#OUGHH CRAMP

[the-zephyr-zone]

So my second time doing a digital painting went really good!

Close up for texture!

[plushiefucker-moved]

ngl. as much as i love fanart where daisuke beats the shit out of jimmy, I really dunno if daisuke would have stood up to jimmy, had they been told about what happened to anya - they're a young, naive intern, whom, while certainly has a lot of strong opinions, crumbles under the slightest bit of pushback from authority / ppl they deem better than them.

like take the drugging of swansea for example - daisuke obviously argues with jimmy and mentions how unsure they are with the idea, but they do it anyway bc jimmy reassures them that it's for the greater good. they're uncomfortable with the idea but don't fight back against jimmy because they still believe that he has everyones best interests at heart. they still believe that all authority is good - an admittedly, very childish mindset to have.

daisuke is young and easy to manipulate, and everyone knows that, *especially* jimmy. the fact that they are a people pleaser who desperately wants to be liked by their superiors is just an added bonus... so as much as they do obviously care for anya (as shown by them still crawling through the vent to save her despite being severely wounded), i really don't think they would have been any help, had they been told :•(

[drinkabletoxicdishsoap]

OFC I HAVE MY PERIOD THE SAME DAY I HAVE A FINAL KILLING EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING

[jesuistrestriste]

Patrick is 100% the kind of mf to be into period sex… smth about your blood on his cock makes him go borderline animalistic like it’s scary!! We’re scared!!! And horny

you tell him that you’re on your period and he just smirks and starts monologuing about how “a real warrior isn’t afraid to get blood on his sword” and how “orgasms actually help to relieve cramps”. tells you that he wants to take away all of your pain for a bit; he strokes your neck and begs with his eyes. but the more you look into his irises, pools of blue and green and spikes of curious brown, you feel that there’s something more to this proposal. something that he isn’t quite admitting to himself, or you.

he lays you back on the bed and makes sure you’re comfortable, tucking multiple towels underneath your hips and ass to protect the sheets. kisses your chest and then your lower abdomen, massaging it softly as he tugs his boxers down—his heavy cock, already swollen and aching, bobbing out with anticipation. he slides his fingers through your folds and bites his lip when red coats the pads of them. “fuck.” he has this look in his eye like a switch was just flipped in his head.

as soon as he slides himself in, he’s groaning into your neck and starting to hump you like a crazed animal. holding your legs open while he pounds his tip against your special spot, pulling back and sitting upright on his calves to look down. watches the way his length gets coated in your blood from his balls to the inches that are buried deep inside. it becomes really, really hard to ignore the way his limbs begin to lock-up with the building pressure in his gut. like a rubber band being pulled taut—just about ready to snap. “fuck, fff-fuck, so hot,” he moans, pelvis snapping against the backs of your thighs, “feelin’ better? s’feel good for you, baby?”

you moan, coming to the realization that your cramps have, in fact, been somewhat dulled by the arousal bubbling and fizzing throughout your body. your fingers dig into his sides, then slide down his chest and over his happy trail. only a moment more and then they’re rubbing at your twitching clit. your back arches up and you cry out, squeezing around his dick and accidentally pushing more of your metallic fluids out of you. patrick watches your body do it like he’s watching a magic trick—completely enamored. he fucks you harder.

“don’t,” he pushes your hand away as he starts to pick up the speed of his thrusts, your entire body now being bounced with every movement, “lemme help.. i got you, baby.. ‘m almost there, please..”

he replaces your hand with his own and swipes quickly—messily—over your bundle of nerves. the way that you bear down on him in response only makes it harder to stay focused.

then the reality of his desires bursts in his chest.

“i love seeing your blood on my cock..” he groans out suddenly, like he just can’t hold the words in anymore, like it’s an epiphany of sorts; an awakening, “.. it’s gonna make me come.”

and he does. copiously.

slams himself in you balls-deep as soon as he watches you scream out in bliss, your climax giving him just the push he needs to get sent hurtling into his own. he’s left grasping at your hip and moaning your name and letting his load flood your core.

