#I deserve it for being a fat piece of shit

[tedkaczynskiofficial]

I feel like something that should be mentioned here (because I think this is where a lot of people struggle with the idea that exercise ≠ weight loss) is that, of course, calories in calories out is just physics. When people say something like dieting or exercise are not effective weight loss strategies, they don't mean that people's bodies break the laws of physics; they mean those treatment strategies aren't maintainable or have underlying confounding mechanisms, and that's not the fault of the patient. That could mean anything from exercising being unenjoyable and therefore not maintained over time to hormonal changes that make weight loss more difficult with one strategy compared to others. Again, neither of those things are the fault of the patient, and clinicians and researchers should be aiming to create sustainable treatment plans for all conditions.*

I don't know if you've addressed this somewhere in the notes already (apologies if you have! Same for the main point of my reblog. I feel like the idea was lightly conveyed, but I wanted to explicitly lay it out for people not reading close enough), but I do think it's relevant to also point out that the T2 diabetes article says that exercise patients have decreased adipose tissue weight that was offset by muscle gain. Usually, that's what people care about in weight loss, especially visceral adipose tissue from a health standpoint, so I'm not certain that particular article strongly supports your argument. I get that the aesthetic results of deceased visceral fat don't necessarily translate to conventional aesthetic aspirations, but I'm not really certain that that specific article supports the thesis that exercise isn't good for weight loss very well since the goal isn't usually strictly about numbers on the scale- for the patient or the clinician. That said, I do think T2 diabetics are a uniquely motivated group to adhere to exercise regimens (or any regimen) both due to the fact that they have to manage their diet and the awful societal shaming they get for what people view as a self-inflicted condition. TL;DR: I don't think the T2 diabetes article supports your argument well, but I also don't think it's particularly detrimental to it.

*I'm going to add as an addendum that being overweight isn't always an issue; extra weight can cause problems for some people, so we do need safe, effective weight loss strategies, but that's not the case for everyone. Regardless, if a patient doesn't view it as an issue, then the clinician needs to shut up about it unless it's immediately relevant to whatever is currently at hand (e.g. the patient needs surgery and being overweight actually increases their risk of complications), and even then the patient should still be allowed to make their own informed decisions about their health.

Me: Exercise does not cause weight loss. This is a fact that has been demonstrated so robustly in research that even doctors, who hate and fear evidence, are grudgingly starting to admit this.

Someone reading that post: Cool, but have you considered that exercise leads to weight loss?

Me: I am going to eat you

[sweetnans]

You've been fighting. A lot.

Lately, it's been more bantering and spatting at each other than being the couple you used to be.

It started with Katsuki staying in the agency more. There were multiple attacks from villains, and the paperwork was endless.

Then you decided that it was good for you to pick up more shifts. You started part-time, and now you were picking double shifts that landed on his days off.

Days and weeks passed by where you hadn't seen each other in the frequency you did before.

Till death tear us apart

The inside part of your wedding ring was a constant reminder that death wasn't breaking up your marriage. It was, in fact, the time that wasn't being fair with the two of you.

One night, when you and him magically had the same schedule and reunited at home for dinner, everything blew off.

It started like a subtle conversation. How was your day? Where have you been? Tell me about your week... and then boom. The bomb exploded right under your nose.

You were crying because you missed him, he was angry because he missed you too and he felt like the problem was leaking in between his fingers and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Everything was a big fat mess.

"I didn't want this for us," you said, grabbing your head with both of your hands. Tears dripping from your face to the mahogany table.

"Me neither!" He was pacing in front of the table from one side to another.

He felt like it was the end of it, and it was the first time in years that he felt scared. He didn't want to lose you ever.

"Then what do we do?" You whispered. Your throat clogged because of the pain. You loved the man in front of you, every piece of him.

"Fix this fucking thing I guess" he shrugged finally stopping his feet. He was hurt for seeing you there broken because of him.

"You don't have to say it like that," you muttered, lowering your head, busy staring at the stains of your tears in the wood.

The whispers, the cracking in your voice, your face stained with tears. No, he wouldn't be that kind of man. That type of husband.

He promised the day he decided to be yours forever, long before you sealed your relationship at the altar, that he would do everything to make you entirely happy.

Do you need more time? Fine, he would reduce his hours at the agency. Do you need him to be more romantic? You got it, he would buy you flowers and chocolates. God, he would do anything for you. You just have to name it.

You were worth fighting for.

He stomped quickly to your side, lowering his body and kneeling by your side. He grabbed your hand in between his hands, and with careful caresses, he made your eyes meet with his.

"Shit, sweatheart, you know who I am, and I know you know that I've never felt something like this for anyone. It's just you and me in our world, " he pronounced, no mumbling or half grunts. He was actually speaking at you with his entire heart. "I'm yours completely, and I would do anything for deserving being by your side. I know I have to change some things and I'll do it because I want you and only you"

The only sound that came out of your mouth were hiccups. You were a sobing mess. You needed to change things too, but looking at Katsuki so eager and willing to make your relationship and marriage work gave you the enough courage to actually make a change and to never forget what you have in front of you, an amazing man with a heart of gold.

[ccwpidsblog]

ISSANUTBBY | onyakopon

summary: you didn't really get the 'moaning and whimpering' epidemic.

pairing: pornstar!only x hyperfem!reader

content warning: country ony, male masturbation, degradation, rample fap, pervy onya, p hub link, idk how to tag

a/n: I was gonna gatekeep my favorite asmrist but for the sake of the fic i gave it up 😕

sighing as the uptenth tiktok about moaning audios from boyfriends, and being talked through it appeared on her for you page. these were just two things she's never experienced in her 21 years of living.

so she decided to do her own research.

boyfriend asmr did nothing but make her giggle, and she mildly liked the whimpering audios but it also makes her cringe. until she stumble upon 'issanutbaby' nose turned at the name but still she clicked and scrolled.

endless audios and a couple videos with lewd titles filled her computer screen, heat rising to her face eyes scanning the ridiculously large package and oily, dark skinned muscular chest that showcased on each thumbnail.

finally making up her mind on a video with a less vulgar title 'ramblefap livestream' the show began. watching the dark skinned lean back into his chair, music low in the background as he smirked at the camera, the sliver grilz on his canines peaking. face never showing just his two toned lips glossy lips, pink tongue, body and huge half hard package.

he wasnt talking yet, just rolling the thick blunt between his pretty hands, tounge lapping at the papers with a smirk. "wish that was you huh?" talking with deep low rasp with a hint of southern twang that made her toes curl and boy did she definitely did wish it was her. he sparked it up taking a long drag, the smoke illuminating his sexiness even more.

"there's this girl I always see." he started with a groan. "a lil' thing she is." chuckling as he took another hit of his wood.

" always running around campus like a chicken wit 'er head cut off. it's cute but girls like that don't usually go for niggas like me. usually so stuck and in their books and looking fora nerdy ass engineer."

his lips pouted slightly as he shakes his head, "y'all saying why not talk to her? shiii ion' even know why i ain't approached her sexy ass."

humming he blew the smoke up as his unoccupied hand went to palm his growing erection. "always walking around in them lacy dresses and bows."

"fuck. was watching her last Friday and she dropped one 'er glittery ass notebooks. saw of peek of her panties and." he freed his cock hard and proud from the opening of his underwear. spitting on his hand as he began the stroke his piece. "saw that fat ass pussy through her pink panties"

he grunted, wood in his mouth as he leaned back into his chair hips slightly bucking up into his hand. "ima pervert?" he sounded amused as he squeezed his two-toned tip causing it to leak sticky, clear precum.

"who really the pervert? i think y'all are perverts. watching me stroke my shit, waiting for me to buss all over myself."

he laughed, your panties began to feel slick as you watched the glistening brown cock twitch as he talked, he was leaking down onto the floor, and his heavy balls caused a loud smacking sound to fill your air pods. "Fuckin' brats ion' think y'all deserve this nut."

you jump out your skin as your roommate annie enters the room. she frowns at your reaction, dumping her bags on the ground. "the hell. . you watching porn or something?"

"no! what? why would you even say that." you squeak out, with wide eyes. watching her lip lift in amusement as she slowly stalks your way. "oh reallyyy lemme see your laptop."

standing to your feet you clench your laptop to your chest, practically hissing at the blonde who puts her hands up in defeat.

