#i need to lose 60 more fucking pounds

[starvingcl0wn]

how life feels after not breaking my fast even when faced with a plate of my favorite most mouth-wateringly delicious binge foods

[hoffmanxfurthermore]

Lost In Echoes pt. 4

content: violence, Mark in a trap, reader unfairly in a trap, blood, sharp objects.

"Don't stand up!" Mark shouts as soon as John leaves the room, "there's a pin attached to your belt. It will set off the timer."

Your heart is pounding so hard it's almost all you can hear. You look down to see the thin wire attached to a big digital clock on the wall.

"Mark, I need to do this! I can't lose you! It'll be okay, I promise. I can do this."

"I'm so sorry for getting you into this..." Mark says, looking down.

On the wall, the clock flashed on, reading 0:90.

"You have to go," Mark yells, scared, "you have to go now or he'll start the clock anyway!"

Nervous, you slowly stand up. The pin is pulled and the timer starts. 90. 89. 88. 87.

You sprint over to the ladder, and look up. The entire thing is covered in razor wire and barbed wires. The steps, the sides, even on the beams securing it to the wall.

82 seconds.

"GO!" Mark screams. You reach out and climb up the first 3 rungs. The razor slices through your soft skin like butter, and blood pours from the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet as you climb.

70 seconds.

The sharp stabbing pain is shooting from the cuts to your whole body. You scream.

"Mark! Mark... I dont think I can make it!" You wail.

60 seconds. You're a third of the way up.

"Come on y/n, you can do it. I'm gonna die if you don't! You can do it. I believe in you. I love you."

55 seconds. You reach for the next rung but miss, causing your body to fall into the ladder. Screaming as your legs, stomach, chest, face are cut. But you manage to hang on, barely. Luckily, the sharp pieces of metal are only big enough to do surface damage.

Adrenaline is kicking in. You take a deep breath and ascend higher.

38 seconds. You're halfway.

You slowly grab the next one. And the next. You're starting to feel light headed from blood loss. Dizzy.

20 seconds.

"Fuck! Don't let me die, y/n!" Mark screams. He sounds terrified. His voice is shaking and broken as he sobs heavily. "Please don't let me fucking die like this!" Never have you heard so much fear in his voice. It sets off something inside you.

Using your last bit of energy, you climb up, screaming, ignoring the pain, the blood dripping from your body. You want to save Mark and you don't care if you die in the process.

"I... WONT... LET.... YOU.... DIE... MARK...!" You shriek at the top of your lungs with each step higher.

5 seconds.

You scream as you hit the big red button at the top, using the last of your energy.

"Mark... I made it mark..." You tried to yell, but you're so weak. All that came out was a whisper.

A loud buzzer goes off.

One second left on the clock.

"I made it... I made it... Mark... i made it..." You can barely whisper any more.

You're fading in and out as you manage to cling to the ladder with all you have.

You're not sure how you got back on the ground, but the last thing you remember before fading into unconsciousness is Mark hugging you tight, crying, and John saying, "we need to get her to a hospital."

Everything goes black......

[sterekchub]

Okay but I need more of Frat Bro!Derek! His insatiable appetites are quite…invigorating!

Okay this was going to be WAY longer and more cohesive but.....I lost my train of thought midway through. I love frat bro Derek though- either fattening up Stiles or becoming the frat pet himself... ***** "He's perfect." "Stiles, seriously? The guy who looks like he runs track and lifts weight for fun?" "It's his fourth time here. Today." "Lucky," one of the guys mumbled. "Wish I could have an unlimited meal plan.” “I give it two months and he’ll be twenty pounds heavier. Danny looked him up.” “Already?!” “Family money, his tuition is fully covered, middle-child from a big family…” “So looking for attention and open to parties?” “Fuck yes.” “What did I say? Perfect.” Stiles walked confidently up to Derek’s table. “Hi, have you thought about pledging for a fraternity? Epsilon Alpha Tau would love to have you.” ***** “When I say ‘go’ start chugging! Loser doesn’t make it to the next round.” Derek took no time. Grab a beer from the table, pop open the side of the can, pop the top, chug, swallow, repeat. He could hear the crowd cheering for everyone, was vaguely aware of the other recruits next to him trying to keep pace. He wasn’t bothered – they were all going to lose.

Sure enough less than thirty minutes in, all the other guys had stopped, drunkenly sprawled on the lawn amongst all the empty cans. Derek could have easily stopped, he must have one by at least two or three, but he couldn’t. Stiles eyes were fixed on him - *everyone’s* eyes were fixed on him, and felt their attention go right to his head. He was the center of attention, and he was going to give them a show. **** When they finally accept Derek into their fraternity- he's 60 pounds heavier. The weekly beer chug has graduated to Stiles rolling in full kegs of beer, and Derek draining them until his belly was sloshing and stretched to the size of a yoga ball. Then there were pizza nights. The Taco Tuesdays. The hot wing Thursdays. Derek is always the center of attention, always being encouraged and poked and prodded to eat more. His skin is so much more sensitive as it expands - nipples hardening as frat brothers laugh and squeeze his softening moobs. Stomach that is always so full and sore, even brushing against it usually elicits a moan and burp. They bring him down to the basement where they have a 3 tiered cake ready for him with EAT in greek letters. Derek accepts the initiation happily - a pig nose gets placed over his own, a vibrating pig-tail buttplug in his ass....and he gets eating. *******

