laying around in bed, going to conventions.

Dislikes: Spiders and snakes, people cutting in front of me in line, people walking slow in front of me, especially when i need to go somewhere in a hurry. realistic blood and death, Loud noises and sudden bright lights, excess amounts of cheese on pizzas, especially if its just mozzarella, squashes and zucchini (i have a reason) and certain clothing textures touching when i wear them. Also dresses. I hate dresses, especially ones that go past my knees.

Hobbies: Cosplay is one, i love doing it and makeup just for fun to go out in, i really like playing video games, i adore reading manga, and other light novels.

Other things: Ive got diagnosed insomnia and its difficult for me to sleep without holding something like a pillow, plush animal, or another person. I also wear an earphone headband to sleep with white noise.

Hi! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took a while. I hope you like your matchups!

In Haikyuu, I match you with...

You and Bokuto are certainly the odd couple at first glance. Where you’re introverted, Bokuto is bouncing around and being an extrovert in every sense of the word.

He absolutely loves listening to you ramble. It’s one of the only times he’ll be quiet himself since it’s such a change from what you’re usually like.

As soon as he finds out that you sleep better while holding something, he’s going to be completely insufferable. Did you know he sleeps better when he’s being held? Well, he’s not sure it that’s true but there’s no harm in trying right?!

Please get him into Vocaloid. Bokuto strikes me as someone who hasn’t really listened to much before but as soon as he discovers Hatsune Miku, he’s found his hyperfixation.

People cutting in line definitely irks him as well but while you might be too introverted to say anything, he’s puffing out his chest and giving them a piece of his mind. There’s no way he’s going to just let them cut in front of the two of you like that.

In Bungo Stray Dogs, I match you with...

Okay, since you’re easily annoyed, Dazai might seem like a strange matchup since he’s likely the source of most of your annoyance. But I really do think you’d get along well.

He’s always keeping an eye out for gemstones and sea shells to give you. He knows you like collecting them and likes being able to add to your collection.

Dazai would love going to conventions with you! He thinks they’re great fun and they take his mind off his suicidal tendencies for a while.

He totally gets that loud noises and bright lights can be a lot and he’s quite understanding when you reach your limit. He’ll happily step away from the action for a while to keep you company while you recover.

Please recommend some manga for him to read. I see him as someone who likes manga because it’s easy and quick to read. He also likes a lot of the characters.

In Genshin Impact, I match you with...

You and Kaveh are an unstoppable sarcasm duo. No one can stand in your way and Alhaitham is so tired of your combined antics.

It’s a good thing you’re the therapist friend because Kaveh needs a comforting presence in his life. He’s also more than happy to lend an ear if and when you need to get stuff off your chest as well.

He loves that you like collecting things. He’ll design rotating shelves and cabinets for you to house your collections in.

He’s an interesting balance of a slow walker and a fast walker. When he’s by himself, he’ll usually take it slow and admire his surroundings. But when he’s with someone, he’ll walk faster.

Please get him into cosplay! Kaveh would be so into designing and making his own costumes and would love helping you out with yours as well.

[inputonmyoutlook]

The Art of Saying Too Much in Plain Sight ( The Beginning of it all 🌱✍🏾)

🫵🏾Have you clicked play? 🎧

We’ve all been there right? You know when we are speaking your mind, laying it all out there, only to realize later that we’ve said too much. But here's the kicker: sometimes saying too much doesn’t mean that I said everything. In fact, the more we say, the more we can hide in plain sight. It's like me giving people an all access pass to my thoughts while holding back the one thing they really want to know.

Take this moment, for instance. 😌👌🏾 The moment I decide to write this post and upload a picture of myself, I'm already giving you more than you asked for. I’m explaining why I’m explaining. 😒 But what am I really hiding?🙅🏾‍♂️ The obvious? The uncomfortable? Maybe. 🤷🏾‍♂️

Also I am at an age where I am young to the older people and old to the younger people. 

Hence the hashtag 🫸🏾🫨🫨🫨🫷🏾That’s has been such an interesting place to be, especially when I am in that space where I can relate to both generations but still feel like I am caught between them. 

Ain’t nothing like what I am experiencing, making me feel like I am “too much” or “not enough” for either group. This is probably what a middle child feels like🧐. It’s a strange dance between vulnerability and subtlety, and it’s often unconscious.

