#and it didn't get too unwieldy

[reitziluz]

unduly pleased with myself for making a title drop adjacent thing happen

also THE DRAFT IS DONE AT 7083 WORDS!!!

only a round of light editing and proofreading left! IT IS HAPPENING WE ARE SO BACK!!

[unproduciblesmackdown]

one thing i can intermittently remember re: lackadaisy is that way back when, would've been around '08 to '10, i mentioned it to someone in person w/whomst like informal Media Recs Trading was established & i think mentioned wanting recs for checking out webcomics specifically? & i was like ooh lackadaisy Gotta be lackadaisy (i read like, a few others at the time but was immediately huge on that one specifically due to [the ways it pwned were obvious to me first reading it in '07 and Now alike]) and like. in the realm of Left Field Responses I Got After Ventures Of Someone W/o The Confidence I Have Now Thanks To Grinding For It In The Entire Interim i eventually followed up like did you check it out, what do you think, b/c my enthusiasm was stronger than my reluctance to bring shit up unprompted. and i think they were sort of evasive a moment but then were like nah b/c.......why are they cats....like lmfaoooo was Not ready for that like yeah idk what to tell you if that was that significant a factor. except that if you know that much it's too late the furry police are en route

not long afterwards perhaps truly more unexpected. i managed to finagle going to the first convention marble hornets was at, relatively short notice, and this is thanks to by that point having Enthusiasm behind it again, of course. afterwards to the relatively small tumblr mh ether i Ventured Forth again like is there interest in my talking about it, livestream q&a possibilities style even? and then i got an anon telling me not now b/c hοmestuck had updated. omicron just to not risk it plus i think even now i'd filter my own post. like divide this into four sections the way i'm truly at a loss. didn't have that much to talk about but looking back like fr you're neurononconforming in online fanbase Posting same as in the [random discord servers Hate them! non normative verbal communication happens in scores / hundreds of words if it happens at all] like and yet it gets to you to the con. and to the "i don't need other people to like media 'with' me i didn't talk about lackadaisy at all till the pilot dropping & my [first full reread in a Minute] got me all fired up posting style & 'hey wait. my special little guy. all this fresh Mystery Plot Everything appreciation. whoa'" moment. plus nowadays it's only like Lol Lmao whereas back then it was like :( :/ but also still funny b/c this person was running away throwing chairs & tables behind them like i'm not a furry i'm not and an anon was like didn't ask don't care oppa homestuck style. standing there palms open like. furious theorizing is there for me

[amplexadversary]

To be honest, it is kind of a fair criticism to say that certain video games have spoiled me.

Because after playing one competitive video game with a selection of characters that I actually really like (which is now unfortunately defunct RIP), I now won't play ANY competitive video game where I'm NOT a little obsessed with at least three characters.

And if my top favorite isn't competitively viable I'll just refuse to play online.

And refuse to play any other character than my top favorite until I can beat the hard AI reliably.

Which doesn't *actually* help in getting used to Maxiboost's complicated-ass mechanics.

When I'm not even good at regular-ass fighting games, much less an arena fighter that's a mandatory 4 player.

So mostly I just turn on the game, get frustrated from dying to the medium AI or watching my partner get all the kills for five minutes, because I'm playing the god damned psych-out character with no meaningful offense and probably dead-last hit priority against a fucking computer, then turn off the game.

Yeah maybe I should be playing as fucking Kamille or something because he has a real gundam of the kind the game is designed around. I do *like* Kamille. But Kamille gets plenty of love from other people.

Hell I could probably get away with using Nobel or God Gundam because both are decently middling (while the brats from Wing ofc get to be solidly overpowered. fuckers.)

It would even be humorously appropriate for someone who isn't used to how the game works to be playing as Domon.

But noooOOOOooooo. I want to win using Schwarz. Which is impossible against other people if you haven't already mastered the game. And is impossible against the computer if you haven't already mastered the game to an even greater degree.

[pseudowho]

Defending Your Honour

A series in which the JJK guys stick-it to the creeps and perverts bothering the reader.

A multi-fic in a series ❤️🫖☕

Part 1 (Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, and Todo Aoi) link here!

Part 3 (Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge and Fushiguro Toji) link here!

More JJK men and women to come

Trigger Warning: spreading false sexual rumours, stalking, being followed home

Higuruma Hiromi

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You had to leave. You had to get another job. There was no way to come back from this; office-culture spread rumours like the plague, and whether they were founded or not, you still felt the pierce of dozens of judging eyes on you.

Your clothes felt too tight, too revealing, your skin prickled and your nose stung with tears as you gulped, chin held high but so exposed and vulnerable. A filthy rage roiled in your gut at the injustice of it all. The irony did not escape you, as you hot-footed away from the whispers of the legal office.

As you gathered files, clunky and unwieldy in your arms, you felt a hand pretending to be affectionate on the small of your back that made your skin crawl, covered in worms and mud.

"When you're ready," a low voice sing-songed to your right, smirking, gleeful, "just hop along to my office, and we can work something out, yeah?" You jolted with shame as the hand clapped your bum. The eyes flicked back onto you. The whispers spread, infectious. You were a leper, now.

Hiccuping as you ducked your head, you felt hot rancid tears stream down your cheeks, darting down a corridor and reaching for a door any door to take you away from all of these eyes and whispers and accusations and this one was usually empty so you snuck in and slammed the door shut behind you and--

"Oh! Hello," a low, warm voice offered, surprised. You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth, unable to hide the tears and anguish. The man was tall, slender, his unruly black hair escaping in flicks over his temples, but he looked so genuinely concerned as he rose from his desk, that you sobbed, apologising and sinking to the floor with your face in your knees.

You felt the man crouch beside you, his hands on his thighs, his presence sincere and welcoming. He sat for a moment, apparently awkward and unsure how he could help you.

"It's okay," he reassured, "it's a fucking ugly office, I hate it too, it makes me cry--" You huffed out a wet, genuine laugh and heard him smile, amused puffs of breath from his nose.

"Really, though," he continued, "I'm happy to help...if I can. Not sure if you need a lawyer, or-- or for me to catch a spider for you, I mean I hate them too but I can certainly--" he stopped himself from rattling away. You sniffled, looking up at him with a cute watery smile that made his heart thump.

"You could get me a new job, maybe? Or just a new boss?" You wiped your eyes now, embarrassed by interrupting this lovely man. The lovely man raised his eyebrows, now sitting in front of you, cross-legged.

"And what has your boss done to make you cry?" He inquired, black eyes like beetles, reading you.

You fumbled, uncertain of yourself when explaining the crimes of a man to another man, "I think he didn't, uhm...didn't take being rejected very well and uh--" tears poured, unbidden, as your face crumpled again, "--he's started a rumour than uhm-- that I sleep with him and uhm-- I don't but everyone believes it, and he wants me to come to his office now, after he's just touched me, and I don't know-- I don't know what to do--"

You broke down again, weeping into your knees, as the lovely man before you simmered, his lid rattling with unbridled rage at the unfairness of it all.

He smiled at you, though, gentle and open, "Your boss...the sweaty one? Big guy, thinks he's all that?" You laughed wetly again.

"Oh, you know him?" You grinned together, and you blushed, painfully grateful for being treated with basic respect. Hiromi nodded-- he didn't know your boss. But, he knew men like him and they filled him with bitter disdain, a core loathing and disgust that informed his choices every day.

"Well then...you can share my office today," he insisted as he stood, rubbing his hooked nose between two long fingers, "I've got...something to do." You blinked owlishly up at him. He helped you up, pulling a chair to his desk for you. You perched, confused, but not arguing.

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Some time later, your boss headed back to his office from the vending machines, impatient for you to come to his office, feeling sickly gleeful for having punished you for humiliating him, and his heart leapt hopefully, because maybe he could offer to deny all those rumours, and then you would be so grateful that maybe you'd give him a--

He opened his office door, having just enough time to click it closed behind him before hearing a quiet, angry voice from somewhere above the doorframe.

"Domain Expansion: Deadly Sentencing."

Plunged into a different room, ostensibly not his office, your boss shrieked in terror as two terrifying black figures loomed over him, only one of them human.

"What the fuck are you-- where the fuck am I-- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

Higuruma looked up at the Judgeman with a humourless smile, and back down at your boss, who scurried backwards until his shoulders hit the domain's edge, blind with panic.

"You've been a very naughty boy," Hiromi sang, "shall we see how naughty?"

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You jumped as the office door swung open, and Higuruma (you had worked out, from the lanyard he left on his desk) re-entered with two hot drinks. He smiled a wonky, loping smile.

"Coffee machine's finest," he offered, placing one in your hands. He stood for a moment, bouncing on his heels, chin and nose dipped in consideration.

"I should think... your days of problems with your boss may be over," he said, blasé and cryptic. He did not elaborate, but reached into his pocket, before slipping his card across the desk to you.

"My office is, uhm...hiring a new legal assistant, though. I can put in a good word for you." Hiromi looked into the distance across the room, one hand in his pocket as he continued to rock on his heels. He glanced down at you, eyes glimmering at each other as they met.

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Ino Takuma

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I loved meeting you last week. I thought we made a really special connection. I'd love to meet again. Call me.

You smelled so good today. I love how you're being such a tease. Can't wait for you to call.

I can't stand seeing you talking to other guys! Still haven't seen this so-called 'boyfriend' of yours though. He can't be that into you if he's letting other men near you. Call me.

You didn't answer when I knocked for you, but I know you're home. Bet you were upstairs being naughty, hope you were thinking of me, hahaha, jk. HMU, seriously. I miss you.

I know you're such a little slut behind that 'good girl' act ;) Quit playing hard to get. I finish at 5, I'll meet you from work and we can finally go on that date you owe me.

I've never been this in love before. So disappointed you ditched our first date. I'll catch you another time. I love you so much.

Hope you got the flowers I left on your porch. I love you so much.

I love you.

Good morning baby. I love you.