Graduation: "So, what are your...plans for after graduation?" It's a polite question from a shocked professor. Derek hadn't attended any classes for the last two years. By the end of his sophomore year, he was kicked out of his Chemistry class for eating during the labs, always skipped his economics class because it was in the furthest building from the frat house and he would get winded halfway through and go to the cafeteria instead. By senior year, it was difficult getting Derek out of the frat house at all. He was the fraternity project- all of them taking turns making sure Derek was satisfied, overfed and rapidly expanding. The results of being fed by a household of men was astounding - Derek had tripled in size. Derek looked confused at the question. He was sitting on his scooter at the back of the graduation hall. Graduation cap on his head and the fraternity T-Shirt stretched tightly over the blubbery folds of his belly. "Graduation? *burrRRPP* I don't *Pffpffrttt*...." "He's staying with us," Stiles chimed in. "Epsilon Alpha Tau for life, right, Der?" Derek nodded, although with such a thick double chin obscuring his neck, he really just moved his head down enough to create an even fatter third chin. He had no idea what was going on, barely even remembered he was supposed to graduate. If there wasn't food, he wasn't interested. The professor shook their head and walked away. Stiles leaned over "Our new recruits can't wait to get a turn with the legendary frat pig......."

[icedmetaltea]

Health anxiety: something is wrong Me: no dude lol you're being dramatic everything is fine Body: randomly develops a nut allergy (?) Body: blood pressure consistently 130-150/80-110 at night for some reason Body: suddenly can't tolerate yogurt- including lactose free Body: Mysteriously loses 1-2 lbs per week when not on diet past month Body: constant anxiety even when not pmsing Health anxiety: come on man Me: EVERYTHING IS FINE EVERYTHING IS FINE EVERYTHING IS FINE WE'RE DEFINITELY NOT GETTING CANCER OR HEART DISEASE OR ANYTHING AHAHAHAHAHAHA

(incoherent venty stuff below, tw for suicidal thoughts and just... idk weird psychosis type stuff ig)

I can't even go to the doctor cause agoraphobia and like... even then they just blame everything on anxiety. Even when my BP is this erratic, anywhere from 110/60-156/110, and I can't make a telehealth appointment for some goddamned reason that they won't explain

And I don't know if they'll sign that form so I can get ebt and ya know not starve (I sent it via email but I got said email from a static-filled call so I don't even know if it's the right address or if they'll do it digitally)

And from the sounds of things they won't make me a note to file for a tuition appeal so I'll be saddled with a $700 fine that'll go to collections if I can't pay it by december WHEN I HAVE $600 IN MY BANK and I need it to pay for basic living essentials till I can get approved for SSI IF I even can which will take at LEAST 6 months

and everything adds up, toothepaste, paper towels, laundry soap, dish soap, sponges, trashbags, pads... the list goes on and it adds up so fast

And nobody aside from the therapist has shown any goddamned empathy for me when I've made calls, it reaaaally feels like the doctors and nurses just hope I kill myself, cause it'd be easier for them, cause I'm a burden, cause it's easier for me to die than for them to make me a telehealth appointment or sign a goddamned 1-paper form so I can fucking feed myself and not be saddled with debt

it'd be so much easier for everyone

I've been thinking about blowing my brains out all day. it used to be just when I was pmsing but it's been pretty much all month when my imaginary friend isn't distracting me with stupid shit and/or age regressing to cope

I just think, sure the gun would be expensive but then I wouldn't have to worry about money anymore, or panic attacks, or being a financial burden to my mom, or being a disappointment, or PMDD, or sleeping till 4pm when the depression gets bad, or anything

Nothing at all. Just blackness. Or maybe there's something after death, idk. Maybe I'm going to heaven or hell, but either way hopefully things just... are different there. No more capitalism. No more mental health shit. No more jobs and school and people working just to work and then die, no more of your worth getting judged by how smart you are or how valuable you are as a wage slave

No more heart pounding, no more gasping for air for the 20th time as I try to sleep, no more walking around in dreams where I feel like a ghost (and yet I look forward to it bc at least it's... different. It's somewhere than isn't here) no more waking up disappointed that I even woke up

No more thinking about how my parents are gonna die someday and then I'll really be alone

No more thinking about how my sibling left me

No more thinking about how my best friend left me

No more anything

I don't expect to make it to the end of this year. I don't know when I'll do it but it's kinda a given. I should've just let myself freeze to death back in December like I'd originally planned. At least I could die to something I loved. Why'd I bother sticking around? What have I gained? I'm just living to live

What, to finish all those books? I have hundreds, I'll never finish them all

To finish that game? I'll never finish that either

To get on SSI? I probably won't even be approved before trump takes power (be honest with yourself, you know he will. A war's coming and it ain't lookin good for people like us. He wants people like us dead)

It's so dark and lonely tonight. I have a billion thoughts in my head and it's supposed to be better now bc it's not my luteal or follicular phase... I can't even have the one good week I'm supposed to have PMDD-wise

I just can't stop thinking about how much better everything would be without me. And idk I feel kinda in a way like said imaginary friend is like... idk shutting down my body somehow. Cause even they know it's for the best. I know that's just psychosis brain talking cause they're not real but at times like these I wonder

But man, I wish if that was the case they'd make it quick and painless. A gun would be easier, just saying. Oh but it'd be too loud, make too much of a mess, blah blah blah... it's quick and effective. Sure it might not work and turn me into a vegetable. Prolly wouldn't though. It works more often than hanging/blood loss/jumping. I know they don't want me gone but even they have to admit it's about time. They've known it for a long time. I should've frozen to death. It would've been quick in 0 degree weather. We could've listened to music. Mom and dad wouldn't have found us till morning.