“g-ohh, haah, s’much.. keep comin’ for me, keep comin’, that’s it, oughh, you’re sucking me dry—“

pulls out after a couple of minutes of catching his breath with you and gasps when his oversensitive tip catches on your tightness. jaw slacks when he watches his creamy release spill out of you, mixing with your own juices. his eyes get stuck on the ruby-red color coating and sticking to your skin and his own. pretty, he thinks, so pretty.

he resists the urge to clean you with his tongue.

[sneakyevillurker]

what do you think about a 'vore' couple, specifically a very cruel kind, where one gets rid of annoyances by having them follow them home just for them to be met by their partner and get eaten? for example, one of them gets followed home by someone who has been harassing them or just being a creep, and then their partner instantly realizes and vores them. (digestion and belly rubs included) and the partner who has been harassed is just helping get rid of them, lol, it's been something on my mind and I'd like to know how you feel about it. I never really wrote about vore but it's something i really wanna see more of :3

Oughh dude yeah I have this scenario on my mind ALOT. Like someone getting a bit too handsy at a party or bar, or being a creep and following the preds friend/partner around and not leaving them alone. At first they'd just try and keep their distance from the weirdo following them around and bothering them, trying not to let them ruin their night out. But eventually, the insistence on getting their number starts escalating, ending up with a particularly uncomfortable situation where they get *too* handsy, at which point they decide to just get rid of the creep to make sure no one else has to deal with them. Feigning enjoyment, they'd invite them back to their place, texting their partner to get ready for a BIG meal, and after an uncomfortable car ride back home, they'd bring the creep who's been harassing them all night inside, making them think theyre gonna get lucky. Unfortunately for them, though, the only people getting lucky tonight is the person about to get a large, squirmy meal, and the person who brought them that meal!! A yell of surprise would quickly get muffled into a barely audible shouting, followed by a series of loud, wet gulps, each one making the shouting grow fainter. Soon enough, the gulps would finish, topped off by a reverberating belch, and a small satisfied sigh, as the creep settles into the cramped, wet gut of the person who ate them, as the stuffed organ begins to eagerly growl and groan in anticipation of its latest catch. The pred would just recline into a chair as their stomach roars to life, beginning the process of turning another creep into something INFINITELY more useful, another jiggly layer of fat for them to enjoy, as thei partner thanks them for yet again dealing with a creep who bothered them, rubbing and kneading the preds stomach as it starts to work into said creep, beibg shoot to push down any bulges they make in their partners stomach while they digest. The pred would just be happy to not ONLY get a nice filling meal, but to help get rid of a creep who clearly deserved to get melted down into mush! The night filled with the sounds of digestion, loud belches, and taunting as the 2 poke fun and berate the creep for what they did, poking fun at the fact they're gonna get turned into NOTHING but chub thats gonna be getting groped by the person who they deceided to do the same to.

Oughhg i need to get back to writing stuff o this page as i really enjiy talking about vore .... i hope whoever sent this ask sees this and enjoys!!! Feel free to send more asks or even messages, always enjoy talking about stuff like this :p

[blondeaxolotl]

Oughh woke up with cramps debating if I should attack Jamil again or attack Floyd this time either way SOMEONE is getting attacked because I'm miserable

[moldmoldmoldmold]

i avoided period cramps on this trip but yesterday i got wiped out the face of earth with a really bad migraine. its a little better now but like oughh now i gotta walk all day and wnjoy myself and i literally Cannot rot in bed

[thelittleswordsman]

Projects my period cramps on you

WHA-

*clutches his stomach like he just got kicked in the gut*

OUGHh

[slumbering-shadows]

beware of the perils of menstruation (craving chocolate 24/7) this is an evil wizards spell designed to debuff you (chocolate can worsen cramps and cause bloating) (but oughh... chocolate............ )

[lynxgirlpaws]

Oughh I need to drink more water an evil monster named cramps is attacking me

[atomra]

wakes up to cramps OUGHH 😩😩

[blondeaxolotl]

🔆anon

[https://www.tumblr.com/blondeaxolotl/784768758877192192/oughh-woke-up-with-cramps-debating-if-i-should]

For some reason, I imagined you going up to both Jamil and Floyd and just cartoonishly smacking them on the back of the head so they fall

Like you know when they edit in those images/emojis of hands with those slapstick sound effects?