If you made it this far, I appreciate you.🫰

Currently I am in this space where I’m navigating the expectations of two very different worlds, often feeling like I am in the "middle" of everything but not always fully seen by either side. Being in this middle ground has shaped my perspective on how sometimes I feel like I am caught between the wisdom and experiences of older generations and the energy and expectations of the younger crowd.

Especially in every social dynamic and communication aspects. Giving the energy off as quite new, not quite outdated, but always offering something in between. Writing about this might even give you a chance to write about your experience, feeling like you're both an insider and an outsider all at once.

First born or Last Born?🫶🏾 (even if you are neither)

In today’s world, we’re constantly oversharing on social media, in conversations, in blog posts. We throw our opinions out there, loud and clear, but how often do we still control the narrative by keeping a little something tucked away?

Like when someone gives you a “too much” anecdote about their love life, only for you to realize the entire story is a thinly veiled attempt at discussing their own insecurities. Or when someone rambles on about their new job, but you notice they’re avoiding talking about the one coworker who makes them feel small. In both cases, you’ve been given too much, but also, nothing at all. 

Here is my unsolicited advice 😏 Every environment is not your garden, so CLOCK IN and CLOCK OUT!✌🏾 You got 💩 to do.

So, what’s the secret in saying too much in plain sight? It’s that we don’t always have to say it all for it to be understood. Sometimes, the more we say, the more we reveal without ever giving away the one thing we are trying hardest to hide.

👋🏾 Am I right?  Do not get stuck!

This blog is, in a way, my own practice of oversharing. But don’t get too excited I’m still holding back. And maybe that’s the art of it: saying too much, but never all of it. M.A.P. (Make Action Plans)

If you can guess my birth order correctly, I will reveal a fact about myself that is within reason.

[skeletap]

Bonus question: share any additional thoughts, art, favourite scenes, anything you've been waiting for a chance to ramble about?

Oh man! There's so much to ramble about! I can't choose just one! Ummm...

I'll pick upon the favorite part. I think my favorite things to write for Spinal Tap is just him. I like that he overshares, has childish mood swings, and acts all around weird and awkward despite clearly doing his best to put up a facade as an intelligent nobleman.

Adding to that, my favorite scenes to write in Prima Materia are the horror moments, as I am, very obviously, a major horror fan. My favorite scene so far has to be the third dream sequence that Skeletor has in chapter 9 of String Lights. I tapped in on the theme of sex and desire in horror, especially the exploration of repressed desire in the vampire subgenre. Skeletor being in this dream state in a complete state of rapture, hypnotized as this beautiful ethereal Spinal Tap floats towards him like he's walking on water! Into an embrace that then turns to horror and melting flesh! Go writing.

That last paragraph seemed to guide me to a topic to ramble on, which I will do so about horror in Prima Materia. I look forward to Prima Materia's future scenes with Hordak and the 'Horde' in general. I have been literally honing away both and I feel like the best of the horror subelement is going to show in that. Hordak's presence in the story (as a non corporeal voice/force) is very much is inspired a bit by the more abstract horror movies rooted in the supernatural. Horde magic is based in my love for vampire movies. Plus, the hinted on concept that Horde technology is living is very, very inspired by Cronenberg's Videodrome and Star Trek's borg.

[monochromaticbeans]

Y'all probably think, "Is that all this Beans lady does? Just sit around and write? Posting every goddamn day?”

Well, yes. Pretty much. Any chance I have, I'm writing something. I've been posting something daily because I have a backlog of stuff, both completed and still in progress, that I want to share. BUT... I don't want to flood all the hashtags by posting too much at once. (You're welcome.) 🤣

A few things about my stories:

I struggled with whether or not to include the two love scenes between Hikari and Baji in "Sakayume." I wanted to convey the awkward sweetness of their first time, and the bittersweet tenderness of their last time without focusing so much on the activity itself. (I mean, I was that age when I turned in my V card. And even though that was literal eons ago, I still kinda remember what it was like being 'old enough' but also not. TMI, sorry.) All that to say, I wanted to show how deeply they loved one another without it being icky and weird to write about. A fine line, I know.

I wrote the really descriptive stuff to take place after all the characters were grown. And those pieces are clearly marked as 🔞 on my short fics masterlist. They're also on my AO3 as a compilation called "Masayume."