But no. Just had to chicken out

Ugh

[sassypotatoe1]

I also like to remind people that phones are now a requirement to participate in society. You need an email and a cell number on your CV and to be reachable at any time to qualify for most, if not all minimum wage positions. Nevermind higher paying jobs. And you not only need a phone that can access emails, you need an internet plan. If you want to get out of poverty and homelessness you already need a phone and reliable transport, and you can only get housing financing if you have a full time job. If you rent you need to work like 60 hours minimum wage a week and then a second job as well, but you can buy a phone and a prepaid internet plan from one day's donations in some cases, with which it can be a slight bit easier to get a job. It's no longer a luxury, it's a necessity.

In the past you could submit a CV typed up and printed out for free at the local library in person and get a job. Now they're defunding libraries and declaring them insolvent and closing them up, and using an internet Cafe is more expensive than a phone and prepaid plan. You are also required to email or electronically submit CV's for literally any job, in-person hand-ins aren't accepted anymore.

People also often get tvs as gifts or second hand at major discount, and they get it for news and educational programs for young kids when they can't get into preschool. They buy and fix broken old appliances, some who are very good at it will get a broken like smeg appliance that like needs a fuse replaced or a bolt tightened and fix it up for less than the cost of the cheapest new ones. I've seen this happen a lot where I live specifically.

We have people that immigrate that want to get rid of stuff that sell furniture or appliances for insanely cheap or even give it away for free just to get rid of it because it's cheaper to buy new furniture and appliances wherever they're going than to ship their shit over. They advertise the collection on Facebook and if the person can pick it up themselves or contribute to gas for delivery they can get a 14k couch for 3k. (like 150ish euro pound or dollars).

Poor people don't buy things new almost ever. A lot of poor people salvage junk or get things for free or at highly discounted prices or as gifts. You'll also frequently see that some poor people will sell appliances to pawn shops to make rent that month.

I'm scrabbling a bit to get enough of a deposit to get an apartment that's not an outright health risk so I can move out from my parents house and go no contact because they're like, fully okay with my brother dating a nazi and also homophobic and abusive so I need to get out. It's cheaper for me to rent a storage unit, stick all my furniture and appliances in there for a year, and pay the shelter fee for a bed, shower and plate of dinner a month than renting the cheapest place available. I mean just over half of the lowest rent in my area covers storage rent and shelter fees.

If I need to get out quick and I go this route, I can save so much on rent and utilities that I can keep my phone plan and car. I'll still be dirt fucking poor, unless I can find a place that's 2k in rent and utilities combined which is literally impossible right now. I'll have to lose my medical aid and stop my meds (which can very easily kill me), but I could survive a bit.

Having "luxury" items that are actually just basic necessities does not make you a liar about being poor or bad with managing your money. It makes you smart, actually, and we need to start minding our business about poor people if it's not to give them money.

[nathank77]

11/8/24

8:55 a.m Edited 9:09 a.m

Sleep was pretty awful last night. I fell asleep fast and woke up thinking i didn't sleep and I needed more xanax but I knew I slept somehow I think cause I didn't hear my tv timer shut off so I didn't take more.

Then I fell back to sleep and woke up around 2 a.m. I fell back to sleep and woke up around 4 i think and I struggled to sleep. Idk if I was having a bunch of microsleep dreams or if I kept waking up. I was up for sure around 6 a.m and then I said I'd give myself 30 more minutes or I'll just get up and I fell back to sleep until like 7 after setting my sleep timer to like 6:30 a.m.

Anyways i want to go to the gym but I shouldn't. It sounds stupid but I only want to work my arms, and chest right now. And I don't want to over work the muscle group.

Nothing would get me on that elliptical today and i mean nothing lol I have no interest in working out my legs. They are already cut bc of anxiety.

Id work out my abs and back but idk... I feel scared about my back bc I don't want to fuck myself up. I feel scared about abs bc most of the work outs involve laying on the floor and to say I'm not ocd at the gym is an understatement. I don't want to use the chemicals to clean the equipment... so I can't simply wipe down the floor and lay on it... I got to get over that maybe wear my hyper tough gloves...

Also I don't see the point in working my abs bc I'll never see them with my tummy... but from what I'm reading having a strong core is essential to working out. Our core i believe would be my back and my chest/abs.

I've noticed on the machines, machines that are supposed to work let's say chest and biceps or triceps- that my forearms hurt and they do a lot of the work. It makes me think i should be doing free weight more bc when I did the lateral raises and whatever I felt it in the targeted muscle group. So I got to try to learn more workout moves on free weights and eventually get on the big dumbbell but I'm scared of that bc idk how much the actual bar weights.

I also got to find better chest muscle workouts bc I tried the dumbbell fly and I didnt really feel it in my chest. Idk.

I want to go but I'm sore. I have to go grocery shopping.. and I have to consider trying that chlorestoral medication... stilll.....

I'm worried. I want to go to the gym and get my frustrations out.

Also I forgot but I'll add to this soon..

I remember I'm wondering if I should be pushing myself so hard on the elliptical... i want to run ingeneral why? Cause the American heart association says it can help chlorestoral significantly and it can also help you lose weight. Emphasis on the chlorestoral i like my belly..... id love abs but I like my belly. It's a weird place to be tbh...

But I'm wondering if I'm overworking my body and heart running 6 miles for 60 minutes.... especially since my heart voltage is off every single test.