That's what I've been doing to Jamil for the past months but I think it's time Floyd gets the cramps

[plentiful-pushes]

🤰2️⃣ 🤰1️⃣🏫 🩲🛑⌛

An overdue student and teacher with twins both start going into labor and giving birth mid class, both trying to hold them in.

Okay... Here we go, short story this time.

It was an hour before dismissal and the students we're answering a long activity which allowed the teacher of twins, to rest having flared up cramping and contractions grew unbearable.

She leant back into her seat gripping at her tux shirt, her panting grew rapid and it calmed with her gulping in fear glancing over at the girl at the back. She finished first, the A+ quiet student felt the same pain and gripped her armrest leant back tears flow down her pale rosy cheeks .

She knew what was going on looking at her the overdue student, she knew what she did. She felt sharp pains. Her and her stundent grunted softly and someone called the class over for an interview giving the two a bit of relief.

The class left for the program the signed for and the two we're left as the teacher came over with a pained pace, she fell to her knees a 30 year old with her 16 year old student, panting irrationally.

Then it happened their waters had popped and the student grabbed her teachers hands and she cried "Aoughh! Mis- Ngaahh! Lucy stop it!!!" Lucy got up contractions made her fall back.

She spoke tearily "I- I'm s- Oughh! sorry I c- AN'T!! Raaaahhh! Forgive me, Amy" Amy limped over to the rug and placed it on the puddle then felt with her teacher. The pain was too much they both had to push, Amy hugged Lucy and she grabbed her back.

The baby's descent was fast and loud footsteps came they both rusged away from their seats and fixed the rug, Lucy waddled to her desk.

The class continued their activity and 30 mins left ticking, the two kept fighting the urge and legs closed off. After 25 mins... The head rubbed at her entrance she refused to let it out now.

Lucy struggled cause the pain stung her so much she gave in and let out the head, it had stopped at her panties head stuck it struck hard and she panted in tears and when the alarm rang, she smiled so much "C- Class D- Diss- MISSED!!" And the student all left except the two they both bore as hard as they could.

Lucy's came quick falling straight into her panties and the twin came out all at once and ripped through, she fell back in pain and fainted.

Amy's baby dropped into her panties but barely bulged and pushing with all her strength did it force out the shoulders and it shot out and tore her panties, she passed out both fell into a deep coma for a week. They woke up begging for their babies who we're next to them.

They watched the babies wriggle and smirked full of happiness but with a dull look... pain.

[lunar-fey]

oughh the stomach cramps. pain and suffering eternal. -> remembered i had a medicine as needed for literally this. it helped so fast i could cry

[mars-ipan]

oughh my god cramps... pain... owie...

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 27: She’s Trying to Make a Devil Out of Me

Shizuka emerges from her blanket of darkness, waking with a jolt. The first thing she sees is Moya staring down at her, a worried expression melting into relief. “Moya?” she mutters, looking around.

She is lying on a narrow bed in an enclosed space with white walls. Equipment of various purposes line the walls. It takes her a moment to remember first what an ambulance is, and another to realize she’s in one.

“Hey, Shizuka,” Moya groans, falling painfully into the seat next to the gurney, rubbing her side. Her right arm is in a sling, and she is covered all over in hastily applied bandages.

“... Ph-Phantasma, where--!? Where is she--?!”

She sits up to receive a flash of red and blue light in her face. From beyond the doors at the back of the ambulance, she can see the exterior of the gym. Gathered in front of the entrance is another ambulance, a police squad car and an imposing steel paddywagon, LAPD emblazoned on its side.