You're a nasty little bitch and you're gonna die alone and you deserve it. If this is how you treat a nice guy like me, how do you treat all the others? You should be grateful.

I'm sorry. I've just had a really bad day baby. You're my whole world. I love you.

Your hands shook as you scrolled through unanswered text after unanswered text. How had being friendly at a work conference gotten so out of hand? Your head spun as you recounted the memories; were you too flirty? Did you give hints of wanting to be more than just acquaintances? Did you dress too provocatively? Did you touch him?

In a desperate hunt for answers you blamed yourself. I should just be a standoffish bitch in the future, you thought, trying to hold back tears.

Leaning over your desk to pack your bag, you began to feel the walls close in around you, terrifying and claustrophobic, a rat in a maze, and you saw tears splash down onto the leather of your work diary. Would he be waiting outside work again today? Or would he be just outside your office door? Would he be waiting in your home?

You felt a pair of warm, strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, "Hey gorgeous! Guess who got off work ear--"

In a shrieking panic, you lashed out, spinning with your hands raised in attack and defence. Your wonderful, kind boyfriend, Takuma, threw himself backwards, alarmed and apologetic, raising his own hands in placation.

"Whoa, whoa, hey! Oh babe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you--...what is it? Why are you crying? What's happened?"

Weeks and weeks of trying to ignore your stalker, hoping he would go away and forget about you, tumbled out of you at once. In a wild babble of explanation, he keeps texting me, and I'm not interested, and he won't leave me alone, and he leaves things on the doorstep, and I'm so, so sorry.

You had thrust your phone into Takuma's hands, and he held you close to him with one arm as you sobbed into his shoulder. The other hand scrolled through messages from your unwanted admirer; Takuma's face grew quiet with rage, his lips curled in disgust, a flush of anger smattered hot and pink across his cheeks.

"Babe," he started, "why didn't you..." Swallowing, Takuma stopped himself, "This is not your fault. This guy, there's...there's something wrong with him. Have you kept everything? All the stuff he's left you? All the messages?" You nodded as Takuma gripped you by the sides of the shoulders, your face crumpling as his hand raised to cup your cheek, staring deeply into you, leaning forward to press a desperate kiss to your forehead.

"Okay, listen, I'm gonna fix this," Takuma nodded hard, staring into you again as you started to shake your head, "no, no no, trust me. I promise I'm gonna fix this. Listen, you're...you're gonna go to Nanami's place. I'll call him. He'll understand. There's this lawyer at the school now, we'll gather everything and get it to him. I've...I've got to go out. I'll fix this, I mean it. I wouldn't let you down."

Takuma's heart wrenched as you continued to sob, apologising to him as if it was your fault. Within minutes, Takuma had called Nanami, and put you in a taxi. Sticking to the alleyways as he headed out into the streets, Takuma pulled his balaclava down, his eyes ferocious and vengeful as he took to the hunt.

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Your stalker was grossly familiar with your routine now. What you ate for breakfast (he had gone through your bin bags). What colour underwear you preferred (he had seen you through the gaps in your curtains). Which work events you were going to attend (he had scoured every inch of every company calender).

Thanks to some sloppy administrators, he even knew where you lived. Grinning to himself, he felt such a satisfying possession over you, knowing you inside-out. Hiding behind your neighbours' fence panels, he peeked, waiting for you to get home.

One hand leaned past his face, resting on the fence panel beside him, and his stomach froze into knots when he felt himself doused in the icy presence of some dark, unknown force. He opened his mouth to scream, and a second hand pressed over his mouth with horrifying strength.

"Hey, big guy! Wow, you really must be a hit with the ladies," air hissed through Ino's teeth and he sighed in feigned disappointment, "Not with my girl, though." Your stalker squeaked as blackness closed in around him. Ino let out a noise of disgusted amusement as the man's trousers darkened down one leg.

Ino continued, letting the man cry and shake under his hand; "Here's how this is gonna work..."

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Several days had passed since Ino had arrived at Nanami's to collect you, with a deeply satisfied smirk on his face. You had received no more messages. No more flowers. No more thinly-veiled threats. A dark cloud lifted off your mind, and you breathed easy.

Curled up on the sofa that night, you stroked Takuma's chest, listening to the clockwork thump of his heartbeat under your ear. Your curiosity got the better of you.

"Takuma...what did you do?"

Takuma grimaced, "Just showed him the error of his ways, babe. He won't be bothering you again."

While grateful, your belly swirled with fear, and guilt that even if your stalker left you alone, he'd just find someone else, another woman, and harass her just as he had harassed you-- or worse. Takuma read you like a book.

"Look, I-- I didn't want to force anything on you the other day. But I promise you, this guy knows that if you go to the cops about him, and he doesn't 'fess up, it'll be more than just me after him."

Ino smugly pictured Higuruma and Nanami, ready, Misters. Law and Order, prepared to flex their quite complementary powers of threat and legal representation.

You smiled, surrounded by an impenetrable wall of support. Leaning up, you tangled your fingers into Takuma's hair, and he let out a sweet hum of happiness as you kissed him deeply. Nose to nose, you took delight in showing your appreciation.

The next day, wearing a mantle of quiet bravery, you walked into the Police Station.

"I'd like to report a crime."

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Itadori Yuuji

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You had chosen absolutely the wrong shoes to go out in.

You shivered in the chilly night air; your skirt hadn't been this short all night, had it? The cold had a way of exposing things the mirror didn't. Still, you smiled to yourself as you leant against a lamp-post, removing your heels with a sigh of relief, certain you'd be comfier taking the last few streets before home barefoot than in these beautiful monstrosities.

You could not bring yourself to regret such a fun night. Waving your friends goodbye, you had foregone taking a taxi home. Tokyo was a safe city, anyway. It was only a short walk home. You could do with sobering up a bit.

Feet padding gingerly on the cold concrete, you tapped away on your phone as you began to walk home. Within a few minutes, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, cold prickles running down your spine.

Running a hand through your hair, you shielded your glance backwards; a man. Some distance away. By the lamppost you had removed your shoes at. You gulped-- it's nothing, you lied to yourself, just on his way home like me. But, just in case, you started walking faster, the soles of your feet stinging as they clapped against the floor.

Feeling tingles at the base of your skull a minute later, you felt the man closing in on you and bile climbed in your throat, feeling the alcohol threaten to come up into your mouth, options running through your head at breakneck speed, to scream or call the police or stop and fight or try to run faster or--

It was no use. He was almost on top of you now; you rounded the corner to a tree-lined street. You could smell the sweat on him, and you spun to face him, losing your footing and falling backwards onto the floor--

All at once, you screamed, a dark mass plummeted from the tree above you, and there was a sickening crunch as it flattened your pursuer to the floor.

The black mass, burly and pink-haired, stood up and turned to face you, opening his mouth--

You screamed again, still panicking, throwing a shoe at him, "What the hell are you? What are you doing?" The young man crouched, eyes wide, both hands in front of him, bleeding from the lip from your shoe.

"I'm a Yuuji, I'm a Yuuji--"

"--a Yuuji?!" You raised your hand again and he flinched. Your pursuer groaned underneath his feet.

"--I don't know if you know, but this guy was following you-- oh shit, you're not friends are you-- please don't throw another shoe at me--" Yuuji squeezed his eyes closed, hands still raised above his head in arrest. You surveyed him from the ground, your panic slowly abating.

He's cute, you thought as your head spun violently, and you rocked to the side, vomiting all over the pavement. Yuuji crept over to you, hands uncertain at first, but eventually settling on holding your hair back as the alcohol evacuated your stomach.

Patting your shoulder with upbeat reassurance, Yuuji turned to look at the man on the floor with a scowl.

"Creep," he grumbled, crushing the man's hand under his shoe. As the man squirmed and complained, Yuuji gave him an effortlessly hard punch to the side of the head, knocking him out cold in an instant. Rummaging in the man's pockets, Yuuji pulled out a drivers' licence.

"Oh hey, he lives nearby. Want to drop him home with me?" Yuuji asked you with a shit-eating grin.

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"Think that'll do it?" Yuuji dusted off his hands, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. Tied up in the offerings of the man's shed (some old garden hose, with a wooden freshly painted sign hung around his neck), the man was dropped unceremoniously onto the doorstep. You snapped a quick photo on your phone, hand over your mouth as you laughed to yourself.

Yuuji pressed the doorbell, and grabbed your other hand, pulling you behind a hedge as you giggled like children together.

"I FOLLOW GIRLS HOME" read the man's sign, as his mother opened the door.

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"--so anyway, I should probably get back to work, I guess...after you get home."

You rested your chin on Yuuji's shoulder as he piggy-backed you home, your shoes slung in one hand as he ambled, slowly zigzagging along the tree-lined street. Your eyes drooped, breathing in your new friend's soft, cosy smell, still occasionally giggling to yourself.

Arriving at your doorstep, Yuuji lowered you to the ground, and brought one hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his head. His face blushed crimson when you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. He grinned, shuffling sweetly, bidding you goodnight, but hesitating. You bit your lip, head tipped, waiting. Yuuji didn't get the hint, turning to walk away.

"Hey, my hero. All that, and I don't get your number?"

Yuuji's smile could have split rainclouds.

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Higuruma waiting on the ceiling above the office door like

Coming next: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Toji, Toge Inumaki, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara.

[burstinn]

Male reader with absolutely Fucking Huge Tits.

(headcanons!)

People shown: Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Price, Keegan, König, Horangi, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy

I felt silly I was high and it's funny jwjsjsnsw ew endnsndndnd.

Didn't think my first post would get that much attention but.. Anyways.. Yay?

You have fucking big moobs.. Huge male tits.. Fucking succulent ass Cherries

You are a guy. And lucky for you, You have the most plump, ungodly monumental tremendous tits ever. Ofcourse you had the build to support your huge tits.. But your tits were the most eye catching.

When you first joined 141 or Kortac or whateevveer....Man holy shit they went fuckin wild. Like they weren't even trying to hide that they were blatantly looking at your capacious boobs.