I just don't know if say i ran 20 minutes a work out 3 times a week if that would help with my ldl and hdl if I did primarily low weight and high reps. Right not my reps aren't very high... I mean even for 5 pounds. I go until it hurts pretty bad but not very bad idk how to describe it.

I just don't know if I'm over working my heart pushing myself on cardio and if I'd be better off weight training... I don't want to basically only weight train bc I'd rather do that bc I hate the elliptical... and bc I'm scared of my heart voltage if it could really help with my chlorestoral considering- maybe just maybe if I do this right i won't need chlorestoral medication........

But I also don't want to throw myself into a heart attack bc of the voltage.. repatha is scary. And in 4 months if I can approach this workout right i might be able to lower my chlorestoral pretty significantly.. but then again I'll prob still need meds anyways...

I just dont know. From what I'm reading weight training can also lower chlorestoral. But is it enough? It'll be safer for my heart voltage. But will it have much of an effect on chlorestoral?

[thebonemanwrites]

Weight

I was 155 pounds this time two years ago. One year ago I was 170. I am currently 160.

The weight shouldn’t matter so much. 15 pounds don’t define me. Not after everything I’ve been through. They’re just numbers, not cups of chai I’ve guzzled down over final projects, not pizzas from the town pizzeria I’ve gotten with the old neighborhood kids (adults, now?) after not having seen them in months, nor cups of hot chocolate I’d whisper over in the back booths of the diner over some grave matter, forming tough decisions between two sets of furrowed brows and two bright red booth cushions.

The weight shouldn’t matter. The numbers shouldn’t matter. 

When I fell extremely ill with E. Coli at 8, I went from 80 to 60 in the span of a week. It was 20 pounds of me, wasting away, day by day, as my body refused to nourish me, and my mouth would chew meal after meal that would never reach my screaming muscles and tired bones. Doctors whispered over my withered legs about whether or not I’d make it out of that bed alive.

I was 90 pounds for most of high school. I was a lean stick bug of a girl, often brought in to model for my mother’s famous friends, even star in a commercial or two.

I had broken past 100, closer to 110. My rib cage had finally disappeared, now smooth under my skin. I put on a tight-fitting shirt right before my first solo in a spring concert. My mother came to the mirror and looked me up and down, before murmuring “you’ve gotten fat.”

I stopped eating. I stopped for you. Hoping that some day I’d hear you say “oh mashallah! The fat is gone! My daughter is beautiful again!” And one day you did, when I toed the line between 99 and 100. That was when I finally developed ample breasts. I was a finalist in a pageant. My girlish figure won many hearts that night. My sister was jealous of the comments I’d get of how “skinny” I was, of how she should “get out more”. But she also knew that I was weak and frequently ill. I was unfocused, and constantly had headaches and panic episodes. I shivered and shook. My doctor said I was beautiful. I couldn’t stop shaking. 

I made my first real friend group since Aimee stopped talking to me because I didn’t drink and smoke and have sex as much as her. I was 120, close to 130. I played a game online where you’d live life as a model, and therefore had to stick to being 128 pounds or you’d lose. I was 128 exactly, and I made sure not to lose. But I was a teenager; I needed to eat. And my newer and nicer friends made sure I did. We’d get pizza and ice cream and hot wings and soda floats. We’d get popcorn at the movies and have hot dogs in the summertime. I checked the scale. I was 135. Exams were coming up, and I knew I was failing. I was getting beaten at home for being a failure in class, but at school I’d get bullied for being a failure at everything else. I was still a virgin at my old age of 16, after all! I stopped eating for a month. I went down to 100 again. I didn’t bleed for almost a year. My mother said it was “normal” at my age. My doctor said I was “fine, but could stand to gain a few pounds”.

At 17, we learned about eating disorders and sex. I was planning on killing myself at 18, so I was eating again, because there wasn’t any point in keeping weight off. Fat corpses don’t care if they’re fat, and no one is gonna fuck them anyway. I got up to 120. My period came back in fits and starts. I had energy now, but I still shivered at a stiff breeze even in the springtime, well after the flowers had begun to emerge from their buds. I didn’t monitor my weight as much. I wasn’t always so sick anymore. My mother said I looked “healthy”.

I didn’t kill myself. I was 18 and I had a girlfriend now. She was going to take my virginity and we were going to get married. I was 130. I didn’t care. I was in love. And she was in love as well, however more than me, more than anyone ever should. I tried to kill myself during a blizzard, getting lost with a bottle of pills through icy shards that formed a sheet of mist in the air. She asked why I didn’t have time for her anymore, why I spent so much time with my friends instead. I called her the next week and told her it was over. 

I was determined to never be weak again. I passed 135, 145, I got worried but I was not going to be weak again, never again. I was strong, I was a man now, and men didn’t care about their weight.

I fell in love. His eyes were as dark as the night sky, and doubly as vast. He was beautiful in the way he moved, and smiled, and slowly but surely wrapped his arms around you and squeezed at just the right pressure to bring you back to reality, become reborn right there in his arms, like God molding humans out of clay with Their kind and strong hands. He was 155, he told me so at least, and so was I. It was perfect then, we were perfect, perfectly 155.

My friend took his own life, and the love of my life tried his best to do the same. He broke up with me as he stood on the ledge, telling me that he’d just end up hurting me if we stayed together anyway. 