"you got it princess"

© CCWPIDS'BLOG2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly encouraged ꢾ꣒

[backwzzds]

Toji getting out jail and showing us some appreciation 🙈🙈

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ daddy’s home, toji fushiguro (nsfw)

omg bc prison bf!toji would be something interesting.

the story would be that before prison, toji was the ORIGINAL scammer. all these mfs his sons forreal. of course with being a hired professional hitman, it came with its financial perks, all of which he’d used to spoil his pretty little princess.

you lived comfortably well. you’d known toji since he was just a bum scrounging for any type of work, so you actually got to see the come up frfr. though you’ve always loved him from the start (even when he was broke), he was nearly 10 years older than you. just in your early twenties, you always told him—you did not deserve any type of struggle love. and a struggle life toji lived indeed. you assured him that if he was really about you the way he always swore he was—he’d do whatever he could to support for you.

and support for you he did!

it wasn’t anything about being a gold digger—you just had standards. toji chased after you for years and you loved it—but you knew you deserved better when he couldn’t even take care of himself. by the graces of whoever allowed him to stumble upon a secret job that could land him 1 mil cash—500 upfront as a deposit and the rest later—toji was yours the moment he proved to you he could take care of you indefinitely.

ass ironic as this sounds, he was actually arrested on false charges. the nature of the charges were true on everything—but the actual person they were accusing him of executing and murdering, he simply did not do. the courts didn’t care though, they just needed someone to hang for it and make an example out of them. that led to toji being sentenced to life in prison.

but thanks to his crooked ass lawyer, the piece of shit was out in 6 years.

you nervously tapped your acrylic nails on the pink wrap of your car as you leaned against the passenger side of the door. it seemed as if today was release day for a few other prisoners, seeing as a group of men walked out with plastic bags, all while staring you down. your arms remained crossed over your fat tits barely being able to breathe in the baby tee you wore to accompany your long flowy skirt as you awaited for your own man to re-enter the world again.

the minute another person leaves the building, your eyes meet with the familiar man’s. it was almost as if your energy was instantly drawn to his, because you immediately recognized him off the bat. toji is blown away by your beauty. you were always fine, but damn, watching you outside of a bulletproof plexi glass was top tier when he finally got to see your fuller ass and pudgy stomach in person again.

the second he’s in your vicinity again, instead of doing the normal thing like hugging him—you slapped the shit out of him.

“ow’!” toji groans. “fuck was that for?!” the old man rubs the spot you hit him in, giving you a fearful look. toji didn’t fear anyone or anything, but you had to be at the top of that list, especially when you were upset.

you give him a knowing look with your hands on your hips. toji rolls his eyes and grips your waist, “tch, i told ya i didn’t do that shit!” he groaned, referencing the one crime he was actually innocent for. “but with all the trouble that dead bastard put me through, wish it was me.”

you mirror his previous actions and do a double take in his physique. you weren’t the only one who got finer. toji’s waist got smaller—probably from starving himself like you told the fucker not to—but his build was more muscular, yet lean. he had an unimaginable number of new tattoos hidden under his normal clothes, and you couldn’t even think about what more laid hidden beneath his thick jeans.

toji fully notices your gawking eyes and gives you a cocky smirk with the scar on his lip fully rising. “miss me mama?” a smile can’t help but form on your own lips as you embrace him in a tight hug. not feeling the love enough, toji wraps his arms underneath you, fully lifting you from the ground. with your legs now around his waist, you were finally face to face with the man of your life.

toji leans into you and pecks your lip ever so lightly. with the sun in his view, he still got the best look of just how perfect you really were. “i missed ya,” he says so low, you barely catch it. “missed ya so much. went crazy dozens of times from you not being with me.”

it was strange for toji to be so vulnerable. but his time under made him realize just how ungrateful he really was for all the great things in his life. how ungrateful he really was for you. he vowed that when he did get out—if ever—he wouldn’t waste a minute without reminding you how he felt about his little girl.

with a proud smile on your face, you run your manicured thumb over the callous of his aging skin. you kiss the small scars there and then his lips. snuggling your head in his neck, you whisper, “let’s go home daddy.”

and that was how you ended up here, face down and ass up into your own mattress.

“you gonna tell daddy you missed him yet?” toji grunted while thrusting in and out of you. the ripples of your fat ass had him in a trance. “been almost seven years since i been in this pretty pussy’a yours. think i deserve at least that, baby.”

you whine into your pillow, drool pooling from the sides of your mouth. you wanted to play stubborn; let toji know that if he ever went to jail for something so stupid again, he wasn’t gonna see you or your pussy he loved so much.

your silence results in a hard slap to your ass. “ahh!” you yelp out, leaning forward into your white duvet. with another harsh smack and then the smooth rubbing of his large hand, toji smirked at the reddening imprint forming on the terrain of your pretty brown ass. “this ain’t about you!” you can’t help but seethe out to his previous statement. your voice is muffled by the fluff of your pillow, “i suffered these last seven years. not you.”

toji slows in his movements. you were so right. he knew how much you longed for him. your big hunky man that walked the streets with you 24/7 was no longer by your side to protect you like he usually did. he left you open. he left you vulnerable. though he’s had his people, geto and gojo watching over you, it wasn’t enough, you constantly slept in fear. you walked in fear. you lived in fear.

you didn’t know why, but suddenly all the emotion you felt in the past seven years came flooding to you. tears flowed from your eyes and you were crying. but from the pulsing grip your pussy had around his dick, toji knew you wanted more.

“look at me,” toji’s voice is muffled. when you made no effort to move, too ashamed to rven be crying at a time like this, toji pulls out of you and softly grabs you by the hips, turning you over so that your back was no against the mattress and you were facing him.

swiftly, the older man slides back into you, but this time moves inside you with more care. toji’s body is so close to yours, your hard nipples are brushing against his own with every thrust he makes.

“‘m sorry,” toji whispers with every rut into you. “daddy’s so sorry baby. didn’t mean to abandon you the way i did.” you could hear the genuineness in his tone as he stops fucking you, but begins to make love to you. “can’t imagine how scared you must’a been these past few years. haven’t been taking care of you the way i promised all those years ago.”

more tears flow from your eyes as toji brings you to your building orgasm slowly. “know you can’t forgive me for being so stupid ‘n careless now. ‘s gonna take some time. i know that. but jus’ lemme in again mama. let daddy back into your heart ‘n i promise i’ll take acre of you again.”

“daddy,” you sob. “‘m close,” is the only words that could leave your mouth. “don’t leave me, please. ‘m so close.” you were begging to cum, but deep down toji knew you were also begging him to stay.

toji brings his hand down to your pretty pussy and rubs at your clit as his lips engulf in yours. with just a few touches, you were creaming over his fingers and crying into his mouth.

“never gonna leave you again, mama. daddy’s home now.”

[inkskinned]

no, but really, we need to talk about the casual objectification that has become the fallback discourse of the internet: if you're pretty and dressed nicely, you're a slut. and if you're even vaguely outside of their body standard, you're fucking disgusting.

too-frequently, people position sex workers as being "the problem". they sneer you're addicted to pornography, you don't know what a real woman looks like. but real women are in pornography. the real bodies on display are not the issue here: the issue is that other people feel extremely confident when commenting on someone's physique.

2000's super-thin is slowly worming its way back into the public ideal. recently i saw someone get told to "go for a run", despite the fact she was on the thinner side of average. not that it would ever be appropriate to say that: but it's kind of like sticker shock when you see it. people think that is fat? holy shit. do they just have no idea about things?

but what are you going to do about it? that's the problem, right. because chances are - you're a normal person. we can say normalize carrying fat on your body, but we are not the billion-dollar diet industry. we are not the billion-dollar fashion industry. we are just, like. people. who are trying to make content on the internet, without being treated shittily.

as someone who has been on both sides of things: you are treated better when you are thin and pretty. this is statistically correct. i am not saying that you cannot be bullied for being thin; i'm saying there are objective institutional biases against certain bodytypes. there are videos of men and women who lost weight all saying: i now know for a fact exactly how much worse you're treated. in the comments, some asshole inevitably says something akin to you deserved to be dehumanized when you were fat.

which means that ... the easiest thing to do is be pretty and thin. it is the path of least resistance, because of course it is, because any time you post a picture of yourself without a thigh gap, someone immediately comments something like you need to try a diet.

the other half is also dehumanizing though, huh, just in a different way. when i put on makeup and nice clothes, i am told i slept my way to the top as a professional. do you know how many women in STEM have told me they purposefully dress to "unimpress" because they already struggle to be taken seriously and if they're ever considered pretty - it for some reason takes away from their authority.

so they make it seem like it's your fault. you, existing in a body - it's your fault! if you didn't want shitty comments, don't have a body. they position us against each other like chess pieces; vying for male attention we don't even need.

and i can be an authority on this unless you think i'm fat and unattractive. when i am pretty and thin, i'm an activist. when i am just a normal person who makes a good point: i am immediately dismissed. nobody fucking believes you if you're not seen as attractive. you literally lose value. you cease to exist.

but the whole time, it feels like - is anyone actually grounded the fuck in reality? the line of "pretty and thin" keeps shifting. nobody seems to understand what "a normal weight" even looks like, because it's not something that exists - you cannot tell a person's health by looking at their body. even if you think you could tell that, even if you're sure a person is dangerously overweight - people are not your dolls. they do not need to be dressed up or displayed properly to soothe your aesthetics. you aren't concerned for them, you're stealing their agency. you don't get to say if they're "allowed" to take pictures and post them on the internet - you don't get to tell them how to exist.