And there, despite towering over the officers, Phantasma appears incredibly small. Her head hung low, her ankles and wrists cuffed together. Her mask is gone, and the face that hid beneath is that of a middle aged woman, lined and framed by a surprising amount of dark flowing hair, streaked with grey.

“Whu--?

“You can relax. She’s done. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but you saved us…” Moya says, calming her. Shizuka sinks into the bed, her head suddenly light as air. She barely hears her friend speaking. “You kicked the fight right out of her. They say a fight’s only done when one opponent’s lost the will to win, and I never thought I’d see that happen to Phantasma. She lost everything… even this.” Moya raises her still-functioning left hand, and in it is a silver disc.

Shizuka peers at it, taking a moment to register its shape and form. Squinting, she sees the vague outline of a humanoid figure reflected in the silver material. But it is not her reflection, nor anyone else’s.

The figure moves slightly, as if alive within the reflection. In that instant she recognizes what it is, despite never seeing one before, and snatches it from Moya’s hand. She stares. “Where did this come from!?”

“... Phantasma’s head,” Moya says, puzzled, “Like I said, you knocked it right out of her. Her Stand ability’s in this thing, apparently. ABRAXAS is gone for good now.”

“Then this really is…! Do you know what this is!?”

“Do I know what…?” she paused, then taps her forehead with her finger, “Sure I know. I’ve got one too.”

“What!!? But where did…! How?” She springs up, sitting straight on the stretcher, clutching the disc.

“Whoa, easy. You’re still injured…!”

“Moya, you have to tell me! It’s important!”

“... Brother Dust. He gives these to everyone he deems worthy. I don’t know where he found them, but they’ve been the key to his power since the beginning… I assumed you got your Stand the same way, just from a different source. Your family, I’m guessing…?”

She shakes her head. “I was born with my abilities, I’ve never even seen one of these discs in person before. But my nephew told me about them. There was a man, years ago, who used these to give people power and sent them to kill the Joestars. But he’s dead! He’s been dead for almost six years now… Where did he get these?” she says, looking up at her friend. Moya has no answer other than a scowl directed at Phantasma.

A paramedic appears and hops in the back of the ambulance. Before he can say anything, Moya steps out, taking the disc away from Shizuka as she goes. “Moya…?” she says, but gets no answer. The ambulance doors shut and the vehicle drives off, blaring its siren.

Moya, her body damaged all over, limps with purpose towards the squad cars. The officers are pushing Phantasma into the paddy-wagon. “Wait!” Moya calls, and the officers turn.

“You’re injured, Detective,” says one of the officers, raising a hand, “Let us take care--”

“Shut up! You… What is this? Where did you get it from? Where’s Dust keeping them!?” she demands, shoving the disc in Phantasma’s face. The masked woman says nothing. “Nothing to say? What’s the matter? You had so much to say before! Where are your grand fucking declarations now!?”

Receiving no answer, Moya presses harder. She steps closer and gets into her face, which remains impassive. Humbled, but still with a hint of dignity. “What was it all for? What the fuck did you do it for!?” Moya shouts, before the ache in her body catches up with her and she sways on her feet.

“Easy, Pezzente!” calls the officer. “You know the procedure! We’ll get her back to the station, then we can start asking questions! You’ve done your part for the day, Detective. Let us do ours.” Moya steadies herself, still waiting on an answer from her former mentor.

“...For you,” Phantasma says softly. Moya freezes in place and grits her teeth. Almost doubled over, she does not turn around as the luchadora is stuffed into the back of the paddy-wagon. The paramedics pull Moya back to the ambulance, as the wagon rumbles to life, and drives away.

                                                       ***

Her story was not a special one, she had grown up poor in Tijuana, worshiping luchadores on an old television set with bunny ear antennae, dreaming of standing among them. She was simply one of the few who achieved that dream.

Phantasma stares at the wall of the paddywagon. Her escorts are divided from her by a thick metal grate. She makes no attempt to speak to them, and they do not address her.