But he came back later as a friend, fresh from the hospital, and found me in mourning, for my dear friend, for all the love that was once in my heart that was now drained instead. I turned to my friends, to my family, and they held me like his strong arms did once, and re-molded me out of clay. 22 months ago I came out of mourning, still at 155. I had a new lover, a rebound, but he was quick and fun. 21 months ago, I was 155, and the world shut down. I lost my senior year, my year of healing, my will to get up in the morning, but millions lost so much more. The world was in delirium, watching toxic zookeepers on Netflix while millions died in the streets.

I hit 165. I told myself it’s because I’m not going out anymore. It’s illegal to do that now, so of course I’d gain weight. But it was fine. In just a few weeks, this would be over and I’d lose the weight. In just a few months, this would be over and I’d lose the weight. In just a few years…

I was told I was 170 by a doctor in December during my general check up. I had been living alone for half a year. I had no friends, I had no dignity. I let so many enter my body to prove to myself that I was still beautiful, despite the fact that I was heavier now. I let a man touch me in his bed, despite begging him to stop. But I didn’t stop him. I could have stopped him. I took a girl’s virginity, a boy’s first kiss, like cheap napkins at a restaurant, wiped my mouth, and threw them away. A boy I liked told me we were going to have to stop having sex. It was because I was fat now, wasn’t it?

By March I was still 170. It was my dead friend’s birthday. I tried to kill myself just like he did. I dumped my boyfriend. I was 170, suicidal, and a horrible person. 

But spring did come, as did therapy and friends who took me from the hospital as soon as they could. All of a sudden, I had friends, so many friends. 

I was determined to lose weight through the summer, not to be desirable, but to be me again, that last happy version of me, 155 and being reborn into the arms of the love of my life. I chased that version of me, three times a week on a treadmill. 

It’s near Christmas now, almost two years since he dumped me while trying to dump himself off the roof of a dorm building. Everything is fine. I am in love again, and I hope this one stays a while longer. He looks at me in a way that I wish I could look at myself in the mirror every morning. There is no scale in my apartment because I don’t want numbers to rule my life anymore. But I am home for the holiday, and I look to the scale in my mother’s bathroom. I can’t resist. I am 160.

[ceilingfan5]

Wedding/ sick for weird au mixes

Kravitz thinks of himself as a relatively sensible guy. Somehow, despite this, he always seems to end up in bizarre situations, and this time, he might have really taken the cake.

Not literally. Wedding cakes are so fucking expensive. Did you know this? So expensive. Even breathing is expensive when it comes to weddings. Kravitz is never getting married. If he ever feels the urge, he’s going to take a cold shower and then calculate, by hand, how many burritos he can get for the cost of a wedding while he’s still dripping wet and naked. This is a foolproof plan.

Kravitz likes plans. He likes knowing what’s going on at any given time and what the appropriate reaction is to any given situation and he likes knowing the right way to handle things, which, he’s been criticized in the past, by several different boyfriends, is like trying to get a good grade on every social interaction at all times, like he’s going to be given a report card at the end of a fucking conversation. This is normal to want and possible to achieve. Kravitz is doing great. And all of those guys saved him a lot of money on not having a wedding, so, really, he should thank them for fundamentally misunderstanding him on a level bordering on cruel.

He’s sensible. He likes plans. He wants to know the right answers. And yet? And fucking yet?? He finds himself doing shit like this, holding back the long hair of a complete stranger in the bathroom the night after the bachelorette parties. They aren’t even from the same side of the wedding party--Kravitz is firmly in Sloane’s camp, the best man, in fact, and he’s never met Taako before this week.

“So, you’re Hurley’s friend, right?” He tries to keep his voice soothing, and he pats Taako’s back a little. He doesn’t want to overstep, but he also doesn’t want Taako to be as miserable as humanly possible, which he’s certainly trying to achieve with a fervent vigor most people retain for gambling, or extreme sports. He wishes he had a little pocket guide book for weird situations like this. Turn to page 34 to comfort a stranger. Turn to page 62 for dealing with someone who is attempting to vomit everything they’ve eaten since age five.

“Yeah,” Taako moans. He leans his head, presumably pounding like a DJ scoring a hammer festival, gently against the toilet paper dispenser. “Sorry to drag you into this. You can- mmnnh. You can go. If I die, I die.”

“I think Hurley would be upset if you died,” Kravitz says gently. “You’re under contract until you wear that suit tomorrow. Maybe after that you can schedule a date with Death.”

“Hope it’s not a dinner date.” Taako snickers at his own joke, and then hiccups and covers his mouth. “Fuck!”

“Listen, not that it’s any of my business,” imagine him rapidly flipping pages in his guidebook, looking for the appropriate conversation cue. Interventions in 60 seconds. No? Maybe 25 conversation starters that aren’t about toilets? “But when we ran into each other at the casino last night, you seemed a little...” Flirtatious. Angry. Incredibly wasted. “Distracted. Is something on your mind? Besides the wedding, I guess?”

“Damn, you-” Taako hiccups again, and shifts his legs, groaning. “You weren’t kidding, that isn’t any of your business.”

Ah! Fuck! He’s losing points! What a terrible misstep! How will his grade ever recover!

“I’m so sorry-” he backpedals. “I just-”

“No, I get it.” Taako sighs. “Shit. Um. You know, I’m too hungover to lie to you? Um.” He fidgets with the toilet paper like a cat finding its own enrichment. It’s almost endearing. “Um. Okay. Yeah. I was in a mood. I would still be, if my fuckin’ head didn’t feel like it’s losing a getting-crushed-by-a-steamroller race. I’ll have more feelings later, I guess. Jot that down on your calendar.”

“Noted.”