Soap

- he was the first to yell like some Scottish words for Holy shit when you landed out from the Heli showing off your stupendous balloons

- he would be the first to be staring with no shame

-he would also be the first to ask if he could squeeze them.

-he would ask you how the hell you got your mighty melons. And he would ask you if it's possible for you to lactate.

- idk he'd bark..

- if you were to sex. He would lick, slurp your hoo Haas

-Would see if he can make you lactate

-makes you wear a bra. Freaky

- continues to play with your dongdongs after your very amazing activity gently

Gaz

- His eyes went wide.. Probably did the shocked guy face with hands on his head when he saw you

- face red no eye contact trying to not look at your mammoth sized Quadruple D breasts

- secretly staring but it's so obvious he's staring especially when your running laps.. Yknow yknow boobie flaps go up and down Fr fr

- one day when you guys were alone together he probably went down on his knees.. Begging to let him touch and squeeze your boobies.

-If you were to do the devils tango.. Also bite marks.. And licks.. More gently but desperately.

Ghost

- eyes wide under mask. Is confused how a dude could get those unwieldy lofty ass TITTS.

- also secretly staring. Less to zero obviousness.

- wants to ask as well to touch your bazongas but he's to scared.

- you caught him staring once and he immediately looks away. So like the amazing man you are you asked him if he wants to hold your tatas.

-he nodded obviously.

-you doing the nasty? He's rough. No mercy to idk your whole body. Especially your gazongals.

-boob fucking.

-bruises hickeys bites everywhere. Mostly on your GadonkGadonks.

- he would bury his head on the middle of your Tits... It's like a pillow.

Price

- Suprised and impressed. Idk why he's still shocked everytime he sees you walking around

- looking sometimes. But more respectful

-you need too ask him first if he wants to hold your beach balls.

- if you do wrestling in bed. Loving duhh. Lovingly and softly suckling your Rounder Pounders.

- also buries his head on your moob boobs

- Would probably just call you in his office sometimes just so he can use your Boobs as a pillow.

-His beard tickles.. Hmm.

Keegan

- Awooga

-Pointing at it then looks back at someone then looking back at you then looking back at someone.. Then back and forth

-Takes pictures

- you were standing in front of him talking then he just suddenly.. Grabbed your Bazonkers.

-Takes more pictures. Has its own folder just for your mountainous front moons.

- Roleplay sex that involves fucking your boobs Intensity varies

König

- Blushing under mask

-is also a proud owner of plump tits. But he's afraid of yours.

-Also YOU need to be the one to ask as well if he wants a squeeze.

- compare boob sizes.

- rough but gentle RAAAAA. Would ask before doing anything to you doingloings

-Rubs your tats together

- ask before taking pictures.. Shows it to Horangi

- Sometimes he would just stare blankly at you before he just.. Squeezes your knockers..

-He immediately gets red and apologizes red faced from shame and embarrassment.

-When you told him you don't mind and it's okay.. He gets relaxed.

-Now he would just pull you into closets just so he could ask you to caress your man tiddies even though he doesn't need to.

-You caress his too. It's like a ritual.

Horangi

- starts laughing in shock and interest and is also impressed

- Also Staring no shame. But it's less obvious because of his shades

-Asks if your tits are implants..

- Would ask König for pics of your Cupcakes.

- Constant slapping of your boobers.

- jokes about your Honkers..

-Loves Your Honkers but also jealous. He wants big buggers as well :((

- Starts drawing on them. Non permanent colorful markers

-would dress it up as well. Putting glasses.. His sunglasses a mustache..

-would purposely smudge food on your Clonkers and He would say some shit like

'Sorry let me clean that up' and starts licking fr

Graves

- Soldier what the fuck he would say or something.

- Don't get distracted.. Gets distracted.

-Makes you purposefully fight/ train/ spar with him.. Make him discreetly hit or touch your award winning rounders

-If you confront him about it. He will probably say a half assed sorry. Look at you like some pissy bitch for forgiveness.

-Forgiveness being you let him do the bed rolling sweat inducing activity with you.

- Please PLEAASE let him picture it during your seeexx

- Shows it off. Of course he will. Who?

His shadows duh

-compliments your hooters frequently

Also makes jokes with his shadows

-Got sad once and dragged you away from whatever you were doing. And just used you as a pillow and cried.

- If most or all His Shadows are stressed or frustrated from a mission they all gettin in a single file line. And they get to caress touch YOUR FUCKING GARGANTUAN GAZOONKAS one minute each.

-Graves is last because.. He's doing more than just caressing your boobs...

Alejandro

- any Spanish nicknames to refer to your boobs that you don't know of

- Flirting.

- Conspicuous staring..Starts ranting to Rudy about how much he wants to hold your teacups. He's passionate about it to.

- Manages to get the balls with the help of Rudy.. To ask to hold your chest footballs.

- is gentle at first before he looses it and starts squeezing it and roughly touching. Until you made a very audible noise of hurt or discomfort

-Apologizes.. Buys you literally everything just so you can forgive him. On his knees saying sorry in Spanish.

- Praises your body

Rudy

- Just as thirsty as Alejandro. Just more shy and respectful.

- When Alejandro starts confessing to him how much he wants to touch your chests.. He reciprocated and also tell Ale how much he likes your Moobies.

- Sharing. Both sharing. Alejandro touching your left Rudy on the right.

- If Rudy is touching you. If you even shift on what he thinks is a sign of uncomfortability.. Will say sorry.. For weeks.. Even months.

- Will never forget it. Even though you probably did and assured him that it wasn't a sign of anything. Avoided you for a few days out shame.

-Also apologizes for avoiding you.

- Also Praises your body.

[colleendoran]

How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

[sirfrogsworth]

My egg gadget journey.

Since I started learning to cook eggs in a pan I have been trying to solve various problems in my usual way... buying gadgets.

Because I love gadgets.

My first problem was that I wasn't happy with my whisking. I didn't feel like I was getting the egg whites and yolks fully incorporated. So I bought this fork whisker thingie.

It has little holes in the tines for optimum whisking!

Or so the Amazon page said.

I thought it would be the size of a normal fork. But in reality, it was gigantic and unwieldy.

I felt it was so large that it actually made it *harder* to whisk eggs.

So that has been retired to the drawer and has not seen the light of day since.

Then I was having trouble flipping my omelettes. So I got a special omelette flipper.

This helped a little, but it was too thick and I still had trouble getting it underneath.

Into the drawer it went with its whisking fork friend.

Then a follower suggested a different kind of omelette flipper.

These have a very thin edge and really get underneath the omelette well. This was my first big success in egg gadgetry. I was able to achieve my first successful fold using this.

Then I was becoming frustrated with egg cracking. I couldn't do it consistently. I tried on the side of the pan. I tried on the flat countertop. I was improving over time, but I still felt like a gadget could be helpful.

In my brain I was envisioning some electronic doodad that used A.I. cracking technology to perfectly open the egg.

But then I found this...

It's just a small dish with a raised edge in the middle. Just about the simplest solution imaginable. Doesn't even take batteries.

And it is fucking fantastic.

It's called the "Crack'em" and so I like to say "Release the Crack'em!" when I use it.

You do have to develop a technique, but once you get that down, it cracks eggs perfectly. And it gives you a nice clean section to pull apart the eggshell. And the yolk doesn't drip out as much before you are ready to release it.

Everyone should get a Crack'em.

I still wanted to solve my incorporation issue. I got better at whisking but I still felt like a gadget could improve things.

So I decided to go with the nuclear option.

This thing is nuts. For the low price I am really amazed at how solid and well-built it feels. And it fucking pulverizes the eggs into a perfectly homogenized substance where white and yolk no longer exist and you just have... egg.

Pure 10,000% incorporated egg.

And with this gadget I was able to increase my egg fluffiness by 20%. And my eggs were already pretty damn fluffy.

The egg pulverizer is also very easy to clean. You just run water and turn the blade and angle it so it doesn't spray you in the face. You will get sprayed in the face before you figure out that angle. So prepare yourself for that.

And that is my gadget journey so far.

I'm considering this weird flippy pan that would allow me to cook my omelettes evenly on both sides, but I am in a scrambled eggs era so I'm not sure I need that right now.

It also looks like I could easily yeet hot omelette juice into my face if I am not careful. So I might just stick to my traditional pan.

OH! And one non-gadget thing I learned.

If you have seen The Bear there was a scene where Sydney cooks an omelette and crunches potato chips on top.

And it works! Tastes great on scrambled eggs as well.

Potato chips, who would have thought?

[dp-marvel94]

Real -Chapter 1

Summary:

While hiding from his parents in Gotham, an ill-timed encounter with his neighbor, Jason, has Danny pretending to be his own twin. Fortunately for Danny, the more he pretends the easier it gets. Until he is not pretending at all. Or: Danny names a duplicate and via ghost logic, said duplicate ends up becoming real.

Next->

Also on AO3

Notes:

This story was written thanks to @jackdaw-sprite who commented on a Tumblr post a wrote asking what I should write next with "I haven't read nearly as many of your works as I'd like to before saying which ones I'd like to see continued, but there's one where Danny names a duplicate, and because of ghost logic, the duplicate becomes real. It feels like such a neat idea to play with!" So here I am writing a whole fic about it! Structurally, this is still very much half-fic outline with some important scenes written out. I'm not planning on expanding it beyond what it is. Still, I hope you enjoy the story. :) A note for readers, those here for the DC content especially: this is very much a Danny heavy fic. The focus will be on Danny and Jamie's relationship as the clone goes from just a duplicate without its own life, to a real person with his own identity. The Bats, Jason especially, will be present, and important for Jamie becoming his own person. But those relationships are definitely secondary to Danny and Jamie's.

After a reveal gone wrong, Danny runs from his parents and the GIW. Soon, he finds himself living in a crummy apartment and trying to keep a low profile. He doesn't have very much, so he is very excited to find an actually in decent shape couch that someone was throwing out. It's late so, figuring no one will see him, Danny duplicates to have two pairs of hands to get the furniture up the stairs and into his apartment. 