people hide behind "the obesity epidemic" without any actual qualifications. they crow things about "normalizing unhealthiness".

but it's bullshit. i have visible abs. there is a pair of parallel lines on my body, even when i'm relaxed; where my obliques meet my abdominal wall. i am proud of this because it means i'm strong, because i overcame an eating disorder only to be ripped as fuck. it is genetic and physical luck that i even get any definition, i'm pleased as punch.

but it does mean that my abdominal wall sticks out a little bit. the other day i posted a video of myself dancing, and, for a moment, my shirt slipped. you could see a little bit of my stomach. i was cartwheeling to the floor. moments before this, i'd had my foot over my head.

a guy slid into my DMs. a row of vomiting emojis prefaced: you should really lose some weight before you think about dancing.

i stared at it for a long time. there was a time when i would have been triggered by this, where it would have encouraged me to starve myself. i would have ignored the fact i'm flexible, agile, good at jumping: i would have lost the weight for a stranger's passing comment. i would have found myself and my body fucking disgusting.

and for what? to please what? because why? so that he can exist in this world without an unchallenged eyeball? what would my self-hatred even accomplish? usually i write paragraphs. obviously. on this particular occasion, in this body i've been at war with for ages: i just felt exhausted.

it shouldn't be even worth saying. it shouldn't be hard to explain. all of this emotional turmoil when he cannot even comprehend the most basic truth: i am not an object on display for him.

[catsgut]

how scumbag jjk characters fuck

ft. gojo, yuuji, geto, toji, and megumi. all 18+

warnings : honestly just nasty men

-gojo

ok so scumbag gojo seems like any other fuckboy, but believe me when i say he’s completely different. he knows he’s hot so he doesn’t bother trying to be nice to girls. they will sleep with him either way, so why would he fake it?

always video tapes his hookups. doesn’t matter where or with who. once he filmed himself fucking a girl in an alleyway, flipping the camera around from the pov angle of your ass bent over to his face, flashing the camera a peace sign and a silly face

cums inside without asking and moans i love you everytime without fail

missionary is his favorite, but he also isn’t picky. any position where he can show off his pretty face works for him

moans like a little bitch and says things that aren’t even really that hot, but it’s gojo…. “take this long fat cock!!” “gunna creampie your cooch!”

always makes sure to eat your pussy like he is starved! he moans into it so loudly like he’s the one getting head. honestly the best part about hooking up with him.. i can see him doing that thing where he shakes his head side to side really fast with his tongue out lmfao

tells you to leave .5 seconds after he cums. does not want to cuddle after but will tell you to text him!

doesn’t text back

anyway, you aren’t leaving unsatisfied, but you’re definitely getting that post nut clarity on your way home. was it worth the second hand embarrassment?

-yuuji

lives with his mom and seems like a sweet boy, but gojo and geto have corrupted him. kinda a ladies man… he’s so sweet like a little puppy dog. hard to say to to him.

does not care what position, but he is an ass man. asks if you wanna try anal like every time you guys see each other. when you tell him yes, and you will, he doesn’t like wearing a condom. kinda gross, but he’s cute so you let it slide

he fucks hard and fast with 0 rythme. you ask him to slow down, but ten seconds later he is back to his original pace.

another moaner like gojo. he will be whining in your ear the whole time

he has such a big mommy kink it’s crazy. will suck your tits and ask you to call him a good boy, but if he’s around his friends he’s telling them how nasty you were for him.

cums inside, but when he does pull out, it shoots the back of your head into your hair. will proceed to cuddle you after. it’s very confusing because he tells you he likes you, but once you leave don’t expect a text back unless it’s him asking for nudes.

honestly the nicest out of all of them, but in no way does he care about your feelings. his only concerns are when he’s going to get laid next.

-geto

the way geto will have you FOOLED. like he can be just as rude as gojo, but he’s nice about it?? you at first believe him to be an alright guy, until you show up to the trailer him and gojo share. it’s dirty and smells like blunt ash. he doesn’t seem to have a problem with his bare mattress being on the ground in the living room area, patting the spot next to him

plays music loudly and honestly his playlist is pretty good so you don’t mind.

loves fucking you in doggy and will stick a thumb in your ass. thinks it’s funny to “accidentally” try to stick his dick in the wrong hole

pulls out and cums wherever, but never inside. he claims it is because he’s “too much of a gentleman” yet he refuses to wear a condom.

he fucks so good though you can’t even complain. the dick is immaculate

doesn’t eat pussy, says it’s gross but will ask for a blowjob 10 minutes into hanging out with him. “i let you smoke my weed i think i deserve something in return.” he will ask you to politely please leave if you say no.

let’s you shower afterwards, but honestly after seeing the state his bathroom is in you don’t know if you want to

-toji

idk where to begin. the scummiest of scummy men. hits you up on his friends phone because he doesn’t own one himself… you know he’s a piece of shit, but this dick is so good?? it’s unreal..

he can’t hold a job down, but he knows how to beat that pussy up. he’s so sloppy and gross with it.

degrades tf out of you! pulling your hair, spitting on you, ect.. anything downright dirty he’s into it. lowkey likes feet and probably sucks toes while he’s balls deep in you

doesn’t use lube, but soooooo much spit wooo man salivates so much

EATS ASSSSSSS i just know he does. will spit on it and try shoving his tongue as deep as it’ll go

his favorite position is pushing your knees to your chest. he’s able to fuck into you deeper that way. takes rearranging your guts to a whole other level.

PULL OUT GAME STRONG AF. man does notttt!! want another kid. he doesn’t even take care of the one he has now. still no condom though

you will most likely get a uti no matter how many times you piss afterwards, sorry. thats just the chance you have to take, but its honestly so worth it.

he is the one dipping out after sex because it’s never his house he fucks you at. (he doesn’t have a place of his own)

-megumi

you know he isn’t very nice, but he also isn’t down right mean? like geto, will smoke you out in his car and expect head afterwards. doesn’t tell you to leave if you say no, but will jerk off anyways.

boob man all the way. he doesn’t care about size, but likes to make you feel insecure about them. he’ll tease you about having a chest too small/big

likes when you squat ride him. he’s lazy and doesn’t feel like putting in the work. he won’t make eye contact what so ever, eyes only focused on your tits and pussy.

if you get tired in your position on top he will sigh and just lay there till you’re ready to start bouncing again.

doesn’t dirty talk or moan really. it’s mostly grunts and heavy breathing, but when you’re sucking his dick you can sometimes squeeze a whimper or two out.

like his daddy, his pull out game is above and beyond. doesn’t even want to take a chance with getting you pregnant and honestly doesn’t mind wearing a condom. if he isn’t wearing one then he likes to cum on your face and in your eyes.

he’s kind of sadistic, but just way too lazy to do anything about it.

let’s you shower after sex, but he only has a bar of soap that has pubes stuck to it in his shower. you wonder why his skin is so clear…

doesn’t care that much if you hang out after sex, but he won’t talk to you. just sits there on his phone. he’s actually not horrible about texting back, but don’t get attached because he is absolutely talking to several other girls.

[karlachismylife]

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

[l-in-the-light]

The Otherworlds merging... or is it something else? (spoilers for Silent Hill 2!)

Remember when James said this line to Eddie? Kinda ironic, considering the scene below...

Remember what he did just before he killed Mary? He tucked her in bed, kissed her goodnight (on the forehead), and then stared into her eyes for a good moment... turned his eyes away, then back again to hers, and he snapped immediately after.

"You can't just kill someone cause of the way they looked at you..."

"You see it too? For me, it's always like this"

Why is James able to feel the heat of Angela's Otherworld and the coldness of Eddie's? Why is he fighting Angela's monster? Why does Angela mistake him for her mother?

I don't think their Otherworlds are merging just because they have spend a lot of time with each other (they really didn't, it was like three meetings each in the original). They definitely couldn't have bonded to the point that James can understand Angela's pain and see her trauma personified.

Nobody can understand another person's pain and suffering, we're all different people with different experiences. Understanding that is the first step towards showing true empathy for someone.

If Abstract Daddy/Ideal Father looks the way he looks because we see him through James's eyes and through his life experiences/trauma, then why is it also Angela's monster and why are we fighting it? Does it suggest that James and Angela share similar (but not the same, it can never be the same) experiences in this particular case? Does James have traumatic memories related to his own father, Frank Sunderland?

Of course James also just wants to help Angela, to save her. James seems to have a saviour complex, which might be the result of Mary's illness (he wanted to save her but couldn't, because the disease was untreatable and fatal, there was no way to cure Mary and he could only watch her dying. He failed her).