The "Cruising Altitude" short story is almost finished and it's only six chapters. It was supposed to be shorter than that, but Koko and Tomoe had other ideas. Blame them. You can probably blame Sanzu as well. He's made it a habit of showing up in my stories and wedging himself in more than I originally intended him to be. He tried to pull the same stunt in this one, too, so I did have to ask him nicely to let Koko have the spotlight here.

My Tomoe character is based loosely on a woman I once knew. A chief pilot who experienced a similar injustice to Tomoe's after also rightfully earning her position. This used to be my world, literally half my lifetime ago. (I'm not exaggerating. It was, quite literally, half my life ago. Take my age and divide it by two. Fuck, I'm old! 🤣) I was so close to having enough flight experience to break into the airlines or the corporate sector that I could taste it. Unfortunately, a national tragedy in 2001 changed all that. The aviation industry tanked for a long while. By the time it started recovering, I'd already changed career fields. But all's well that ends well. I love my second field as much as I loved (and still love) aviation.

In "Cruising Altitude," there are two stories Tomoe tells Koko in the next to last chapter. Those two stories are true. 😏 (Maybe I should write about all the crazy shit misadventures from my flying days. At least, the legal shit.)

Well, this turned into more of a "meet the author" post than the "lemme share stuff about my fanfiction" post I sat down to write. Thanks, ADHD Rambling and Autistic Oversharing! 🤣

[lords-of-mayhem]

Chapter four of Mariners Apartment Complex

Chapter summary: “Come to my apartment after the laundry is done. I’ve got a new type of wine I think you’ll enjoy,” Øystein offered.

Words: 1,250

Øystein woke up the following morning feeling gross. His come had dried over his stomach and the rest had clung to his sheets from where he had been too exhausted to clean himself off the night before. He groaned as he stripped the bed down, wishing he had more than one set of sheets in that moment, but wishing did not magically make another set appear. Shoving it all into a laundry basket, he made his way across the street to the laundromat. 

Dreadfully, Varg was sitting on the bench there. Apparently, nights where he jerked strange men off in the street had the same outcome as his loud nights did. Øystein added this to his mental notes of everything he knew about Varg and tried to avoid eye contact. There was no way Varg could tell his sheets were dirty and far less of a way for him to know he’d jerked off last night to thoughts of him. It didn’t feel that way, though. It felt like Varg could see every dirty thought he’d had, every movement of his hand, and every drop that he’d spilled. 

“Good morning to you too,” Varg said sarcastically when it was clear that Øystein wasn’t going to greet him. The words made his head spin, never knowing what Varg wanted from him. He would act bothered by Øystein talking to him and then he acted equally bothered by Øystein giving him space. He thought maybe Varg had a sixth sense for knowing what would irritate Øystein most, a supernatural way of knowing what Øystein wanted and a natural inclination for going against it. 

“Good morning, Varg. Cold out today, isn’t it?” Øystein replied, stopping before he could open the door and giving his best smile at the younger man. It felt strained and awkward, and he hoped that Varg couldn’t tell something was off. He nearly let out a sigh of relief when Varg just scoffed and rolled his eyes at him. Good, this was a normal reaction and Øystein had never been so happy for Varg to be unfriendly towards him. “Come to my apartment after the laundry is done. I’ve got a new type of wine I think you’ll enjoy,” Øystein offered, letting his impulsivity take over.

These days, Varg drank anything he could get his hands on. This was most often the cheapest beer he could afford with Faust’s help and they always split it. This was apparently a new thing for Varg, though. According to Faust, Varg used to never so much as touch beer, let alone anything harder. Øystein thought the newfound enjoyment for drinking might coincide with Varg’s turn to prostitution, taking an escape where he could. If Faust knew about Varg’s occupation, which Øystein couldn’t see how Faust wouldn’t know, he didn’t mention it. 

Faust truly did care about Varg and his privacy in this regard. He told Øystein everything else, even things he was certain Faust was not meant to be telling. Another side effect of being young, teenagers loved oversharing things they really ought to keep to themselves. He never complained about this because it had always benefited him, and he truly didn’t mind listening to Faust ramble about whatever was on his mind. 