Of course, Danny does get spotted by his neighbor, Jason, who offers to hold doors open and help with the unwieldy couch. Names are exchanged: Danny and, after a pause as Danny realizes he has to come up with something for his duplicate, Jamie. The "three" manage to get the couch inside. But now Jason is worried about what appears to be a pair of twins, 16 years old at the most, living alone in the apartment with one ratty couch and a bookbag between them. Jason isn't pushy or overly concerned, but he does make a point to check on his new neighbors regularly. 

After the second time running into Jason and being asked about "Jaime," Danny realizes he's going to have to pretend to be his own twin. Duplication is very helpful for that, though he tries not to do it too often and for too long; it does use a lot of energy. He'll just have the "twins" make regular, short appearances together. It's not like he's trying to get close to anyone in Gotham 

But inevitably, short appearances escalate into having dinner with Jason. The first is a one off; man claimed he made too much and Danny didn't really have money for food. Plus it was really good. Accepting the hospitality just this once wouldn't be that bad. Of course, "Jamie" has come to dinner too.

One dinner leads to more meals with his neighbor, to Jason trying to teach "the twins" to cook more than easy mac. 

Jason's youngest brother meets the "twins" when he pounds on the door during dinner and barges in, complaining that "Father is being unreasonable" and had ground him.

Damian and "the twins" end up huddling in Jason's apartment during Danny's first rogue attack since he arrived in Gotham. Jason ran off as soon as the alert went off, claiming that he was needed at the fire station where he worked. He pointedly says that Damian can stay and look after his non-Gothamite neighbors since he's grounded. The preteen is prickly but does stay put. Danny starts to get restless, unable to re-merge and starting to fear that his energy will waver and "Jamie" will pop out of existence. He nervously eyes the door and Damian threatens to stab him if he tries to leave, saying that "Todd is apparently fond of you both and will be quite peeved" with Damian if something happens to Danny and Jamie. 

Well.... Jamie will definitely disappear if Damian stabs him. So Danny manages to maintain his duplicate for five hours, more than twice as long as any time before. By the time the threat is over and Danny can go back to his apartment, he is straining, desperately trying to hide how exhausted and shaky he is from the excursion. He loses hold of the duplicate as soon as the door is closed.

Despite the hardship, maintaining a duplicate is somehow so much easier after that. He can stay duplicated for longer and gradually, he realizes controlling the secondary body is becoming easier. At the beginning, he needed a lot of effort and control to pilot the duplicate, having to mentally direct it to speak or move. He played "Jamie" as being shy and quiet, so there was less talking to dictate. But overtime, the need for mental prompting becomes less and less. Playing "Jamie" became more automatic, more instinctual. Almost like the duplicate runs on auto-pilot, mostly acting how Danny himself would, though more reserved. To an outside perspective, it looks like "Jamie" is finally getting comfortable and coming out of his shell. But to Danny, this was a relief, spending less energy running his duplicate and less time worrying about being found out.

Slowly, Danny meets more of Jason's family. One of Jay's brothers, Tim, runs into him at his coffee shop job and, blinking sleepily, asks which twin he is, before realizing that Danny is wearing a name tag. This leads to Danny's coworkers finding out about "Jamie" and his "twin" visiting him at work.

As the act grows and more people end up meeting "the twins," Danny spends more and more time pretending to be a pair of twins in more and more ridiculous situations. Playing both of them gets easier and easier, more and more comfortable until the twins can banter, share inside jokes, and tell stories from their childhood. Maybe it is intentional, maybe it's subconscious. But slowly, differences develop to differentiate the twins. "Jamie" is growing out his hair. He loves toast and watching documentaries about history. Danny, more and more convincingly, pretends to have a brother until at some points... it no longer feels like he is pretending.

Despite his new friends, Danny is still so lonely. The apartment is still almost bare, the money he gets from his job barely enough. It's never the job he wanted; he wants to be in school now, applying to colleges so he can get into NASA. But he can't do anything to draw attention to  himself, not with the government breathing down his neck or the danger of the vigilantes running him out for being a “meta”. And he misses his friends and sister so badly.

One particularly hard night, when he is heartbroken and hurting, Danny lies on his second-hand mattress in the dark, weeping. He mourns his parents turning on him, his heart aching for Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. He wishes more than anything that he was not alone right now.

Suddenly, there is a yanking on his core that leaves his gasping. A full body pulling sensation that almost feels like being peeled, except somehow it does not hurt. A second later, it is over and through his blurry eyes, Danny can barely make out a figure kneeling in front of him. Arms coax him into sitting up and pull him into a hug. Danny cries for a long while, not thinking about what just happened, not thinking about what... or who... is holding him. He just accepts the comfort, savors the feeling that he is not alone.

Finally, after the tears slow, Danny pulls back and looks. He lets himself realize what he is looking at. And as he takes in eyes like his, the feeling is something between awe and fear. There is a light in the blue eyes, a spark that he does not recognize. 

And as the brow wrinkles in confusion and the mouth slowly works, words spiral out. Words that Danny could never have predicted.

"If we... if you keep doing this..." Each word is slow and deliberate, as if each takes great effort. "This...." One hand motions slowly, vaguely, as if un-used to movement. "Jamie won't be a lie anymore."

Danny is stunned. He stares for a long while, unable to process. He does not understand what the words mean, why the spark in those eyes makes him just as elated as it makes him afraid.

So he takes the duplicate's hand and pulls the ecto-energy back inside himself. He reabsorbs it and "Jamie" disappears. And Danny thinks.

Slowly, he realizes how easy staying duplicated has become, how distant and foggy memories from his duplicate's perspective are. He replays the words in his head. 'If you keep doing this... Jamie won't be a lie anymore.' He wonders if they mean what they suggest, and most startlingly.... he wonders where they had come from, if not from himself.

For a few days, he avoids anyone who has met the twins or claims that his "twin" is busy whenever someone asks. But inevitably, his trusty neighbor Jason notices the avoidance and invites himself over to cook dinner. Reluctantly, Danny duplicates; there is clearly no avoiding this conversation.

The dinner is awkward. Danny has a hard time looking at Jason.... and an even harder time looking at his seeming twin. None of the three say much and by the end, their neighbor huffs a sigh and says his piece. 

“Look. I know that no one, especially two teens, live in a shitty apartment in Crime Alley if they can avoid it. I don't know if you got kicked out, ran away from home, are hiding from something. And I don’t care. I won't ask. But I was an alley kid. I lost my mom younger than both of you, ended up on the street. I know what it's like just scraping by, trying to survive all on my own.  That's why I look out for the kids here. I want to help you guys, no matter what your story is.”

Danny stammers out a disbelieving thanks. He is touched, really, despite the fear of discovery, of vulnerability quivering in his heart. Jason is a good guy and it feels good to have someone who cares. But... the maybe-not-a-lie sits on the couch beside him. A story he could never hope to explain...

Jason smiles, ruffling both of the twin's hairs. He stands to leave. "Take care," he says, almost afterthought. "You're lucky to have each other."

"Jamie" seems to lean, just the tiniest bit closer to Danny at the words. 

Jason leaves and it is just Danny and his duplicate. The half ghost releases a breath, letting some of the tension release. He reaches to reabsorb his double and-

A shaky hand grips his forearm. Danny looks, meeting the blue eyes. The spark is back, just the smallest hint in the posture that something is different. Slowly, the brow wrinkles, becoming something worried.

"What is it?" Danny finds himself saying, as if he expects a real response.

"Have... each other." Again, the words are slow as if just the act of thinking is hard. "Not a lie."

Now Danny's brow is wrinkled. "Not a lie? Are you saying that's true? Or asking if it is?"

"Not a lie." The words repeat. "Jamie not a lie."

Danny's stomach knots. He’s heard his duplicate speak dozens of times, even been surprised by some offered puns. But this…

“Not a lie.” One more repeat, this one faster, surer, almost desperate.

Danny looks up again. “Jamie.” He says the name. He’s spoken to his double before in front of other people, as part of the act. But this… it feels as bizarre as it feels right. “Jamie…. Are you… real?”

For just a second, there is something like hope in the other’s eyes. Then, the brow furrows in great effort. “Yes… No….” One more longer, unsure pause. “Becoming.”

“You’re… becoming real?” The words are breathy. Danny isn’t sure whether they make him feel that same hope, or if he feels sick.

The half ghost looks away, staring down at his lap. He doesn’t know what this is, how this is  happening. A moment of panic stabs. Is he sick or insane? Or… is it a trick? A trap?

Danny reaches with his mind, trying to feel. A parasite infecting him? Another ghost, trying to overshadow. There is a connection, a bundle of a dozen fine threads. It is a link to… something not quite separate. Danny feels the almost presence at the end, the not-quite himself he is speaking with. And… It is like cradling a baby bird. Small, fragile, and so young. No malice, just pure innocence.

The half ghost looks up again. His hand shifts, feeling the cold flesh. His fingers press, the almost flutter of a heart beneath the skin.

The awe from that late night rises, a question echoing in his head. What happens if he lets this  continue? 

He… won’t be alone. Danny remembers that night, crying on his mattress and desperately wanting comfort. And all those times hanging out with Jason. The jokes and banter started as an act to sell the lie. But… weren't they so much more now? Danny had pretended to have a brother and in pretending had imagined one… Now that brother, that twin sat beside him. 

But at the same time… fear spiked. What would happen if he didn’t stop this? Could he even stop this if he wanted to? It feels inevitable, unstoppable. Not if he stays living next to Jason. But… if he tells the truth? Or if he runs, starts again somewhere else. He could reabsorb his duplicate now and let this whole thing fade into memory. Jamie would disappear…

A wave of fear surges from outside himself. Danny meets terrified eyes. Something in him softens, crumples.

“Jamie?” Danny asks again and can almost feel the heart-flutter solidifying. “Do you want to be real?”

There is a pause, the fearful face becoming something narrowed eyes and sure. “Yes.” So much determination. Danny feels the one thread of dozens snap.