But there's another side to this, if we consider that Silent Hill is a reflection of character's own personal traumas and creatures might represent personal triggers...

"Even my mama said it. I deserved what happened"

"You fat, disgusting piece of shit! You make me sick!"

"Well, what are you looking at? Get the hell out of here!" / "I was so angry, I struck out at everyone I loved. Especially you"

Angela, Eddie and James. They all share one theme in common in those lines above: being on the receiving end of emotional/verbal abuse.

When we look at the design of James's monsters, they share something in common: emphasis on the mouth area. Lying Figures early design had a very distinguishable mouth, the final design instead sprays "vomit" on you, which is said to represent Mary lashing out verbally at James. Bubble Head Nurse has a red square covering her mouth, like to seal it shut. Flesh Lips is the boss that is a lump of flesh with detailed pair of lips. Abstract Daddy actually follows this design trope as well.

It's James's monster, it represents him suffocating Mary, the memory he repressed. The monster wouldn't look this way if it was Angela's. Abstract Daddy doesn't represent what you think it does! It would look completely different if we saw it through Angela's eyes and it would look most likely like her father, not two people having intercourse on a bed. In other words, it was never depicting intercourse. It's supposed to be surreal representation, not *literal*, and if you think it's intercourse then you're going for the most literal interpretation ever, not symbolic. The "James suffocating Mary" might not even be the final interpretation of it either.

Why did they all met in Silent Hill in the first place?

Angela wanted someone to save her but also wanted to find her mom, Eddie had enough of the abuse but was a coward, they don't seem to have much in common, besides this: they both experienced lifelong abuse, lasting ever since their childhood, and at least big part of it was emotional/verbal abuse. If the story in Silent Hill 2 is told through parallels, then it suggests Mary wasn't the first time James experienced abuse either.

It makes sense. That's the reason why he couldn't bring himself to visit Mary in the hospital. She lashed out at him, it triggered him, but he didn't understand why he's reacting like that, why he has such a hard time going back to visit her, why he starts to hate her. Finally, he succumbed to alcohol to deal with the anxiety of resurfacing past trauma. Eddie btw did a similar thing, but he was overeating instead to deal with his triggers. Food calmed him down, even though it also made him gain weight and caused the bullying to intensify (most likely).

James forgot what he did to Mary. He shows signs of dissociating in many moments of the game (especially in the remake, like when he first cries after Maria died and then leaves her behind emotionlessly). His behaviour fits behaviour of someone used to being verbally abused as well: his quiet withdrawn behaviour, him shutting up immediately after someone lashes out at him (for example when Eddie screamed at him), never defending himself (Angela calling him names and he was just standing there quietly). James seems to remind Angela of her mother. In a family with history of abuse it rarely affects only one person. Her father was probably abusive towards the mother as well and if he lashed out at her often, she was probably a very withdrawn person, never defending herself, speaking in low quiet voice etc. This might be exactly the part which reminded Angela of her mother when she saw James, because that's how he always behaves as well.

He thought Mary died three years ago, because that's when Mary's disease started, and with it the verbal abuse as well. Maybe it wasn't even his first blackout experience either. When Laura locks him in the room, he has a really strong reaction, even begs her to let him out (despite not wanting to beg at first), and after Flesh Lips fight we have this weird sequence of staring at the ceilling, hallucinating Mary's voice, and James wakes up in a completely different place, doesn't know how he got out of that locked room. My guess is that was yet another of his dissociative blackouts.

You didn't want her around anymore. Admit it!

No...

You probably found someone else!

NO!

(this is literally the only moment in the game in which James assertively stands up for himself. Through the rest of the story he simply lets Maria, Laura and Eddie trashtalk him)

I wanted you out of the way. The truth is, I hated you *shakes head*. I wanted my life back.

If that's true...

Despite saying it so clearly before that he wouldn't want Mary out of his life and searching so desperately for her (I just want Mary back, I can't go on without you anymore), at the end he admits Angela was right... or was she? She didn't actually know him much. Mary, on the other hand, knew him probably the best in the world, and she claimed that what he said is not true. But if it's not true then why did James say that?

That's because he doesn't understand why he did what he did. He killed her most likely while experiencing a blackout or he snapped after reaching his breaking point, while triggered, and only later experienced a blackout. The only thing he remembers is the feelings he felt for Mary after she lashed out at him (hatred, helplessness, self-loathing), which weren't his feelings for Mary, but his reaction to the verbal abuse he experienced. But he couldn't seperate the past traumatic event from the trigger he was experiencing in the present. Vivid flashbacks and feeling like re-living a past trauma in the present moment are all signs of PTSD. As the result, a person might avoid meeting other people or situations that can even remotely remind them of their traumatic experience. Sounds like James avoiding to visit Mary in the hospital, to me. He of course didn't understand why he is behaving like that or why he feels so overwhelmed, so he ended up blaming himself and thought he is a bad partner as the result, as many people suffering from PTSD would, even though what they're going through isn't their fault.

I'm not saying that what James did was good (it definitely wasn't, and that's not the point I was trying to make at all). I'm just trying to point out that James shows signs of PTSD, just like Angela and Eddie do as well (is it a good depiction of PTSD? Definitely not perfect, but not too bad either. Could be better without the murder plotline). Silent Hill 2's story at the heart of it is actually a tragedy, not a murder story.

I wish we could know more about James and his past...

[luciferanalyzestar]

Live Reaction: Ghostfuckers

Spoilers of course. I still hate the title of this episode. 0/10 for that alone. This post is just my unfiltered thoughts.

Look the other WLW couple in the Hellaverse! Forgot their names though.

Me thinking about how this show is slowly going downhill. /lhj Why is Blitz 'sulking' over Stolass?? Out of all the characters, he is sulking over the classist asshole who fetishize him for his species.

Man, I wish we saw more of that hard work. Not "yaoi." that overstayed its welcome. There is that Helluva cringe I love so much. /s

Ew. Blitz is fucking nasty. Ugh. More unfunny sexual jokes.

The American™️ experience.

Good!! Stolas is again, a classist species fetishizer. I do not Blitz that much, but he deserved someone better than the owl fucker. He needs to go to therapy first though.

Loona's attitude is fucking weird. She is 22 years old, why she calling Millie who is around 25-30 years old "grandma"??? If she was a teenager that would make sense, but she is an adult. Her insults suck pure ass. Like her calling Mooxie 'fat'. Send her ass back to that pound. /lhj

The word of the day is: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Viv and the other writers need to learn new swear words.

The sex jokes are so bad. They are not even at high school level, more like middle schooler who laughs when seeing Bitch in the dictionary level.

This show overuses bitch too. There is no PUNCH to it anymore. It is like a sound bit at this point. I love this old man. Why does Blitz tell Mille to "Look out, he's a patriot!" like it is bad thing? He is a true definition of one unlike a certain party.

The song sucks. They truly peaked in Ozzie's and never returned to that level. YES MILLIE! Tell Blitz how you truly feel. That piece of shit has not paid you in weeks and was too busy buying cheap trash.

Remind of me of that faceless Squall moment in Final Fantasy VIII. I Never played the games though. I just know about it thanks to horror youtubers. I love me some good body horror. They finally took Blitz's mom out of the fridge. I am sorry but this scene is making me laugh. Her eye popping out is looks goofy. It like a zany cartoon from the 90s.

Backstory time? The dialogue is not natural in this scene. Blitz is saying some self-hating stuff and Millie is going "Do you remember" like she is Earth, Wind, and Fire. Imagine venting to someone about hating yourself and that you destroy everything you touch, and they say, "Remember how we met?" Blitz's response would be mines. "What?"

"Imps don't work for themselves, asshole."

I wish that show was still about this. A person from a lower class trying to work his way to the top. If that show would be more impactful and would be remember as the edgy demon show with an inspiring message that everyone would relate to or inspire to be. Not the sex joke obsessed demon show with awful writing and the main "appeal" is rotten yaoi. Anyway, the fight scene was fine. Loona looks off model when she has an happy expression. I am used to that aloof and pissed off expression she always have.

"He's my best friend."

Blitz is your best friend?? This is the most time y'all interacted with each other on scene. This is the first conversation Mille and Blitz has ever had. We are almost done with Season two by the way.

This show just loves to traumatize Blitz. I wish he relived his traumatizing experiences in a more natural way. Like seeing certain objects or hearing certain sounds makes him hyperventilate or sends him into the beginning of a panic attack. I have no issues with characters having trauma or PTSD, but it seems like Blitz's trauma is a part of his character to make him seem more interesting as the protag instead of telling how trauma can truly change and mold a person into something different. There are just sprinkles of this. Blitz puts a facade of being an foul mouthed asshole because he does not want to get attached to people, from the trauma of killing his own mother, and etc. I wish it was not this Clockwork Orange type shit. This is 100% a post for another day.