“Knock when you’re back,” Varg told him simply, putting out his cigarette and rising to his feet. He was walking back across the street and towards the apartment complex before Øystein had a chance to reply. He was conflicted on how to feel about this. On one hand, Varg had accepted his offer and he was happy about it. On the other hand, he had hoped Varg would stay and they could chat. He’d never seen Varg leave the laundromat so quickly and he was certain Varg had only left now to avoid him. 

Varg was quite fickle, Øystein had come to find. He would give Øystein just enough attention, just enough affection, to make him think they were getting somewhere. Then he would turn cold and indifferent once again. He would do things like agreeing to come spend time with Øystein and then he would go out of his way to avoid being around him. Øystein simply hoped that by the time the laundry was finished, Varg would still want to come over.

A little over an hour later, Varg was stepping into Øystein’s apartment and closing the door behind himself. He looked around at everything and carefully took in his surroundings, seeming to be judging every object Øystein had and every decoration he’d put up. Unsurprisingly, Varg had been drawn to his record cabinet and looked over each album. 

“Pick something out and we can listen to it,” Øystein offered to him, smiling as Varg sat down on the floor in front of the cabinet. He inspected a few different albums while Øystein fetched the wine and two glasses. He didn’t have any actual wine glasses, he was honestly surprised he even had two glasses clean at all, but he figured Varg wouldn’t mind. 

“You have a signed Venom album?” Varg asked and Øystein glanced over at him, watching as he held up an album. He offered the younger man a bright smile, pride rising in his chest, nodding in confirmation. “Of course, you listen to Venom. You would,” Varg scoffed, placing the record back on the shelf a bit too roughly. Øystein’s smile faded, having to regroup. It hadn’t been the reaction he’d expected at all and he felt embarrassment rise in his throat at the pure amount of judgment coming from Varg. 

“Well, what do you like then?” Øystein asked once he’d gathered himself up, trying to act like it hadn’t hurt his pride. Varg didn’t answer for a few seconds. Finally, he climbed to his feet and brought the album with him, offering it to Øystein. “Of course, you listen to Bathory,” Øystein told him as he looked at the album, only about half joking with him, but the words didn’t have their intended effect. Varg just scoffed again, smirking at Øystein. 

“It was in your record cabinet,” Varg pointed out, taking a seat at the small table that served as the dining room. Øystein hated that he had a point and that his words hadn’t even gotten to him a little, but he pushed past it for now. “Pour me a drink?” He asked, giving Øystein a smile this time around. It was less of a smirk and far more of a sweet look, and Øystein decided very quickly that he was glad his words hadn’t upset Varg. 

“Of course,” Øystein said a bit too enthusiastically, picking up the nicer of the two glasses and pouring it full for Varg. “Here,” He offered it to him, watching as the glass was taken delicately from his hand. “It’s made of rice instead of grapes. I thought you’d like it,” He explained, taking a seat and pouring some into his own glass. The biggest ration would go to Varg, he’d already decided that much. 

His own glass remained untouched as he watched Varg taking a sip out of his, hoping Varg would enjoy the wine. He grinned when Varg gave an approving nod and went for another sip, finally drinking from his own. He didn’t care too much for it and if it was up to him, he wouldn’t spend that much on a bottle of wine again, but Varg liked it. He made a mental note to buy another bottle.

[digisurvive]

Saki ramblings

I think it's funny that Aoi and Saki might outwardly look like opposites— the serious, reserved, anxious girl and the carefeee, outgoing optimist— bc what they both choose to say is very measured and there's a high degree of reservation for both. With Saki, it makes her appear downright flighty and oblique, whereas Aoi comes off as more lenient & docile & overall a lot more repressed lol I think it could be fun to write them both running into each others' emotional walls

The other thing that is fun is that Aoi generally likes talking about what bothers her. If you prod her, she tends to overshare. She is super consistent lol She likes being asked her opinions on things, having the chance to voice her misgivings w/o disturbing the morale of the group and to be reassured about things; plus she deeply dislikes having her concerns dismissed through "don't worry so much" lol

On the other hand, Saki gets annoyed/upset if you press her. Saki really isn't upfront about what she wants. She takes the edge off situations through jokes like Minoru (this makes the way she's rude to him extra funny lol Hating the mirror that reflects you, huh), but hers are more charged because even if she says it lightly, she's still taking notice to the ways the other respond. Sometimes she just wants to play around and be comforted without going into the gritty details and others she wants to actually talk about things sincerely but she won't openly say which time is which.