“Alright then.” Danny heaves a sigh, deciding. 

He will hold out as long as he can. He will stay duplicated, keep Jamie here until he’s not a duplicate at all. Jamie will be real.

[verstappentime]

more of daniel taking care of max when he has a migraine that i didn't post ❤️ if you're just joining us, max had a career-ending head injury and left f1. he and daniel are married but currently broken up!

(part 1/part 2)

“Stay,” Max says, rushed, before Charles can get anything else out.

“Okay,” Daniel says. He tries to clear the lump in his throat. He’s been waiting for Max to say that word, but this is as close as he’ll get, probably. “Tilt your head forward for me.” Max does; Daniel gingerly presses the ice where his head meets his neck.

Max hisses, reaching up to grab Daniel’s forearm. It’s been so long since Max initiated touch with him; Daniel forces himself not to jolt.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

Max groans, gradually loosening his grip. “Can we do the bathtub thing?”

“The– Oh, yeah, sure. Charles, do you have a bath?”

“I feel like you are being the doctor and I am the nurse,” Charles says. He’s hovering closer than a second ago. “Yes, I do, is it for something weird?”

“Nurses are very important,” Max says. Daniel wonders if the meds are making him loopy already.

“It’s not for anything weird. Can you fill it up with hot water? As hot as it can get without burning.”

“Fine. But it’s for him.” It’s too dark for Daniel to see the look Charles is giving him. Just as well.

Daniel stays there, crouched beside Max, keeping the ice pressed to his neck. Max’s breaths are shallow, like he’s trying really hard not to wince, but he’s mostly failing. “The medicine is gonna help,” he says, just for something to say. In the dark, eyes closed, Max reaches around for his hand. Daniel links their fingers, squeezing hard. Max’s hand is clammy and he can’t get a good grip on Daniel, all weak and floppy. “Tell me what feels bad?”

Max turns his face into a couch cushion, making a tiny whining sound. “It’s– like, all the bad stuff. I scared Charles with the throwing up.” He’s talking more, which is a good sign.

“It’s fine,” Daniel says. “He called me and I’m here now, so it’s fine.” He presses his thumb against where Max’s jaw meets his cheek. He’s so tense everywhere.

Charles comes back into the room. “The water’s in the bath. I’m saying again to not do anything weird.”

“We are going to do something so weird,” says Max. He groans as he swivels his legs around to stand up, pressing on his forehead. “Ah, fuck. Shit.” He grabs Daniel’s wrist, squeezing hard.

“Take it easy,” Daniel says, clearing his throat where it’s all thick. He hates this, he hates that Max hurts, that he’s still hurting, and he— he loves, sort of, that it’s him Max is reaching out for. It’s fucking twisted.

Max doesn’t ask to be helped, so Daniel doesn’t offer, just hovers as Max slowly pushes himself to stand up. But Max is unwieldy, swaying a little, and— and he grabs for Daniel again. Maybe it’s just because Daniel’s seen it all before, because he’s fed him and bathed him and sat with him in the middle of the night, but. He’s still being chosen. “Sorry,” Max says, like Daniel would ever want him to do anything else. “My eyes are not so good.”

“It’s fine. I have you.” I always will, I always fucking will.

Charles waves them through to his master bathroom. In the light, Daniel can see that Max’s left pupil is blown. He’s sweaty and he looks like shit, hair all messed up, but he’s Max, and he’s gorgeous. Daniel wants to hold him.

“Max, yell for me if he is doing anything weird to you,” Charles says, and ducks out of the room. Conceding.

“You could have told him we’re not getting naked.”

“I mean, I am taking my pants off,” Max says. “Can I hold onto you?”

Daniel nods slowly, feeling oddly like he should look away. He watches the ceiling as Max holds onto him for balance.

If Max notices him acting weird, he doesn’t say so. “You’ll get your pants wet,” he says instead.

Oh. Daniel glances to the door, where Charles is not. This isn’t what he expected when he woke up today, he thinks, as he’s stepping out of his jeans.

They sit on the edge of the tub, Daniel pressing the ice pack to Max’s neck. It’s an easy trick; get the circulation down into his lower body and away from his head.

“Charles could do this,” Daniel says, after a moment.

“I know,” Max says. He leans his head on Daniel’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He doesn’t say it, but Daniel knows it: I wanted you. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

[chronicowboy]

but when i tried to love him i loved at the wrong time

this is a two for one spec inspired by this post and my long lost love trapped dads

any complaints about this fic can and should be directed to @evankinard who bullied me into writing this for her after i ruined her day with a single dm. love you bby <3

Eddie breaks apart a little the moment Buck disappears from view, lets himself feel the wound in his side as an excuse not to feel the big unwieldy thing unfolding in his chest like a colonising panic. He hadn't wanted to leave him, not after half an hour trapped in that smoky room clinging to each other to ground themselves in the reality they were trapped in, but Buck had made several stubborn and convincing arguments about Christopher before announcing he wouldn't move if Eddie didn't. Eddie had tried, had tried to get Buck out first, Buck who had just found happiness with—with Tommy, Buck who has always deserved to live. But Hen and Chim had come in with the clinical wisdom of paramedics and said a rebar through the abdomen was always going to take priority over a fractured leg.

Now, Eddie is rolled out of a collapsing building, leaving behind Buck—a bird with a broken wing, incapable of moving.

God, the noises Buck had made when he'd dragged himself over to Eddie's side. They'll be haunting him for years, for whatever lifetime he has left. Worse somehow than the first time with an entire engine on top of him. Except this time, Eddie couldn't hold his hand. Not now, but not before either because... Because that was someone else's job now. And like a laugh from the universe, Tommy appears just as Eddie reaches down to put the brakes on the gurney before Hen and Chim can get him into the ambulance.

"Kinard?" Bobby greets him with a grim-faced nod. "What are you doing here?"

"Heard you might need an assist from air support." He shrugs, but the breathlessness in the voice and the way his eyes keep jumping around the gathered 118 like he's only counting the one man not there reveals his nonchalance as the act it is. "Thought I'd swing by."

"Isn't that a conflict of interest?" Chimney asks.

"Fine, so I stole a helicopter again. Sue me for wanting to offer a hand." Tommy's face draws as soon as he stops speaking, and he glances back at the building waiting to swallow Eddie's heart whole. "How is he?"

"Holding in there," Eddie answers, voice tight enough to have Tommy really seeing him for the first time. "Think his bad leg is fractured."

"Shit," Tommy hisses, clenching his fists at his side.

"Yeah," Eddie breathes out. "Can't get himself out because of it. I wouldn't have left him, but—"

"He insisted," Tommy says, something entirely too knowing in his voice and his eyes. Eddie swallows thickly.

"And, well..." He gestures weakly to the rebar in his side, Buck's undershirt, now soaked through with Eddie's blood, wrapped around it as a makeshift bandage.

"Shit, Diaz." Tommy grimaces. "Shouldn't you be getting to the hospital?"

"He's refusing care until Buck is out too," Hen deadpans, pressing a new pad of gauze to his wound a little too firmly for it not to be intentional. Eddie just grits his teeth.

"Of course he is," Tommy murmurs. Eddie is too much of a coward to face up to whatever expression is on Tommy's face when he says it, so instead he focuses on the Incident Commander approaching Bobby.

"Site's been deemed too unstable," he announces. "No more personnel are to enter until we've found a way to stabilise it."

"My..." Bobby calms himself when his voice comes out in a growl. "My man is in there."

"And sending another man in there would be a suicide mission." The Incident Commander grimaces apologetically. "Sorry, Captain. That's an order."

Bobby turns his gaze back to the building, something so tightly drawn in him that it makes Eddie hurt all the worse. He knows without a shadow of a doubt what Bobby's thinking. He can't lose another son to a burning building.

And here, maybe this would be where Eddie runs back into the building and drags Buck out all on his own, maybe this would be where he finally gets to repay the favour for the gravel burn on his back, maybe this is where he'd get to redeem himself from the helplessness he'd felt just lowering Buck down to the ground. Except. There's a rebar in his side. Even with the adrenaline, even with the love... Eddie doesn't think he'd make it three steps before falling to his knees—a prayer in and of itself.

Instead, Eddie turns to look at Tommy. Tommy who is already looking at him, something determined and understanding and loving trapped behind the wildness of his eyes. A beat passes between them, silence saying more than they ever could.

"Bring him back to—" Me. But. Not to me.

Because that's not Eddie's place anymore. Eddie doesn't get to ask that of Buck's boyfriend. Eddie doesn't get to ask that at all. He's no longer the person that will be shaking Buck's pain pills into his hand and fetching him a bottle of water. He's no longer the person that will be wrapping Buck's cast in a bin bag for a shower and listening to him lament about the indignity of it. He's no longer the person that will be pulling Buck out of bed on his worst days to remind him that he's real and valued and loved. No, that's not his job anymore. But, fuck, Tommy's the only better man for the job.

"Bring him back to us," Eddie tells him then, and it feels like he's finally let go of the baton in the relay race, sure Tommy's got a hold of it now. And Tommy looks as wrongfooted by this as Eddie feels, but he nods anyway and grabs Eddie's discarded helmet from his lap, strapping it on.

"Kinard, no one goes in," Bobby warns him. "That's an order."

"You're not my captain anymore." Tommy only smiles and shrugs before sprinting towards the doors.

Bobby curses, but there's relief in it. Hen and Chim just watch him go with something hopeful on their faces. And Eddie. Eddie's eyes start to droop.

"Hey, hey, Eddie." Chim snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting Eddie back into semi-consciousness.

"Eddie, we need to get you to a hospital," Hen says calmly, reaching for the brakes.

"Move me an inch and I rip this rebar out of my side," he says lowly.

"Jesus, anyone ever tell you you're a drama queen?" Chim huffs.

"Yeah." Eddie chokes on his next breath a little. "The man trapped in that building."