"Your level of insecurity is intoxicating." Rolando should visit the Hazbin hotel. The insecurity levels are off the charts in that place. /lhj "Tonight I'm Blitz Demon-Dicker!" That is pure cringe right there.

Blitz trying to have sex with the M&Ms was always creepy to me because the idea of a boss trying to sleep with his employees is gross. Stick to signing their paychecks, not being in-between their sheets. Blitz being jealousy of their relationship is fine; it should never have crossed into sexual territory.

Episode rating: 7.5/10

None of the jokes made me laugh which is the usual for me. That Blitz's mom scene is unintentional comedy though. Rewatching, it made me laugh again and of course there is a pin design of that scene too. This is Tilla's first real merch. Good for her. Of course they made merch for the one off. Someone is out there emptying their bank account to have a "complete collection" because they just love dropping merch back-to-back.

Lazy ass shit right here. Who in their damn mind would buy this? Better than that slurs shirt though. I have to talk about the Helluva merch, but they are doing recolors now. What is this a fighting game?

Back on topic, this episode actually kept my attention unlike Full Moon and Apology Tour. Watching those episodes made me want to start drinking. Just alright episode, one of the better ones for a season that was about to rot. I am starting to like Millie more; it is nice to see her talk to a character that is not Mooxie.

[callsign-datura]

would u ever make a version of fboy ghost for konig? 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

WOULD I EVER? yes.

fuckboy!konig isn't like fuckboy!ghost. he tells you he loves you to butter you up, shows you affection and promises your relationship isn't some fwb thing that will end up in heartbreak and tears.

fuckboy!konig buys you pretty things. you're a pretty person, you deserve nothing but the best. sometimes you tell him he shouldn't, he doesn't have to because those sexy pieces will end up torn to bits by the end of the night anyways so he shouldn't waste his money. but he takes that as a challenge. ends up buying a few hundred dollars worth of lingerie and cute little outfits and normal every day pieces for you to wear. he says it's because he likes seeing you feel pretty, but in reality, seeing you in skimpy outfits because it gives him a raging boner.

fuckboy!konig who treats you like his prince/princess everywhere but in bed. in bed, he says the dirtiest things. things that, if he wasn't buried into you up to the hilt, you'd probably end up tearing up a bit from the venom that coated his voice as he said them. "come on, maus. give me another like the slut you are... you know you wanna drench my cock, mm?" fuckboy!konig who has a habit of shooing off other guys when you're out together. since he treats you like royalty, it's a routine for him to take you out to dinner or take you out to buy clothes or anything like that. and since you're so attractive, you get looks from people in public. he always has a hand on you somewhere to give off a protective vibe to anyone in the vicinity. and since konig is a big fucking guy, most people feel too intimidated to fuck with him and his girl. fuckboy!konig has had plenty of partners. met plenty of women who've begged for his cock, begged for him to put them in a mating press, but when you beg, you do it so prettily. that glossy look in your eyes when you're looking up at him with drool dripping down the corner of your mouth from the intense facefucking he'd gave you minutes prior, when you're whimpering his name so softly and begging him to fuck you... he can't resist. to him, you're irresistible. fuckboy!konig likes being in control. whether that be choking, pulling your hair or putting you into stressful positions, whatever he wants you to do? you will do, and that's just how it works. (f!reader) fuckboy!konig has a breeding kink. a painfully strong breeding kink. he's sworn off hitting it raw since last time he did, you had a pregnancy scare. but when you text him and tell him you're going on birth control? he almost gets hard instantly. thinking of being able to fuck his cum into that pretty hole of yours, thinking of how it would feel to hit your cervix over and over with each bruising thrust and not having a care in the world? holy shit, he's fucking his fist minutes after you text him. (and definitely sending a video) (m!reader) fuckboy!konig is a switch for his boys. loves dominating you, but also loves letting you dominate him; either way, part of him loves just being close to you in general. whether that be with you bent over a counter and one of his hands wrapped around the base of your cock, giving lithe pumping motions as his hips rock back and forth into you, or lying on his back with that pretty body of yours bouncing up and down his cock and fucking him into overstimulation. has a thing for pushing your legs up to your chest and holding your legs together with one hand while he grabs and squeezes the fat of your ass and pounds into you at the same time. this man has you seeing stars. def makes you taste your own cum. fuckboy!konig dreams of fucking you. nightly. definitely wakes up with a painfully hard cock and definitely sends you a video of him pulling the hem of his boxers down underneath his cock, making sure the angle catches the way his length bobs and twitches a bit as he grunts softly into his phone. he's desperate; and his desperation is hot as fuck. fuckboy!konig insists on you seeing other guys, but he can't deny the way his heart flutters when you say no. "you're all i need," you mumble to him, your soft voice making heat blossom throughout his belly. "why would i want some other guy?" and he smiles when he looks down at you, his gaze filled with something that he never expected to feel-- affection.

[ask-adamsapple66]

Fight With Lucifer

Behind the scenes, Adam, Hazbin Hotel @ 7:45pm.

Adam sat there on the floor of his shared room at the hotel with Lucifer. Lucifer had just left in an angry blaze of fire, they had just had their worst fight ever since getting together.

Adam covered his mouth to muffle a sob, his eyes watered with tears. He fucked up, he really fucked up and he knew it. Why didn't he pick up on the fact that Lucifer was actually getting pissed off and not playfully pissed off?

How can you possibly be this useless? It's no wonder no one would ever willingly want you. Lilith's voice echoed in his mind.

Adam: What the fuck is wrong with me?

You're a stupid useless piece of shit that's what.

Adam got up off the floor and went to the bathroom, he looked himself in the mirror and hated what he saw. What did Lucifer even see in him?

Temporary insanity probably.

Adam: Shut up.

Don't be surprised when he asks you for his ring back, you clearly don't deserve it.

Adam: SHUT UP!!

Adam hauled off and punched the bathroom mirror as hard as he could shattering it into many broken pieces. A physical representation of his heart right now.

His hand was bleeding but he didn't care. He wrapped it in a little gaze and walked out. Adam looked at the bed.

Their bed.

He couldn't sleep there, it would be too cold and lonely.

Adam walked out of their room and into his old room, he wouldn't sleep there either he just wanted to grab his angelic steel blade if he was going to go out.

He grabbed his blade and made his way to the hotel, he couldn't let himself feel sad around others so he placed the comfortable mask of anger on. Adam was angry at that fucking fat jester Christmas tree, pissed at that douchbag Michael for saying whatever it was he said, and more than anything Adam was furious at himself for being so fucking stupid.

But that's nothing new is it?

When Adam passed Alastor in the hallway the radio demon sneered at him.

Alastor: What's the matter, trouble in paradise?

Adam: Fuck off asshole.

He wasn't in the mood to deal with him.

Alastor: What, your short little-

Adam saw red, he turned and stabbed Alastors hand to the wall with the blade, the radio demon actually yelped in pain.

Adam: Do not fucking talk about him like that. Next time it will be your heart, if you even have one.

Adam removed the blade and stalked away and left the hotel. No one in the city bothered him as he walked around at night, people may not mind getting beaten and dying but they didn't want to permanently die. Seeing the angelic blade on his hip kept people away.

Adam went into the Heaven Embassy, he may not be able to go down to Greed and fuck up that fat prick, but he can call down the other one.

There was a phone on the desk in the Embassy, Adam picked it up and he got ahold of Peter.

Peter: Hello, Heavens Gate this is Peter.

Adam groaned: Yeah, it's me get Michael down here.

Peter: Adam?

Adam: No it's Santa Claus.

Peter: Yeah it's you Adam..... Look I can't just get Michael to-

Adam: I DON'T FUCKING CARE IF HE'S GETTING A BLOWJOB YOU TELL THAT SON OF A BITCH TO GET HIS UGLY MUG DOWN HERE!!! AND NOT A HOLOGRAM EITHER!!

Peter: ...... One moment.

Adam didn't have to wait long before he was told to go to the nearest room where Michael looked pissed to see him.

Michael: What do you want?

Adam: The fuck did you say to him?

Michael: Who?

Adam growled and glared at him: WHO DO YOU THINK!?

Michael: Oh, him? Please, what's the matter did he get his little feelings, I know how short he can be with people, is he-

Adam had heard enough and punched Michael in the eye so hard it already started to bruise.

Adam: That's for whatever you said to him and what you just said now asshole!

Michael: You are going to regret that! Extermination Day is coming, maybe someone will finally finish the job so you can return to the filthy dirt where you belong.

Oh, maybe you should just stand outside and let someone do you in.

Adam: Lay the fuck off of him, or I'll be sure this finds it's way through your fucking eye.

Adam held up the blade.

Michael: That a threat?

Adam: More like a promise.

Adam turned to leave as Michael called out to him one last time.

Michael: What does he see in you?

Adams heart clenched in his chest, he wondered the same thing.

Adam: Fuck off.