Her bluntness is interesting for me because she (& Floramon) tend to get annoyed when Takuma is tepid/too conciliatory, but Saki herself is fairly adverse to conflict. Not just disliking the fact they have to fight the mons, she gets outright weary of the group fights. That passage in pt4 where Aoi gets mad at Kaito and yells at him to let her handle the child digimon trio? Saki was 'oh boy, now even Aoi is getting mad.' So, it's funny that she gets annoyed at Takuma for being tepid when she herself doesn't wanna get involved in the arguments— even when she has a clear stance (Like when she told Minoru that voting on a human life was unethical. But still preferred to just watch Kaito and Shuuji fight, though she arguably agrees w/ Kaito). Both because she fears rejection so she would rather not disrupt the group and bc that conflict aversion.

At the beginning of the story, her bluntness reads more like impulsiveness for this reason. I'd have liked to see it evolve to a more conscious frankness tbh! (the response the affinity dialogues provide about her stance on conflict is really good though).

I love also love how utterly incompatible she's w/ Shuuji LOL I love So Much that affinity dialogue in pt3 where Shuuji is crying about the Professor & Saki can't stand him 😂 Despite sharing the risk/conflict aversion, they express it in such clashing ways. I love how utterly unfair she's to him in that scene. Part of Shuuji's conflict is that he isn't allowed to express that sensitive, crybaby side of his & it spills without control. He feels even less allowed as the oldest there, and it's such a moment that reinforces that. Not that you can blame Saki for not wanting/being able to engage, it's just that delicious incompatibility.

I also wish we had gotten more out of her and Ryo as foils because they're really similar in core ways: their desire to be accepted, extreme sensitivity to how they're perceived, their keenness; yet they'd seem to express in nearly opposite ways. I feel that they could've worked as a meta pair in a similar way Aoi n Shuuji do.

[hectordoylesmalewife]

Hello! just checking if your requests are still open, because maybe you forgot to update your bio or anything, but I have a request, so you do oc writings right?? Like Oc x Reader? I feel really shy typing all this🫠

How do you think a relationship with Jack Hanma would go with my oc?? (My oc afab but you can definitely use they/them pronouns or just ignore the fact they're afab, they don't care :3) Maybe add NSFW if you're fine with it??🥹 Her name's "Izanami Mikoto" Her name is directly inspired from the Japanese Goddess of Death

I'll try to make this as brief as possible...

• My oc is your classic "Introverted Emo Character who's been through it all so they act nonchalant all the time" But she has a sprinkle of sarcasticness and very dark humor. She's heavily inspired by Raiden Ei/Shogun (from genshin impact) and by those really pretty and anime-like dolls for her looks (not figurines!!!)

• Funfact!: My oc is a human made in a lab so she's not a real human, but an almost authentic one! She's the most successful experiment, she was given super human abilities and an exoskeleton, meaning she's able to withstand strong forces/attacks so she's very tough to bruise (Do whatever you'd like with that info if you'd like to add NSFW...👀) And the scientists took the chance to begin experimenting with her, mostly a lot of painful stuff to see how long she'd withstand it, yet she managed to escape

• She's intellectual and oddly talented in a lot of things, especially in fighting and using any bladed weapons (Almost no one knows she's a lab experiment)

• An extra one if you're willing to add NSFW (No pressure!!) She may seem really experienced but she's actually a virgin, since, you know, she's not a real human, just an almost authentic one, but she does have knowledge about it

(btw if you're confused by what I mean an almost authentic human, she resembles and almost functions as a real one, except everything physical about her is fake/made by science, including organs, veins, blood, skeletons and just everything about her)

Sorry if it's too much info and if it's really cringe to read, and sorry for my non-stop ramblings! I tend to overshare stuff, I'd like to add more about my oc's backstory, and maybe change some, but I don't wanna overwhelm you and I only came here for a request!

Anyways, again no pressure and it's fine if you're not willing to do it, just reply to this saying you're not gonna do it if you won't so I'll know! I'll check your blog again tomorrow 🫶🫰

-🪷anon (New anon!!)

Hello sweet dear! I would love to do a fic for you, however I will need a direct message for this kind of stuff so I can be more clear and not mess up.

I can try to make your oc as Gender neutral as possible I just don’t want to disrespect their character or not make anything incorrect. You don’t need to be shy ☺️ you can DM me more if you like.