“I, um.” Taako closes his eyes, shoulders lurching a little again, but Kravitz gently pulls his long, silky hair back from his face, and it doesn’t go further than that this time. “I was supposed to get married this year. And, uh.” He waves the fingers on his left hand, all of them incredibly empty. “Sorta fucked that one up.”

“Oh,” Kravitz says, intelligently. He imagines frantically flipping through his guidebook. Even in his head, there’s no suggestions for this. It’s a picture of a cartoon frog giving a thumbs up. Frogs don’t even really have thumbs. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I can see why that would be hard to deal with.”

“Yeah,” Taako chuckles. “It sucks. I mean, he sucks, and both of us are stupid, and the whole thing is a mess, and I’m glad it didn’t go forward, but it’s.” He covers his mouth, looking green, but his shoulders slowly relax. “S’bad. Badtime. Badtime for Taako.”

“I see that.” Kravitz decides to carefully rub Taako’s back. If that’s overstepping, he’ll take the F. Taako can tell him to fuck off, and he will, and that’ll be that. But between last night and today, he likes Taako, and he feels bad for him, going through something awful like that. It’s got to be real hard, having to be a big part of a beautiful wedding, mourning one that’ll never be, even if it’s better for everyone involved. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone else who makes you happy, if that’s what you’re looking for. You’re very attractive and funny and- and-” Kravitz’s cheeks heat up. That might have been a bit much for sure. He especially didn’t need to keep talking, because the next thing on his mind was how perfect all of Taako’s freckles are, and that’s, that’s a lot. Wrong thing to say in the wrong situation. This is such a mess.

But Taako laughs.

“Yeah?” he says. “Sounds like you like me.”

“Oh, I- um. I.” Kravitz backpedals, pulling his hand away from Taako. His long, beautiful hair falls around his face again, and even as miserable as he is, he looks like some kind of angel.

Can angels puke? Rats can’t. There might not be a correlation there. Then again, what if there was?

“I’m- I wasn’t- You’re- that would be-” he can’t quite figure out how to defend himself.

“Admit it,” Taako sing-songs, his voice still hoarse.

“I could be convinced to like you,” Kravitz mumbles. “I happen, to, uh. Happen to have an opening. In my life. For likeable people.”

Taako laughs again, tipping his head back and smacking it on the toilet paper dispenser. He whines and rubs it, looking positively wretched.

“You’re wild, Krav,” he says anyway. “Soon as I can brush my teeth, I’m gonna find out if those pretty lips are as kissable as they look.”

Kravitz doesn’t have a page in his book for this, but something in the very, very back of his mind thinks that there are more things in life to do with your money than buy burritos. If not a wedding, at the very least, a date is a good start.

[chaptersinprogress]

diamonds are forever

“Great,” Tsuna whimpered. “Can I have my car back now?”

aka Tsuna just wanted one hour, just ONE, of uninterrupted sleep.

Rating: T

Pairings: Sawada Tsunayoshi & Skull

Warnings: 007-levels of car chases, violence & swearing

Prompt: @khrrarepairweek 2021 day 2 | accidental kidnapping

Tsuna prided himself on being able to sleep anywhere, everywhere, and through any thing.

Standing up in a train, during a Michael Bay movie at the cinema, and once, through an actual earthquake!

(It was a minor one and admittedly not the smartest thing in world, but in his humble opinion, he'd rather die unaware in his sleep than awake and terrified.)

Basically, Tsuna very much valued his shut-eye.

So when he had to pull 2 consecutive all-nighters for finals week submissions - not sleeping for almost 60 hours straight - the first thing he did after the last paper was march off to his car parked right outside the campus hall, and pass out in the backseat.

It was the perfect plan: nap for a while in the back, then once he'd recovered more functionality and brain power, drive home and sleep properly in his bed.

He had even prepared a blanket and pillow for the occasion!

Eyes sliding shut as he bundled himself up, Tsuna mentally patted himself on his back for his foresight. Then with a sigh, happily tipped himself into the waiting arms of Morpheus.

All was well in the world.

Until a body crashed through the front passenger-side window.

Tsuna jackknifed up with a shriek to accompany the blaring car alarm; the vehicle rocking heavily as the person who landed inside scrambled around the front, swearing loudly.

"Fucking, fuck fuck, where are the keys?!" the person yelled, strapping himself into the driver's seat and frantically rummaging through the compartments. "Got them!"

Slamming the keys into the ignition, he gunned the engine and the car raced forward with a squeal of tires, leaving behind a thin trail of exhaust.

Barely catching on to what was happening, Tsuna opened his mouth to yell at the person who was stealing his car. And instead let out another shriek when bullets exploded through the rear window and shredded the unused headrest beside him.

The sound of glass shattering along with the roar of his poor second-hand purchase's engine that the car-thief was pushing like a fucking NASCAR drowned out his opera audition. Then a sharp turn threw him off the seat and onto the floor with a yelp, entangled in his blanket and pillow.

"Fucking fuck, fuckity fuck," the car-thief chanted as he spun the car in dizzying circles, swerving through narrow lanes and along hairpin turns.

Tsuna dug his fingernails into the leather beside him and hung on. Lifting himself up slightly, he got ready to give his unasked-for chauffer a piece of his mind.

But the bullets smashing through glass and the metal body of the car had him ducking back down, whimpering in fear.

The whole thing was like a terrifying roller-coaster of a nightmare!

'Please let it be a nightmare', Tsuna wished fervently. At least he would get to wake up, instead of being shot full of holes or turning into paste when the car crashed!