Adam left, he didn't know if he just made things worse but Michael deserved a good punch in the fucking face for more than just today.

He didn't know how long he was walking around for, but the night was very dark the only light coming from the moon in the sky. Adam, found himself at the park.

Adam walked over to where their tree was and he felt his anger melt away and sadness creep back in.

A + L inside a heart carved into the tree. Adam remembered the day Lucifer did that.

Adam was leaning against the tree, the day was actually cool for once.

Adam: What are you doing?

Lucifer: Scoot over for a second.

Adam didn't question it and did as he was told, Lucifer sat down on his knees and used his claw to carve into the tree. Sure it was a little cheesy, but Adam was touched that Lucifer wanted to do something like that.

Lucifer: So we can always find our spot.

Adam: Our spot?

Lucifer cupped one of his cheeks: Yeah, our spot where we can come and just be together.

Adam: I love that Luci.

Lucifer smiled: Good.

He leaned in and kissed Adam under their tree.

That was one of the first times they came here for a date. Adams eyes welled up with tears as he gently touched the carving.

Fuck, he was so stupid......

Well you come by is honestly.

Adam walked away from the tree, it hurt too much to look at it. He sat down in front of the pond, there were a few ducks there swimming around. Hell ducks were like the ones on earth only they had horns for some reason.

One came over and Adam picked it up, it quacked at him and he smiled sadly, lip quivering. He'd never be able to look at one again without thinking of Lucifer.....

He placed the little duck in the water and it swam away. His eyes landed on his engagement ring again.

Adam wouldn't blame Lucifer if he wanted his ring back. Lu deserved someone better than Adam.

Some soulmate he turned out to be.....

Like you ever deserved him.

That one wasn't Lilith, it was him. He didn't deserve everything Lucifer did for him, he didn't deserve his kindness, and he sure as shit didn't deserve his love.

So if he wanted his ring back........ Which he probably did, Adam had never seen him that mad, Adam wouldn't put up a fight.

Adam pulled his knees to his chest as tears fell from his eyes.

Lucifer deserved to be happy, even if it wasn't with him.

@the-king-of-hell-66-6

[stxrmxtsu]

Now what about dom Matsus 😈

im tryna clear out my inbox so, thank you anon for this one!

tag(s): nothing too hardcore but if it’s too much for you, i’m sorry!, lowkey cringe, nsfw, dom matsus, not really edited and its basically just me horny talking and pulling it out of my ass, brat tamer karamatsu (that one’s for you @thebardisabird and @squidzza , I DID IT)

i tried to finish this as fast as i could.

osomatsu, who’s absolutely merciless when it comes to pounding you. he’ll grip your hips and slam himself into you over and over again, never slowing his pace down as wanton cries leave your lips. when you throw your head back in ecstasy, a smirk forms on his lips. he leans down and nearly whispers in your ear: “yeah you like that? tell oso how it feels…~ say it~” and when you can only let out cries and whimpers, his hand comes down on the fat of your ass and thighs while demanding you say who’s making you feel this good.

karamatsu, who’s a brat tamer. he’s the second oldest. he has younger brothers who get on his fucking nerves, you think he has time for YOUR shit, [name]? imagine: you’ve spent a looong time dragging him around the mall and doing things YOU wanted but the one time he wanted to do something, you whined a little and said no. kara had it rough the day prior and he thought shopping with you today would ease his mind but that little stunt made him snap. he grabbed your chin and tilted it up to look at him, his eyes a darker brown than you originally thought. he looked mean… “darling…i’ve spent so long trying to please you today…just like how you deserve..but the one time i ask for something i want…i get a no and a whine.. i’m very tired, cherie…” you’ve never seen him like this before and to be honest, it made you squirm a little. “you’re going into this store and shutting that pretty little mouth…understood?”

and that was the night karamatsu absolutely rocked your shit. hands tied to the bed post and having no mercy on your pretty body.

choromatsu, who no longer gets nervous around you and started to show the strict side of him. at first, he was always careful when it came down to spending a night with him. gentle caresses and slow yet nervous kisses down your body, asking ‘i-is that okay..?’. you loved it, sure, but you wanted more. you knew what choromatsu was capable of, especially when it comes down to being mean. you see it when he’s badgering at his brothers, yelling at them for being lazy pieces of shit and…ordering them around. to be honest, it was kind of sexy. he was a little shocked when you asked him if he can apply that kind of behavior in bed but he didn’t oppose to it. so naturally, you found yourself facing a mirror while you were sat on his lap, bouncing on his cock. his hands made their way up to your chest to tweak your nipples and when you tilt your head back in pleasure, he firmly grabs your cheeks and makes you look into the mirror again. “don’t look away. i told you not to look away.”

ichimatsu, who always has to have you bound. gagged, on a good day. he puts you in positions you didn’t even know existed and it leaves your poor muscles sore the next day. ichi loves to get rough with you, treating you like you’re his prey while he’s the predator. your entire body would always be covered in bruises and bite marks and it makes him always smirk in pride. he always leaves your legs shaking, whether he’s drilling into your sopping wet pussy or driving his tongue deep into you, hoping to get more and more of your sweet essence. more. ichi wants more of you. and he’ll do anything to get it.

jyushimatsu, who pins you against anything and everything. there isn’t a single piece of furniture in your house that’s untouched by you and him. he’ll have sex with you at any chance he gets if you ask him. he’ll hold you up against the wall, his biceps flexing a bit in his compression long sleeve as he pistons his hips into yours. the usual wide-mouthed smile he has on his face is replaced with a look of concentration, focused on your body and how it reacts to his touch. but that also quickly fades back to his smile as he looks at you and laughs almost joyously, “am i making you feel good?”

todomatsu, who loves to tease you. light feather touches as you sit in your chair at the mixer he took you to. you knew what he was doing, and by god, did it make you squirm a bit. it all started because atsushi was sat across from you. you were just being friendly to the guy, chatting like how you normally would. but todomatsu hated that. he didn’t like the way his ‘friend’ looked at you. only he was allowed to look at you like that, why were you letting him? and then you felt it. todomatsu’s hands gently rubbing your thigh. you looked down at his hand then up at him, moving your leg away then going back to talking to atsushi. mistake #1. he didn’t like that, so he took it a bit further. when atsushi started talking to the others at the table, you felt your boyfriend’s hand dip between your thighs, brushing against your heat slightly. you jerked forward and played it off as something else when atsushi asked if you were okay. todomatsu retracted his hand as if nothing happened, giving you a stupid coy smile. that night when you two went home, your legs were immediately spread open while he worked the vibrator against your aching cunt. you cried for forgiveness as you made a mess for what seemed like the hundredth time. he smiled sadistically as he cooed at you. “i don’t think you really are sorry~”

—————————————————————————

and that’s that!

sorry if it’s underwhelming, writing’s still not my strong suit.

anyway, i have to tell you guys agaaiiinnn, my ask box regarding writing is closed so please, don’t send me stuff unless i say otherwise 🥹

other than that, love ya!

- jarvis <3

[adhdnojutsu]

Your opinion? https://www.tumblr.com/dranosh-haran-of-paleoworld/766237407554273280/why-do-you-hate-itachi-so-much?source=share

Had to use a different browser because this pleasant person has me blocked lol anyway.

TL;DR: Itachi had no right to do the things he did, but he also had no choice. Even if adult onlookers could come up with choices, he was a child trapped in a mindset his authority figures hammered into him in his formative years, and then he was put under additional duress. Come the fuck on.

"This guy willingly betrayed his own people and family, selling them out to the government who wanted to destroy them all."

"Willingly" when talking about a 11-12-year-old brainwashed, groomed, traumatized child under duress is kinda wild. Yes, Naruto is all about normalizing child soldiers, but there's a line and that's Itachi having his horrible "milestones" at an age where others are still in school.

And it's not treason to report a conspiracy to commit, well, treason.

More after the break. Enjoy this screencap of a literal child and one of the many adults who chose to fail him.

Itachi was 11 when he joined the ANBU, 12 when he killed the clan. His incompetent piece of shit father dragged him into a "kill or be killed" situation at 4, and he already had the muscle memory of slitting throats ON REFLEX?? What the everloving fuck did Fugaku do to his toddler? He was encouraged to leave school and enter the field for more death and horror at 8. All for the alleged greater good that was peddled to children and adults more aggressively than America's magical sky cloth. Fugaku and Danzo played a grooming tug-o-war with a literal prepub child and actively, deliberately, had him believe the weight of the world rested on his 3 inch shoulders. The fuck did anyone think was gonna happen when Itachi joined the ANBU everyone encouraged him to join, and did the work he was taught to admire - BY Fugaku, by the way. Fugaku wanted a peacemaker, then tried to start a war. Hm.