A solemn silence settles over them then. They redirect their attention to the doors Tommy had disappeared into, and Hen lays a grounding hand on his shoulder as they wait.

It's not long before Tommy comes stumbling out of the building, looking every bit the action hero Eddie has never gotten to be for Buck what with his soot-stained face and Buck himself slung over his shoulder, splinted leg bouncing against his sternum. Hen and Bobby spring into action immediately, racing to meet them. Chim just unlocks Eddie's gurney and loads him into the ambulance, raising him up just enough to catch a perfect view of Tommy lowering Buck onto his own stretcher with a kiss to his forehead. The ambulance doors close, Chim knocks twice, the sirens begin to whine, and they lurch into motion.

"Did you draw the drama queen straw?" Eddie asks to distract himself from the tenderness of Tommy's kiss.

"Higher ups are a little more serious about conflicts of interest now Buck is officially my brother-in-law," Chim mumbles as he works on getting Eddie's IV in. "But also I'm better acquainted with rebars than Hen, so..."

Eddie huffs a weak laugh as his eyes drift to the ceiling, the clean white of it stinging his eyes.

"Chim?"

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow isn't promised to anyone, right?" he chokes out. He doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling, but the sudden silence in the ambulance is as deafening as the siren overhead.

"No," Chim says eventually. "No, it's not."

"But what happens if the person you love..." Here, his voice breaks. An almighty crack right through the middle. It sounds like the building behind them just came crumbling down in his throat. "What happens if someone told them first?" He turns to face Chim's wide eyes. "Should you still tell them?"

"I-I don't know..." Chim opens his mouth a few times, a fish out of water, before he makes a decision. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "But what I do know is." He clears his throat. "If you let a wound like that fester... It'll kill you, Eddie."

"Yeah." Eddie lets his eyes fall shut.

I can feel it already.

[pomgore]

colored maudra seethi from this set of drawings, did you ever see a gelfling so beautiful you started crying

seethi headcanons under the cut :3

i imagine she inherited the maudra title young following her mother's death (she looks so young compared to the other maudras!) and, being a young gelfling surrounded by matriarchs, maybe struggled to integrate and get along with the other maudras for a while. she understood gelfling law in theory but in practice it doesn't come naturally to her, and the maudras being a sort of old ladies club didn't offer a lot of help at first.

probably she resolved this by withdrawing her personal feelings and emotions from her maudra "persona," she tries to be completely objective, plays by all the rules and waits for others to express their stances on a given matter before offering her own input. the other maudras opinions on this behavior range from annoyed to indulgent, most of them were there while she was struggling and they understand the need to separate their personal lives from the lives they lead as maudras.

gelfling autism

the shape of the dousan headdress is determined by how much hair it needs to hold--seethi has lots and lots and lots of hair, but she almost always wears it tied up or braided back to keep it off her neck in the desert heat.

the loss of her mother, which i imagine was unexpected and came at an already-fraught time in inter-clan relations/shifting skeksis policy/some other drama, had a profound effect on seethi that gelfling close to her recognized--the dousan perspective on death helped her rationalize and accept her mother's death, but she's never quite been able to move on.

the little hair charm at the end of her necklace is a lock of her mother's hair

whether in maudra-mode or not, seethi comes across like she's sort of floating through life, a bit detached from everything but still held down to thra by virtue of existing on it. she becomes more grounded in reality when a present situation or task demands her whole attention

related to above, she realizes she actually quite enjoys fighting during the outset of the garthim war, because unlike maudra work it's fast-paced, physical and decisive, and she doesn't have to worry about doing it "right" so much as just surviving to fight another way.

seethi lost a lot of her friends when she became maudra, unable to maintain relationships as the role demanded more and more of her time. :C

despite the kind of unwieldy shape seethi actually likes to wear the headdress because she thinks her ears are too big. when she wears it she has to trade big ears for a fivehead, but a big forehead is a feature of beauty among dousan (but not among stonewood, thats why they all have bangs)

since dousan aren't a part of the alliance of the crystal, seethi has only met the skeksis incidentally when some event necessitated both she and a skeksis ambassador attend. after maybe the third or fourth time this happens she decides to take a leaf out of maudra argots book and just sends a messenger with a no-show letter.

during aor seethi is the second oldest maudra, a little younger than mera (spriton maudra) and youngest of all being ethri (sifan maudra). mera became maudra not long after seethi, although at an older age, and adjusted pretty well to the position, so she and seethi get along well being closer in age than the other maudras. ethri became maudra under similar circumstances to seethi (sudden loss of a mother) so seethi and mera advise her where they can and do their best to make themselves welcoming presences for her. mera is better at this than seethi lol

related to above, this is why they all kind of cluster and make the same choice to support seladon when fara issues her challenge for the crown.

[seat-safety-switch]

Tradition is a horrifying thing, isn't it? Everyone is forced to do things the way their great-grandparents did. We're stuck in eternal ancestor worship, doing little things to honour the memory of someone we've never met. Even if, as in my family, it's highly likely that those folks didn't intend for things to become "the way things are done from now on."

Where I grew up, you can be a Ford person, a Chevy person, or a Dodge person. It's not encouraged to be a Dodge person, although it is a lifestyle that has become more acceptable in the present day. My grandfather was a Ford person. His father? Probably would have been a Ford person, but he believed that cars were the devil and instead tried to breed souped-up horses using exotic varieties of hay. The usual story, you know how it is.

Because my dad's dad was a Ford person, he was a Ford person, and so now I am also forced to be a Ford person. If Ford ever went away, I assume that the entire family tradition would be destroyed, washed up on the rocks of the inevitable collapse of an unwieldy capitalist enterprise that makes kind of half-ass SUVs now and not much else. Do I drive a lot of Fords? Hell no: they're expensive to fix, and I much prefer my late-70s Mopar crapcans, which unlike the Fords, nobody else wants to own.

I have a '75 Comet with a bent frame, full of old tires, for posterity, in case my dad ever comes back from the circus, and that's about it. Grandpa would be proud, probably, although I'm sure if he had the chance today he would pick up a base Honda Odyssey minivan, because it would be faster and more comfortable than anything else made in his entire lifetime. Hell, even great-grandpa would probably give up the horse modding for a chance at two sliding doors and seven seats.

What I'm trying to get at is: just because your dad, mom, or court-appointed guardian is real weird about a certain make of car, you don't have to be too. You can make your own choices about what shitty automobile to use, because chances are you're already going to let them down in a million other ways. At least this way you get to do it in style, laying down a four-alarm burnout in their driveway when they get a little froggy about your shitbox at Thanksgiving.

[shirozora-draws]

I am so late but I am finally done with the first round of merch that I am satisfied with. I am satisfied and we are rolling forward with this set. Now to send off all of my final sample orders so that I know these are absolutely working and are worth posting to a shop site as pre-orders.

Clan of Three lanyards. I recognize that I could easily turn these into washi tapes if I wanted to. We'll see.

Grogu Baby Crimes. Sticker & acrylic shaker charm. Completely revamped after carrying around the old version as an acrylic shaker charm and deciding it was too unwieldy and, more importantly, not cute enough. This will be a sticker option and an acrylic shaker charm option.

Keldabe kiss - Interstellar version. Matte & holographic sticker.

Keldabe kiss - Tatooine version. Matte & holographic sticker.

Live Cheen Reaction. Sticker. For all the fans of Cheen Yofree, the unluckiest third-wheeling Rodian OC.

Need A Hero. Sticker & acrylic charm. The only thing I'm putting forward with Din's face for now. I wanted something cute.

Clan of Two. Sticker. A straightforward general sticker.

The Battle Couple. Sticker (for now). This was actually designed to be an embroidered patch, but I'm not really there yet. The sticker shape is odd so I might present this as a kiss cut sticker.

Luke on Ossus - no scars. Sticker. For people who don't want scars?

Luke on Ossus - scars. Sticker. I just wanted to doodle a thirst trap, thassit.

The Storm. Sticker (for now). I wanted to make more merch for my fics and might use this template for the other fics in the Dangerous Dreams series.

The Clan of Three. Sticker. This motherfucker held me up for MONTHS. I didn't like the previous full-body version especially after getting several sample stickers so I started over... and then got stuck. For months. But here we are. The final piece of the puzzle.

Limited - Tron. Sticker & acrylic charm. I wanted to make a little Tron merch. The acrylic charm will be double-sided with Tron on one side and Rinzler on the other. Thank god this guy is more or less symmetrical.

Limited - Rinzler. Sticker & acrylic charm. For people who like Rinzler. This will be double-sided with Rinzler on one side and Tron on the other side.

I'm sending off a final round of sample sticker and charm orders so that I can get a feel for the revamped and new designs, and once I'm happy I'll get the pop-up shop up and running.

Round 2, I'm looking at small prints, possibly the embroidered patch, and maybe a Tron|Rinzler standee. Also a sticker for The Suns maybe, possibly also The Stars. What if I did a WarGreymon|BlackWarGreymon charm?????

And now.... we write.

[strawberrybasilsorbet]

Jilytober Day 22

Disappeared for a minute because real life got in the way, but finally had some free time this evening! Here's my try at today's @jilytoberfest prompt:

October 22nd Prompt: "How long have you been standing there?" "Longer than you'd like."

Lily bit her lip and adjusted her grip on the Quaffle. She tried to focus solely on the three hoops in front of her — not the sunrise making her squint, not the challenge of keeping her broomstick balanced in the light breeze — as she tossed the unwieldy ball straight ahead with as much power as she could muster. It arced toward the hoops.

Unlike the last twelve shots she'd taken, this attempt didn't fall short or curve too far to the left or right. But just as Lily started to believe that her aim had been true after all—

"Damn it!"

—the Quaffle smacked directly into the side of the middle hoop and dropped unceremoniously toward the ground. Oh, well.