The masks drew her in, originally. Luchadores hid their faces, their true names. In doing so, they became more than simple athletes. To her, the mask was a talisman, crafted from transcendent material. Like the shamans of ancient times, in wearing the visages of the gods, became those gods, made flesh and blood. Gateways, through which she could abandon weakness. Abandon humanity.

But it was false. The masks she wore were polyester and spandex things. The matches were little more than games, entertainment for children. She was not a clown. She was extraordinary, forced to dally with the ordinary. She would not be held back by weaklings. And so she was not.

In her first title match, she hit her opponent just a bit too hard. A single palm shot to the chest. The challenger coughed, then sputtered. She kicked her legs and choked. And then she died. It mattered little. There was a place for her among the cartel, and before long, that place was at the very top. Mexico City became too small, so she extended her hand north, to San Diego, San José, and Los Angeles.

But Brother Dust, at last, shattered her illusion. She was no superhuman, no demigod. Just a foolish woman in a mask. There was power in the world beyond her comprehension. But he promised. By his hand, she would be granted that power. She would finally achieve that which she had pretended to have for so long.

Phantasma feels her face. Her flesh and bone, her human face. The one she had tried to escape from, but never had. It had been lurking underneath the entire time. She cannot remember what it looks like.

“Hey, Burnley, what's the matter?” Says the cop in the driver’s seat, breaking Phantasma from her trance. She can hear them from behind the partition. The cop glances away from the road to pat his partner on the shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Burnley groans, hunched over, clutching his guts, “I just got this cramp out of nowhere.”

“Nnh, now that you mention it, my head kinda hurts all of a sudden,” the driver rubs his temple, squinting at the road, “Ah, shit, it’s bad…! I don’t think I can drive like this. You think you can take over?”

“No way, man! Feels like my guts are tearing themselves up! God damn you, Rick, I told you we should’ve gone to Taco Bell, but you just had to try the local cuisine, didn’t you!? Oughh, Jesus, it hurts…”

Burnley leans forward, pressing his forehead on the dashboard and groans. A gurgling noise comes from his gut, so loud Phantasma can hear from. The cop starts belching. She grimaces, and turns to the wall again. She turns back sharply at the sound of Burnley belching, followed by a loud splattering.

The dash in front of Officer Burnley is soiled by a frightening quantity of blood and chunks of flesh. All of it vomited by the officer, who stares at it with dumbfounded horror. His partner, Rick, shouts at him.

“Burnley!? Burnley, what was that!? What happened?!!” The driver cries, his face similarly covered in blood, flowing from every orifice on his head. His eyes are all white and flecked with red. “I can’t see! Burnley, what’s happening?! I can’t fucking see anything!”

She listens hard, trying to discern what is happening, when a trickle of blood pours from her nostril. She dabs at it with her fingers and stares at the blood, only then noticing her hand shaking. “What? What is this?”

It is not just her hand. Everything loose in the paddy-wagon is shaking violently, as if caught in an earthquake. Burnley succumbs first, his whole body convulsing as though he was possessed. Then the driver succumbs, shaking so hard he can't even speak, let alone drive.

The wagon swerves off the road, the driver's foot stuck on the accelerator, Phantasma notices only now the convulsions in her body. Like her insides have acquired minds of their own, she feels her insides writhe, her blood vessels bursting.

As the paddy-wagon picks up speed, she slides to the back and kicks at the bolted door, again and again. For all her titanic strength, the door does not give. Dull pangs of pain run up her leg.

“No!! NO!!!” she shouts, kicking desperately, “I CANNOT DIE THIS WAY!!!”

The paddy-wagon mounts the curb and swerves, flying off balance and flipping in the air. The pedestrians have barely enough time to duck before it crash-lands upside down, halfway through the window of a fashion store.

Yet the wagon remains suffers no damage, inside or out. It remains intact, even as its occupants continue to convulse. Lying on her back, Phantasma's eyes roll into the back of her head as even her brain shakes itself into mush. This is the way she dies.