Also, Itachi didn't "sell out" his clan. If I know a family member is about to start something with predictably catastrophic ramifications, like, you know, a glorified terrorist invasion ("coup"), I have a moral obligation to report that. "Family" does not matter. Blood, water, starting a war is something you deserve to have sabotaged. And if you're willing to kill, you better be ready to be killed. Everyone who cheered for the coup willingly risked death and willingly doomed their families. "Bloodless revolution" my ass, that is delusional. As if Konoha is just gonna accept Fugaku after a COUP!? Fucking TREASON!? Oppressed or not, you sow violence, you reap violence, and public perception matters. The public's perception of the Uchiha coup would probably be *checks notes* treason :)

"His own people"? They all treated him like a trophy and an attack dog when they didn't outright abuse him for speaking his mind, when he was clearly old enough to let them exploit him. All they had for him was demands to make them proud and bring them glory, at the cost of his well-being. Chapter by chapter in Itachi Shinden, you can watch him wither and crumble. When Itachi's comrade was killed when he was 8, Fugaku literally said "He'll get over it" while his boy was falling apart in the next room. Those are not "his own people", they're one big, bubbling cunt stew with very few exceptions, judging by the novel.

Whether the government wanted to destroy the Uchiha clan or whether it was racist or oppressive ultimately doesn't matter when the active threat to world peace and countless lives is coming from the other side. Two things can be true at the same time, so yeah Konoha sucked, but also yeah, the Uchiha posed a threat. The clan's lives weren't in danger when they decided to endanger everyone over discrimination that isn't even as egregious as what fat people on airplanes have to deal with. Defunding the police (LMAO), not letting a latent traitor run for president, surveillance, and a dedicated, OPEN compound none of the other clans who got one bitched about. Wow, what a compelling reason to set the world on fire!

Yes, Konoha failed the clan, yes, Konoha is scum for that. But two wrongs don't make a right. I'm tired of this whole nonsense of "they're oppressed so they're allowed to act like total barbarians and be the next oppressor". I'm tired on a personal level which you can probably guess.

This is not a responsible adult:

"He knew about Obito and that he was behind the 9-Tails attack but said nothing to anyone. He discriminated against his own people and slaughtered them all to the last child."

He should definitely have reported Obito. But calling his actions against the clan discrimination is like saying the German police discriminates against that Berlin-based crime family because it happens to be a BIPOC minority. THEY ALSO HAPPEN TO BE THE FUCKING MOB. Of course, most Uchihas probably weren't active combatants and didn't deserve to die, but as horrible as it is, strategically, Danzo had a point when he said there could be no potential avengers.

Plus, outsiders like to focus on numbers as if more dead people means more suffering, but this isn't true. Just because 99 people suffer and die with me, doesn't mean each of us suffers and dies 100-fold. Sasuke was based when he said Itachi should have killed him, too. Outsiders don't want to accept this because it IS horrible, but sparing a young child after killing his whole family, is not kind. What would've awaited any children Itachi spared? The village that ordered their parents' slaughter? A world that clearly doesn't want them and will come after them at the first chance? Yeah sounds ever so fucking merciful. Just because unaffected gawkers think preserving a unique cultural or genetic group is the most important thing, doesn't mean the people actually affected have such priorities when literally staring death or a life of pain in the face.

"He cast Tsukuyomi on his own parents and brutally murdered them, tortured his own little brother beyond imagine with one torture session putting Sasuke in a fucking coma, one he would've never gotten out of if it wasn't for that bitch Tsunade and that's the only good Tsunade did in the series."

When did he cast Tsukuyomi on his parents? And "brutally", well, they surrendered and he cut them down rather quickly. All murders are brutal. Should he have raided the local vet and injected them with anaesthetics first? He was a 12-year-old child, crying, shaking, probably exhausted and barely coherent after having killed all the others, and looking at his final victims, his parents, comforting him. Striking them down quickly was the best for everyone involved at that point, anything more elaborate, "more gentle", would have prolonged this horror. Also what did Tsunade do wrong, and if Itachi hadn't knocked Sasuke out for a while, he would have gotten himself killed. The Tsukuyomi was overkill, 100%.

"Itachi thought he was wiser and more noble than his own people, which was pure and utter arrogance. When brought back as an edo, he said that a 7-year-old Sasuke could've changed the clan. He called himself Itachi Uchiha of Konoha and that he specifically had no regrets he was a massive piece of shit in life and death."

This is called interpretation. Yes, he was an arrogant child, he admitted this, Shisui told him, adults told him. But being an ass at the dawn of puberty doesn't invalidate the fact that he WAS smarter than most and the Uchiha uprising WAS a problem, and the clan was infinitely more arrogant than him for thinking they could just take power and that's the end of it. They were delusional. Being 11 when pointing this out doesn't mean he's wrong.

Vilifying him for calling himself "Itachi Uchiha of Konoha" is silly. Many nations will do horrible things behind the scenes to keep the peace, and just because Sasuke and Itachi were the tragic and ever so pretty victims of this, doesn't make Konoha worse than others. It is a place people actually live in. A place people call home and have a right to call home and feel safe and thrive in. Itachi did what he was forced to do by both sides, to protect people's home and peace, not to get headpats from Danzo and Hiruzen.

He also never said he didn't regret the massacre. The fact that he said he wished he would have confided in Sasuke, the fact of him telling Naruto, Sasuke, and Kabuto that he was wrong to try and solve everything on his own, all suggest he wishes it had been different. His words when he dissolves are "Mou miren ha nai", which can be interpreted as regretting nothing, but this is usually meant in a sense of unfinished business. Itachi could not un-kill the clan. Danzo was dead. What more could he do that he could still have "miren" about? Personally, I think he shouldn't have undone the whole Edo Tensei because he kinda owed Sasuke to stick around and fight the other Edo Tenseis manually, but that's not the point.

Actual footage of Itachi alone with his thoughts, probably:

"None of his plans make any kind of fucking sense. He wanted to save Konoha from war even though the other villages wouldn't have attacked for their own reasons."

Kindly look at Syria, Sudan, or Yemen, because the civil war the Uchiha were sure to start, would have been bad enough, you absolute pinecone. But I agree, Itachi's plans were mostly shit, but who taught him any kind of life skills or coping mechanisms? He wasn't parented, he wasn't guided, he was a trained attack dog. He never grew up mentally because when you're not allowed to feel like a child, know what being a child is, how are you gonna know when you're supposed to be all grown up and smart? He treated his suicide by Sasuke like a playdate. He toyed with him. He was a typical old soul, trauma and paralysis masquerading as maturity and composure. It's very apparent in the novels how helpless and small he felt. When the FUCK did he get a chance to unlearn his helplessness on one hand, and the world resting on his shoulders on the other? Itachi was deranged, but not by his own doing. A 4 to 12-year-old child is not responsible for their poor life "choices".

"So Itachi saved Konoha from zero potential wars, especially when none of the other villages attacked after Obito's, Orochimaru's, and Pain's assaults in the series."

I wasn't aware Itachi's Sharingan could accurately predict the future. He stopped the civil war that was certain to happen and that he could stop. Not a single ninja has ever been expected to fix the whole world and the few who expected it of themselves were even more deranged than Itachi. Why hold a 12-year-old to a higher standard just because he's foolish enough to do so himself? Right until Shisui died, Itachi clung to his naive dream of becoming the greatest ninja to stop all wars. And then, both Fugaku and Danzo demanded he be that, when Shisui's death just had him realize how helpless he is. And then, there was a war looming on the horizon that he COULD prevent.

"He practically sent Sasuke gift wrapped to Orochimaru or Danzo. He knew about Obito and Pain's plans and yet did nothing about them, which just screwed over Konoha immensely."

Yeah he fucked up with Orochimaru, and this was one of the things he could have predicted after Orochimaru tried it with him. Not killing Orochimaru when he had both cause and opportunity, was bafflingly stupid and I'll chalk it up to plot armour since Itachi will kill his own mother to protect Sasuke.

He was also a useless spy in Akatsuki, yes. He aided and abetted in several Kage and Jinchuuriki assassinations, all to keep a cover of questionable use.

We do have to grant him that he needed to stay alive to give Sasuke deserved closure. He didn't even know Obito wasn't Madara, so I don't expect him to have known much about Pain's abilities. Given he allegedly ties with Jiraiya and we all know what Pain did to him, Sasuke would not have gotten his revenge. As for Danzo, can we not underestimate him please? He had to be worn down into self-destruction by Sasuke, and when Itachi attacked him in the novel after getting the MS, he was immediately stopped.

"He was never a prodigy or anything, unlike Sasuke. His fights are just him using genjutsu on his opponents and overpowering them with it, which just childish and stupid. He pulled Susanoo, Mirror Yata, and the Tsoka Blade out of his ass."

I agree Susano'o and its rigs were asspull done to compete with DBZ ratings, but how was he not a prodigy when he was recommended for graduation at 8? Poor writing or not, the canon fact is that Itachi was way ahead of his peers and many adults. We can't blame a character's personality in one moment, then bad writing the next. All writing boils down to creating the character's reality and all facts written by the author are equally valid.