A horn blared, tires screeched and he was unceremoniously thrown forward as his commandeered vehicle drifted wildly. Pulse pounding in his ears, Tsuna faintly registered the enthusiastic yelling coming from the front.

Then all the noise died down into a pleasant silence.

"Wait, did I lose them?" the person spoke aloud. "Holy shit, I think I lost them!"

Tsuna (metaphorically) hit the roof. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CAR!" he shrieked.

The person screamed and slammed the brakes. Tsuna's head banged harshly against the back of the driver's seat.

Groaning, the undergraduate cradled his head in his hands. He already was having a headache from the lack of sleep and being unceremoniously woken up; the impact with the car seat was doing him no favours.

The driver twisted around to peer into the back. "Oh my god," he muttered. "Who are you?!"

Tsuna squinted angrily at the figure. "Who am I?" he said incredulously. "I should be asking you that! Who the fuck are you?! You tried to steal my car!"

"Oh my god, did I just accidentally kidnap someone?" the person asked himself. "Holy fucking shit, I did! Oh my god, I accidentally kidnapped someone!"

Tsuna's vision finally cleared enough for him to properly see the asshole who'd stolen his car with him still inside it. And his jaw promptly dropped.

'112, a clown has escaped the circus' he though hysterically. 'He's in my car. Which has been through an action movie car chase and shot full of holes, courtesy of said clown. Please come and collect.'

"Hey kid, are you ok?!" the aforementioned clown asked frantically. "Are you hurt? Do you need me to call the ambulance?"

Tsuna couldn't help but shoot him a truly withering look. "I'm fine. No thanks to you. And I'm not a kid, I'm 22 for fuck’s sake."

He could see why the guy would think otherwise though. Tsuna looked positively baby-faced compared to the whole multiple facial piercings, bright purple spikey hair, make-up, motorcycle suit and weird (facepaint? tattoo?) teardrop thing the other had going on.

"Oh," said the driver, clearly surprised. Then he puffed up slightly. "I'm 26. The name's Skull. Also known as the Immortal Stuntman, Hated by Death Itself."

"Delighted," Tsuna replied, sarcasm dripping from the word. "Now about my car-"

The rear windshield was taken out entirely by a spray of bullets that had both the occupants ducking and yelling in surprise.

"Let's discuss that later!" Skull shouted as he floored the accelerator.

And Tsuna once again found himself an unwilling participant in a high-speed, high-stakes car chase.

"Get onto the seats and buckle up!" Skull ordered as they left the town behind and raced along narrower and narrower mountain roads.

Swearing like a sailor, Tsuna did as he was told, flinching as bullets pinged off the rock face, and clinging onto the seats for dear life. Then smothered a fearful yell when the sound of a vehicle crashing through the guardrail came from behind them.

Skull shot Tsuna a fierce grin through the rearview mirror, more teeth than smile. "Hang in there kid, we're almost at the finish line."

Taking another turn at break-neck speed, Skull twisted around with a pistol in hand and shot twice out of the back, then resumed driving. All within a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment.

The front tires of the final car chasing them exploded and the vehicle fish-tailed wildly, smashing into the side of the mountain with a sickening crunch before rolling off the side of the cliff.

The stuntman whooped loudly as they continued speeding down the road. “And we’re home-free!”

“Great,” Tsuna whimpered. “Can I have my car back now?”

[nathank77]

5/25/24

5:12 a.m

My eyes are always so strained at the end of the night... I either need to stop wearing glasses or inquire about getting lenses replaced or new glasses in my script..

If I give them my Arons I don't have anything that won't strain my eyes all day to wear. Tbh I didn't try my studios since getting theses but I mean my eyes are very adjusted to theses. Idk what to do.

Money issues are real atm and 300$ glasses and no fucking back pay make it impossible. The gym will cost me 60$ and give me something to do... the oil change is needed. Same with a car wash... same with the cbd...

Eventually imma need new clothes I got a little time with that but it's disappointing.. everything is like a garbage bag when you lose 23 pounds...

Glasses are so important but how much can my eyes accommodate if I stop wearing them??? I mean they are so fucking expensive. I can buy my monthly order of cbd, and all this other stuff except clothes and barely be close to 300$...

300$ for one thing is ridiculous and if I break them I'm fucked. I hate being poor.

I could wait on the gym membership but I'm only up 60$.... and then 10$, a month.... that's not what glasses cost and I can't give up the cbd right now I got to ride it out. I'm actually watching things I like like Dexter and ink master. Sure it's high dialogue but I don't want to go to bed right now when normally I can't wait for bedtime. I want to watch more TV!

That's the thing. Idk what to do about glasses. I really don't but I can't afford them even if I put off other things... most of it I can't..

[sideblogformindtrash]

SUMMER OF WHUMP- DAY 26 - ASPHYXIATION

Pastel has been having it too easy lately

CW: choking, breath play, no con touching (non sexual), creepy whumper, intimate whumper,, blood, pet whump, dehumanization, degradation, low self esteem

...He was taken to the edge, his vision going black, head lolling to the side as he slid into unconsciousness. He thought he would go out, left to hang on for a moment... And then IF let the golden string loose, just for a second, enough for him to get a good breath, before pulling it tight around his throat again.

He heard a disappointed sigh, but he was already drifting off again. Another small amount of air was allowed to him, Master swinging slowly on the chair, blinking red lights of the camera.

"...Come on Pastel, you have to do better than this"

Pastel tried to nod, making the string dig further into his skin, pressing at his Adam’s apple. Fuck. He was trying, he was trying hard. It was just… a stupid game in the computer, that he should be able to solve easily, but he couldn’t think at all. Not when a string was around his neck, cutting off all the air, and Master was so close Pastel could feel his breath on his ear. But he had to.