Lily watched, irritated, as the ball fell fifty feet onto the neatly trimmed grass of the Quidditch pitch, bouncing lamely toward the stands. In theory, she knew that she ought to have dived and caught the Quaffle out of the air, but she'd given that up after a few tries, deciding that it would be less frustrating to work on one Quidditch skill at a time. Instead, she repositioned her hands carefully on the broom handle before nudging the front end downward, all the while ticking off a mental checklist of Madam Hooch's old tips about form. Straight back, bent knees, dominant hand in front...

Lily's dive was more successful than her toss had been. She felt reasonably accomplished as she reached the ground, sweeping horizontally to an easy stop — or at least, she did, until she hopped to the ground and her broomstick immediately plummeted to earth. Ugh. It was definitely supposed to stay suspended in mid-air.

Lily huffed and put her arm out. "Up," she said. The broom leapt to her hand.

She let go. It dropped again.

"Oh, come on!" Lily exclaimed. It was way too early for this. "Up!" The broomstick zoomed into her hand again, stinging the palm.

Lily eyed it suspiciously. "Stay," she commanded. Tentatively, she took her hand off the broomstick. It kept its place in the air, hovering about three feet off the ground.

She took a slow step backward, watchful gaze on the broom. It remained airborne.

Letting out a breath of satisfaction, Lily turned and started trudging toward the Quaffle, which lay near the entrance of the pitch. She had barely walked three feet before she heard a loud thunk.

Lily whipped around toward her traitorous broomstick, which was now lying innocently on the ground, and swore. Colorfully.

Forget this. Lily was wasting time that would be better spent practicing her throwing and catching. She would just carry her broomstick with her during the game, and this little hovering trick would be entirely irrelevant. Solved.

She stomped back to the broom. "Up!" she called, catching it and throwing it over her shoulder. She turned around to grab the Quaffle, ready to get back into the air.

"Catch!"

Lily jumped. The Quaffle was soaring directly toward her, but the sharpest athleticism she could manage on instinct was to awkwardly bat it away. Her boyfriend, James Potter, stood before her, looking vaguely amused. "All right, love?"

She flushed bright red. "What are you doing here?"

James raised his eyebrows. "Last time I checked, I'm still Gryffindor Quidditch Captain for a few more days." He grinned. "You planning to try out?"

"Oh, shut up," Lily grumbled, feeling heat all the way from her forehead to her chin. "I was just leaving." James continued to grin as Lily stuck her nose in the air, stalking toward the stands with as much dignity as she could muster. When she'd gotten a few steps past him, James grabbed her around the waist from behind and swung her in a circle through the air.

Lily half shrieked and half giggled. "Oh my god, James," she said, "Put me down! Now!" He obliged, setting her down briefly before pulling her backward toward him and kissing her sloppily on the neck. Lily turned and smacked him on the shoulder. "You prat," she said, laughing, before kissing him on the lips. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Hmm, I don't know," James said mock-thoughtfully. "Longer than you'd like, I suspect." He winked as Lily glared. "You know, three attempts ago, I thought you came quite close to a goal."

"Shut up," Lily repeated. "What are you doing here, anyway? It's six-thirty in the morning!"

James shrugged. "Sometimes I like to go for an early fly."

"Oh." Lily kicked herself internally. He'd definitely mentioned that before...

"And you're out throwing Quaffles at sunrise, because?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine," she said grumpily. "If you must know, I was practicing for Saturday." She felt herself starting to blush again. Every year, James rallied his mates to organize an inter-house Quidditch game for the kids in their year (bar Slytherins) on the weekend after exams. Lily had never even watched the game before last June, but now that she and James were officially dating...

"I thought that might be it," James said. "Out of practice?"

"You know perfectly well that I haven't ridden a broomstick since first year! Am I supposed to embarrass myself in front of everyone?"

"It wasn't a jab, Evans," said James, reverting to her surname, as he always did when he wanted to reassure Lily that he was only teasing. She swallowed, and the burst of temper receded as quickly as it had come. James kissed her on the brow and wandered over to the Quaffle. "You know," he said casually, picking up the ball and brushing dirt off the side, "You could have asked me, if you wanted some pointers. I'm fairly decent at coaching." He looked over. "Any reason you didn't want me about?"

Last year, Cindy Clearwater had scored a game-winning surprise goal at the end of the post-finals match, leading to general cacophony and a stolen, spontaneous kiss. Not that Lily was trying to...recreate this, exactly. She wasn't twelve years old. It had just been very romantic, that was all.

"No reason," Lily finally replied, a bit cagily. She wasn't about to admit that she'd spent the first few weeks of last summer thinking about all her friends cheering in victory while Cindy's hands had twisted up into James's untamable hair...

He didn't press. "Well," James said, "I'm here now. Alright if I join?"

Lily nodded and James grinned, mounting his own broomstick. "Forget the school brooms, they're rubbish," he told her, gesturing in welcome. "You'll have much better luck with this one. Hop on."

And they soared together into the air.

So, alright, Lily thought half an hour later, watching the Quaffle fly through the hoop. Maybe she wouldn't impress James on Saturday with a flash of unexpected skill. But as he wrapped his arms around her on the broomstick, taking her hands in his to correct her grip — as they scored Lily's first goal together and James whooped with delight, too loudly, right in her ear — Lily found that Quidditch could be much more fun than she had ever realized.

[snek-panini]

It's been a month since Binderary ended but I've still got books to share! This is @worse0mens's (hi!) wonderful Good Omens series, The Blossom Realm, which starts with Omens of Another Kind. This is very much a longtime favorite of mine, an AU with a really compelling combo of worldbuilding and characterization. This is a believable grand romance that's also a court drama and a fairy tale, and it's really long (the full series is about 220k words) so it will keep you reading for a long time. This is one of the fics I learned bookbinding for, and it was the first really long fic that I typeset (and redid once I learned more about typesetting). It's been a long road but it was so worth it.

More photos under the cut!

Couple of photos of the spines. The series doesn't divide easily, with one very long work, one medium-length one, and several shorter pieces. The main story is nearly 200k on its own, the longest single volume I've ever made (about 500 pages), and I was worried about it getting too unwieldy, so I put all the other works into their own volume of about 100 pages. They make a disparate set but I love them. The cover is done in skiver green faux leather from Hollander's; I've never worked with this brand before but I loved it, and one sheet was big enough to do both books. The titles are done in cricut brand gold foil htv. There were some issues with that, as I'd bought a multi-pack with a few different colors and only found out after applying the front cover graphics on both books that one, I didn't have enough to do the backs and spines; two, that the gold in that pack is a totally different color than the gold they sell on its own; and three, that no one in my area stocked it anymore and I had to order it from Europe. Here's what the back looks like:

It's the same graphic as the front but without the title in the center, and it's one of the fanciest backs I've ever done and it took forever to weed all those little cutouts. The graphic was free to use on rawpixel. The font I used on the spines and front is a basic Microsoft font called Harrington that worked incredibly well on the cricut, even at small sizes; a lot of basic fonts are too thin, especially fancy ones, so this was a delightful surprise.

Photo of the top, with ribbon bookmark and handmade double core endbands. The endbands didn't come out as well as I'd have liked; they're a little uneven and the color changes aren't that evenly spaced. Double core ones are harder than I expected and I need more practice. The endpapers are chocolate silk moire, and I chose them because there's a very important massive tree in the fic and I thought they looked like wood grain. I did a little experimenting with the shorter volume that's visible around the edges of the endpaper. I wanted gilded edges but the longer book had to be rounded, and I thought I'd try paint instead of foil since I don't know how to foil a curved edge. But I did my experiments on the smaller volume and I couldn't get good coverage, so the edge had to be trimmed off. The watered-down paint had leaked into the edge of the silk moire too far for me to trim, so it's still there. But it's kind of pretty, so I'm going to call it an aesthetic choice.

The title pages are the same, with free graphics from rawpixel. I got lucky and found a similar set of roses that I used for the chapter headers:

These had to be positioned by hand for each chapter so they'd fit around the text properly. It was a pain but they look so pretty. The final photo contains a story spoiler, so proceed with caution if you don't want that:

The scene break image in both volumes is this tiny snake. This was one of the first aesthetic choices I made for the books. A lot of the plot is centered around a prophecy about a monster snake that everyone thinks will destroy the kingdom, and of course in the manner of Good Omens fic it's a wildly inaccurate misinterpretation and not a threat at all. I wanted something like this because the snake is not only non-threatening but it's been here the entire time and there was never any reason to freak out about it. It was surprisingly difficult to find a snake image that was both simple enough to still be clear at this size and also didn't look dangerous or like a cartoon character. I looked at so many snakes before I found this one, it's ridiculous.

And that's it! I hope the author likes it (and remembers me since I asked to do this almost a year ago). There are three more binderary posts forthcoming, though I don't know how long it'll take me to get to them. It was a busy month.

[achubbydumpling]

The Struggles of Being Too Fat for Fat Camp

This was inspired by an incredible video by @lardfill. Sadly, I can't find a current link to the video and I only have it as an mp4. But basically the entire second part in the kitchen is inspired by that.

Rating: Explicit Words: 2387 Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Weight Gain, Teasing, Name-Calling, pig, Bucky calls himself a pig, Belly Kink, No Lube, ...dish soap, it's inspired by a real video!, Fat Bucky Barnes, literally getting off from his own fat, Extreme Weight Gain, Mobility Struggles, out of breath, modern AU, Established Relationship

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Read the series on AO3

The inevitable conversation about moving in together came up earlier than Bucky had expected. Just after he’d entered cabin 13 Steve had already stood in the doorway, knocked on the door frame and wrung his hands.

“I’ve got a flat in town. Just until the end of summer, but, you know, you could move in. If you wanted to.”

Of course, Bucky had agreed to spend the rest of the summer there. No useless dieting rules that he wasn’t going to follow anyway, no annoying team sports and activities, and no one that expects him to lose any weight.

When they finally lived together, it didn’t take long for them to settle into a comfortable routine living together.

Steve would get up early to go for a run and to make breakfast. While Bucky spent another hour just lounging in bed with the sun shining on his face, slowly waking up to the quiet sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen.