Calling genjutsu childish and stupid is silly as you can apply this to all jutsu. Naruto's army of clones is arguably more ridiculous than mastering an otherwise underdiscussed technique at a level that has people like Kakashi scared. Personally, I think the big noisy techniques like Kisame's water jutsus and Hashirama's Slaparama are a lot more childish and geared towards hollering little boys. Itachi's fighting style is elegant and super duper gay.

"This fucker is all over the place and doesn't make sense. Dushman-e-jaan has posts that go into greater detail about how this guy doesn't make sense, and I recommend you read them as she does an infinitely better job at explaining my dislike for Itachi than I have."

Dushman explicitly supports this:

But thinks Konoha is worse for allegedly being this:

In other words, Doucheman is fine with making 0 sense whatsoever as long as they can virtue-signal for fascists if they know how to sell the underdog act.

[huntinglove]

"they don't have the balls to come off anon"

Here I am off anon to tell you what a worthless piece of shit you are, you father fucking whore.

Now let's see if you have the balls to answer this ask, unless you are too busy sucking off you own dad or masturbating to child porn you fat walrus

Oh good evening, sweetie! I see your little crush is still going strong, huh? What a shame, I thought I've made it quite clear that I'm already married! But by all means, do indulge me, it's fun to have my own personal court jester!

Quite funny how you conveniently forgot to add the part where I said "[...] or post from their actual main blogs" though it's not surprising, for someone as cowardly as yourself. You boast about me not having your main account blocked then come over with your middle-school like insults thinking that that will bother me? Please be realistic, darling.

In no way, shape or form have I ever interacted with CSAM or CSEM, especially considering that the man you're so very willing to defend made many, many videos of me in that regard. And if you mean my selfships and the content I create for them, as you yourself have said, those are fictional characters, or did you forget, cutie?

You, however, seem quite fond of the mental image of an actual child being sexually abused by one of their family members. Tell me, is it purely a fetish or is it projection? Either way, your fascination with these fantasies of yours are quite telling of your character, sweetheart!

You know, I must admit that, in a way, you've inspired me! I was actually thinking about just leaving Tumblr all together a couple months ago, but seeing your dedication has been eye opening to me, so I've decided to stick around no matter what, my dear! If this blog gets deleted I'll just make a new one, and so on and so forth!

Have the night you deserve, my dear, and remember that I'll always be in the back of your mind like this. Stay obsessed with me, I quite like having you as a pet now! 💙 (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)

[beardedherculestrucker]

German patriot from 1937...

Werner Schmidt, a 598 pound heavy bodybuilder and boss of a concentration camp.

A huge and very sadistic man who trains heavy to become the most massive fascist that ever existed!

Dressed up in his pristine, tight SS uniform,

superthick muscledaddy Werner walks, or better: waddles to his private prison cells in his big, black boots, carrying an enormous axe and a baseball bat...

This huge and handsome daddybull will be giving his prisoners a special, ultrahard treatment: should Werners victims survive this,

these poor creatures won't ever forget what sexy rightwing bull Mr.Schmidt will do to them tonight...

As soon as his personal prisoners see their tormentor coming around the corner, the exitement is enormous:

screams, moans and fast, weird talking by many of them;

Werner had to grin: this is something he absolutely loves- and immediately gets a hard on...

He grabbed his erected dick through the fabric of his tight uniform trousers:

oh, yeSS, it feels so sexy to have the trouserfabric between his meaty cock and the leathergloved hands...

The racist bull's cock is huge, nothing to be hidden here: one reason why Werner wears extremely tight pants and no underwear!

So very thick and wide, the handsome fascist could only waddle his way to his victims, this colossal beast was just too big!

An extremely huge man, who waddles his way, carrying more than 500 pounds of solid body-beef with him...so HHot!

When musclepig Werner arrived at the first prison cell, the killer instinct of this big and cute Nazibull was now fully there;

Daddy's cock felt so good: and his hard-on was recognized by his imprisoned people...

Some pre-cum(he was too exited about his killings already!) made his beige uniform trouser wet a bit- so he opened the buttons, grabbed his huge, sticky prick and got it out!

The mature musclebeast pushed back the foreskin of his fat cock with his leathergloves on;

Werner pressed a bit to get more pre-cum out of the cleft of his glans...then he rubbed the sticky cum over the shiny glans...

The fragile woman in the cell saw that and her face showed she got even more frightened...

Werner realized a moaning coming from her and thought:

"I should have a good piSS before i start slashing my property to bloody pieces!"

"Wanking and jizzing off is better without the feeling of having to pee!"

Big Werner intended to empty his full bladder, so he went straight to her cell, took the key and opened the door...

The behemoth went in and gave the tiny woman a hefty kick with his leatherboot right into her stomach:

Our huge muscledaddy then harshly ordered to open her mouth wide-she opens it a bit..."Wider...", he said in a low-voice, but the aggressive undertone made her immediately do it: "That's fine.." the huge bull murmured...

He went a step forward, took his thick cock in his left leathergloved hand and started piSSing into her face!

Ooohh, yeeaahhh: that felt so good!!!

Cute fascistbull Werner Schmidt got even more horny: he not only pissed his urine into her mouth, he pissed all over her starved body- the prisonshirt got soaking wet, her hair looked like after a rain shower...but it was no rain, hehe

"...this little piece of shit behaved very well, by the way", he thought with a grin...

Big daddy W. Schmidt moaned and grunted: he could have jizzed all his cum into his victims face right now-he was SO HORNY!!!

But fullbearded musclemonster Werner wanted to hold his seed in for now:

later, when he dismembers 4 or 5 children, their parents plus the grandparents, he will SShoot off his sticky load...

But...Werner grinned mischievously...why not cum a little...into this woman's exhausted face:

this piece of scum didn't deserve his premium cum, but it's her last day of being alive anyway...so this huge, handsome and a bit cruel bull thought, he will give her a last facial...

Werner grabbed her head and pushed his huge cock into her mouth, very roughly: he shoved it in as deep as he could, kept it there for a moment and pulled his dick back...but the poor woman had absolutely no chance to breath, he fucked her face a second time: as deep as he could, she choked and choked...

big muscledaddy Werner just loved her choking, it turned this huge racist on so very much-but he wanted to go on fucking her face, so he kept on deepthroating it with full dickpower, again and again!

After 15 minutes, burly fascist Werner felt, his hot cum was about to explode from his hairy scrotum into his huge, meaty dick...uuughhh: only a minute left for the sweaty, handsome musclemonster to jizz off into this cunt's mouth...this huge daddy had an idea that turned him on even more he was already:

short before cumming, he shut her nostrils with his leathergloved right hand and kept on deepthroating this piece of shit as hard as he could!

The poor bitch choked and choked again- couldn't breath...she tried to get the big prick out of her bleeding mouth...in vain...her arm movements got slower, her eyes got a glassy look...

"Aaaaaaaaahhhuuuuuhhh, FuuucKKK!": with loud shouting big boy Werner was shooting his big cumload into her mouth; some seed oozed off the corners of her mouth...

in that very moment she died.

Werner was a bit exhausted from fucking the bitches face...he pulled his mighty cock out of her mouth: blood and cum dribbled from her worn out maw on the floor...

The cute Nazibull felt more cum was in his scrotum and aimed for her lifeless face:

"Aaaahhhhoooohhhhfuuuck!": daddybull Werner jizzed another big load of his sticky cum into the dead woman's face!

This superthick Nazibull never had been sucked off by a prisoner this good for days!

[ryans-planet]

I know it’s probably weird to do some think pieces about myself on this blog, but I can’t really get myself to give a shit tbh? So here’s a think piece about being/growing up fat.

I keep thinking about all the things I internalized and even made up(?) for myself.

A lot of it was that I didn’t think people would ever want to touch me. I spent so much of my life terrified that people would recoil in disgust at my touch. I felt like because I was fat I was undesirable in every way.

And it definitely leaked over into sexual relationships and situations. I was so sure I didn’t get to experience pleasure from other people, that it was something I simply wasn’t good (skinny) enough to receive. On top of the fact that I would/still tell myself that even though I say I’m fat and show pictures that people would somehow, completely hate my body if I ever showed it to them, like it would be a surprise.

I put myself in Dom/top situations with people who refuse to touch me or give me pleasure, I put myself in Dom/Top situations knowing I will refuse reciprocation, because I’m so scared that I don’t deserve it, and it ruins me. Because that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

It’s still very very shocking to me that people do like my body. It’s shocking that I’m starting to like my body more. So having to go back and refute those incessant and false beliefs is hard, and it’s a thing I’ve spent most of my young adulthood trying to instill that I deserve those things. I AM good enough and hot enough to deserve pleasure and have people like me AND my body.