However, today Bucky woke up to the soft press of Steve’s lips to his temple and his hand gently squeezing his plush side.

“Morning, sleepy head.” Steve could barely hide his amusement at Bucky’s wide-eyed look around. When he noticed Steve wearing his counsellor uniform already, Bucky tried to sit up. His efforts were hindered by the heavy weight of his belly.

“What time is it?” Bucky had to build up a bit of momentum first and Steve ultimately helped him scoot back to rest against the headboard.

“Almost half nine.”

Bucky sighed, “Wanted to eat breakfast with you.”

Steve’s expression softened and he tucked a stray strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear.

"I didn't want to wake you up if I didn't have to."

Bucky couldn’t stop the warmth that bubbled up inside him. It built into a fond smile that pulled at his lips.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.” Steve pulled a serious expression before he broke out into a smile again. “Do you want to stay in bed a bit longer or some help getting up before I leave?”

The sleep-warm duvet tempted Bucky to stay a bit longer, but he could feel the beginnings of hunger coil in his stomach. So, he stretched his arms out towards Steve, who gripped his hands tightly. Together they got Bucky on his feet and out of the bedroom in no time. Alone Bucky would’ve probably taken twice as long just to get up, but he needed fewer breaks when he could lean some of his weight on Steve.

Still, just the few weeks he had spent living with Steve had resulted in even more weight piling onto his already morbidly obese body. While Bucky didn’t feel much heavier, his doughy belly had gotten wider and softer and increasingly unwieldy. Where he used to be able to grab a good roll, now the fat was so pliable it almost slid out of his grip of its own volition.

This new development also led to his belly working more and more against him when Bucky tried to walk. It weighed on his thighs and swayed between his thighs with every step. The heavy swing always in opposition to the leg he needed to bring forward. His breathing was laboured from the moment he heaved himself out of bed and the sofa creaked dangerously beneath him he plopped down on it.

Steve placed the small folding table in front of Bucky and started loading it with a veritable breakfast buffet until it bowed under the weight of all the plates. Sweet and savoury, a stack of pancakes soaked in maple syrup, thick cut slices of bread with margarine melting into it and sprinkled with garden cress, two cinnamon rolls the size of Bucky’s palm and a bowl of thick, oatmeal topped with spoonfuls of peanut butter and halved plums.

“Here.” Steve handed Bucky a piece of grapefruit. “It’s really good. I had some for breakfast.” Steve smiled at the ground and shuffled his feet. ”Wanted to share.”

Bucky waited until Steve looked back up to say, “Thank you.”

“I’ll make dinner tonight, ok?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Fury planned some competition for the campers that could take until the evening,” Steve paused and grinned when he remembered the last year Bucky spent at camp,“or just a few minutes.”

With a kiss and a promise to call before the end of his shift Steve left the flat. Bucky could finally dig into the food Steve had prepared for him.

It didn’t take long for him to feel full, but Bucky didn’t get to his current size by stopping when he was full. With the bread and oatmeal gone, he started on the pancakes. The carbs were laying heavily in his stomach, he felt the familiar bloat settle in.

So, he set about eating the thick slices of freshly baked bread. His initial plan was to force them down quickly so he would be finished before the bloating really caught up to him, but when he bit into the first slice, he couldn’t help himself slowing down to savour it.

The crust crackled between his teeth and the soft middle was soaked through from the thick spread of margarine. On his first bite he noticed the faint taste of other herbs as well. The tang of the sourdough bread spread on his tongue and Bucky couldn’t hold back the content hum at the combination of the taste and texture of the still hand-warm bread.

Bucky warmed up the cinnamon rolls in the microwave and ate them as a late morning snack. Yesterday’s leftovers served as lunch to keep him comfortably full into the afternoon.The hours of stuffing slowly transitioned into himwatching TV, burping his way through the bloat and rubbing away the tightness in his stomach

After nursing away most of the pain, Bucky finally pulled out his laptop to work on some of his course assignments for after the semester break, but the contentment of a lazy morning and a still-full belly had him falling asleep on the couch without meaning to.

The late afternoon sun warmed Bucky’s face as he blearily opened his eyes. He groaned when he saw the low battery warning on his laptop. Bucky checked the clock — almost five — and then his phone for any messages from Steve. Even though a lazy sort of hunger curled at the back of Bucky’s mind when he looked down at himself he could still see the bloat from his extended breakfast. He could still feel the heavy weight of the food in his stomach.

Not for the first time Bucky was surprised just by how fat he was — how much fatter he was getting every day. He pulled his shirt up and splayed his hands over his upper belly, he couldn’t even cover half of it. Then he trailed lower, grabbed onto his sides and hefted his belly up to let it drop down again. It rippled through the fat all over his body and his dick gave an interested twitch.

I’m getting so fat, was all Bucky could think when he saw his belly continuing to move on its own like this. The smallest movement making it shake and jiggle, his fat moving in waves across his body. He grabbed the sides of his belly again and let it drop into his lap. Then he tried to reach over it, he reached his belly button and about a handbreadth beneath it, but he couldn’t actually reach the lowest part of his belly.Thick arousal started to cloud his mind.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned and scooted lower on the sofa. His hands dug almost painfully into the fat on his sides. He noticed how it spilled over the edge of the sofa even though he was pressed into the cushions of the backrest. Just exploring all this new softness had him half hard under the heavy overhang on his thighs. But he wanted to feel out the changes to his body some more.

His hands came up to his moobs and he lifted them each up and let them drop through his hands again. Bucky skimmed his finger over his nipples, they felt even more sensitive with just the weight he’d put on living with Steve, stretched out from gaining weight even there. He’d never really had pecs, always soft even at his lowest weight.

Bucky tried to get more comfortable. He splayed his legs as wide as he could, but the couch was barely wide enough to fit his entire body. He bent his knee and tried to get his heavy belly to pool to one side, to give him access to his dick.

Every one of his movements was followed by a grunt, just trying to move himself into position, a difficult task for someone Bucky’s size. He tried to heft his belly up and to the side, out of the way so he could finally get his fingers on his dick that was growing harder underneath his fat pad.

With his belly hanging over the side of the couch, however, it only felt like he was about to be pulled off by its weight. Bucky rolled more onto his side, angled his knee more, but no matter what all he could reach were his thigh rolls and his fat pad, he couldn’t actually get to his buried dick.

He tried one more time, adjusting his position and trying to work his way along his fat pad, but the furthest he ever managed to reach was just barely skimming the tips of his fingers over the tip of his dick.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed. Oh, God, I’m too fat to jerk off.

His emotions were all over the place. Partly in awe at how big he’d eaten himself, slightly shocked he’d ever let himself get this fat, but most importantly so incredibly turned on and he couldn’t do anything about it. Unless he got up and tried again in bed — more room to spread his legs and get his belly out of the way.

He pushed the folding table to the side and prepared himself to get up. His lower belly was trapped against his thighs, so he grabbed at that lowest roll to move the heavy overhang to droop between his legs. Then he scooted forward.

He couldn’t help the noises he made, moving this much mass forced grunts and sighs from his straining lungs. Once he got his body right to the edge of the sofa, he rocked back and forth to build up the momentum to get to his feet. The couch had been sagging lower every day, so he had to cover an even greater distance just to stand up.

Might as well get something to eat for after. So, instead of heading to the bedroom Bucky turned to the kitchenette. They kept snacks in the cupboards above the kitchen. Bucky was craving something salty and headed for the right side.

Opening the cupboard wasn't too difficult since Bucky could just grab the bottom of the door. However, reaching the chips he wanted was a different story. Of course, his favourites were high on the second level.

Bucky stretched upwards, going up on his toes just for his finger tips to barely graze the package.

The cold countertop pressing against Bucky’s belly startled him, but the enticing snack kept him going.

As he moved closer to try and reach the cupboard his fat pad pressed against the counter too and when he stretched up his fat pad almost spilled onto it. His belly and fat pad rubbing together against the cold hard counter.

That's when he got the idea.

He should have gone to the bedroom.

He should have lied down, gotten comfortable and used some actual lube, but he was here and horny and some watery dish soap seemed good enough for lubrication.

His inhales were stumbling over each other, a strangled sound and he had to slow down to actually take a breath. He lifted his belly, blindly searching for his fat pad before finally grabbing it and maneouvering his dick to rest on the counter too. When he let go of his belly, it added the most incredible pressure.

He could barely lift his entire belly up and then it slapped right back onto the counter, he moved on to just jiggling it, letting the counter take most of the weight of the fat apron on his front and just moving it by shaking and grabbing rolls all over it, letting the fat rub over his dick. Relishing in the feeling of having gained so much weight that he could fuck his own fat.

“Fat fucking pig,” Bucky said to himself in between wheezing breaths. Steve always defaulted to praise, but sometimes Bucky needed that humiliation. Someone telling him how much fatter he was gonna get if he kept eating more.

“Gonna get bigger, fatter.” Bucky’s thrusts were becoming erratic, his muscles were shaking with the effort to keep his hips driving forward against the counter.

“Please,” Bucky could barely get the word out with how ragged his breathing had gotten. Begging someone, anyone to let him come before his legs gave out.

A dull, tight pain had started settling in his joints, lactic acid built up in his thigh muscles. Still he kept up the shallow thrusts, even as it became increasingly difficult to command his body to keep going.

"Fuck," Bucky grunted, "I'm such a pig."

He tried to wrap his arms around his belly to adjust it one last time. So close to coming, racing against exhaustion. The very body he was getting off to, threatening to cut his orgasm short.

One last grunt and he was finally rewarded. Thick spurts of cum painting his belly, mixing with the soap suds.

His legs were shaking, knees threatening to buckle. He was holding himself up on the counter though his arms also quickly tired. With a last effort he made it to the chair in the kitchen and let himself fall down on it.

"What a work out," Bucky chuckled to himself, reverently running his hands over his belly.

And then his gaze fell on the chips packet that was tilting out of the cupboard, perfectly in reach if Bucky just stretched up a little.