Everytime he got one right, he would get ten seconds to breathe, then go to the next level. It was easy enough at first, but naturally, the levels got harder as he completed them, and it took his longer and longer before the small break. Ten seconds weren’t enough, and he was taken to the brink of unconsciousness, vision got blurry, his lungs hurt and his head went dull, with a pounding ache just above his eyes. It was impossible to focus on the bright screen and let alone think.

“...I thought you said you weren’t ‘a dumb pet’, Pastel” Master chuckled “But it does seem like it now, doesn’t it, dear? It’s a game for children. It should be easy”

...He wished he could fight back. Children didn’t solve that puzzle with someone choking them half to death.

Of course, Master wasn’t going to kill him, he knew it. It wasn’t about murder, it was about showing the sheer power Master had over him, the power to control even his most basic life functions. It was about making sure Pastel knew he was only alive because Master allowed. And more than anything, it was about putting a show for the camera.

But knowing this didn’t help. His body was in survival mode, and there was no way to rationalize against that, even if the panic only made things worse, as he hyperventilated and his heart raced, making poor use of the already limited air.

All he could do was try to ignore it and try to solve the puzzle, even if at this point, he was just randomly clicking at the screen and praying it would make him stumble on the solution. He still had one level skip, but… He was only halfway through. He couldn’t read, but he could count, and he was at level 35 out of 60.

...Or was it? His vision started to fade again, his body falling against the string… And they went limp again, just for another second, just enough for him to take a breath, then they dug on his already rashed skin.

“Pastel, if you can’t do it anymore, we will skip to punishment, dear” Master hums in his ear. He hates how close he is, how satisfied he sounds. He can’t even whimper a response, just keeps… trying to move, blindly clicking at the screen...

He realizes is pointless, nodding to Master. He wonders what the punishment will be. He knew he would lose, anyway. He always loses the games, they are made so that he will. Or maybe he is really too stupid to win. But not playing… that is always worse.

Master makes a sound of disappointment. Pastel knows is fake. He is actually very satisfied to see the pet fail, defeated by one of his cruel traps. As if there is any glory on winning a cheated game.

Nonetheless, he lets the string fall over Pastel’s chest, and finally he breathes, blood rushing back to his head too fast. It hurts, and he closes his eyes and falls to the side, the chair rolling away, but Master catched him in time, pulling him into his lap.

...Pastel wants to scream. He doesn’t want to be touched, doesn’t want that man so close, or those fingers caressing his hair. It’s all an act, too.

“Poor pet. See? If only you didn't pretend to be as smart as a real person, I wouldn't need to teach you…" ...a tainted lesson. Pastel knew he could have solved the puzzle if he was… allowed to breathe. It was pointless to discuss. But maybe Master was right. If Pastel was smart… he would just have shut up, and never defied him, and would have spared himself this pain "...Sadly now you need punishment. We will see what the audience voted for on a bit"

Pastel tried to whimper a response, but his voice was gone. He moved his fingers slowly, every muscle tense, just waiting for the video to end so he could pull away from the man’s lap.

"Oh you poor thing. I'll make you some soothing tea later"

Pastel nodded. That was a lie, too. This was a sanitized video, not a basement one, so master had to try and appear like... like he gave a fuck. Like he was anything other than a sadist. Like there was a point to this lesson other than to hurt and humiliate Pastel.

Maybe there was. He wouldn't know. He was just a dumb pet, after all.

taglist:  @summer-of-whump @pinkraindropsfell

[patrckbrewer]

okay i’m putting this under a read more because it deals with weight loss and body image issues and surgical procedures and i don’t want anyone who could be harmed by those things to be hurt

i have very large breasts (currently sitting at 34J) and i am relatively short (5’3”). i have had extreme body image issues from the time that i was 11 and woke up one morning with c cups (this is not an exaggeration). from that moment, i went from a little girl to someone that grown men (including my gym teacher) felt it was okay to ogle.

so i hid my body. i wore shirts that were two sizes too big. i wore sweatshirts in the dead of summer. i didn’t wear anything with a low neck. anything to pretend that i didn’t have large breasts, to save myself from the stares and the comments about how i “should put those things away”

i was a senior in high school when the pain started. my back and shoulders and neck ached and i couldn’t stand up straight. i was starting to get rashes and sores. i was developing (now permanent) grooves in my shoulders and under bust from my bras. so i researched how to go about getting a breast reduction.

i went to my doctor with all the research i had done, feeling confident. well, the doctor looked at me (18, 5’3”, 135lbs, literally being crushed under the weight of my chest) and said these exact words: “no that’s not your problem. your problem is that you’re obese. you just need to lose weight” and he sent me to a dietician who basically told me my only option was to starve myself.

so i gave up. my breasts continued to grow (which wasn’t helped by the fact that when i was 22 i got put in zoloft which made me gain 60 pounds in three months) and all of my issues worsened. last year, i got new symptoms: i cannot sit with my back unsupported and if i lay down on my back without a bra on i stop breathing.

so i called my insurance and found out what i needed to do. i found a surgeon and made an appointment for a consultation (which i was late for because of traffic meaning i had to reschedule all of which happened on my birthday so. fun times. i cried in a room full of strangers). but i got a new appointment and when i went the only thought i had was: “i’m too fat”

the first time i was 18 and 135 pounds. now i was 28 and 217 pounds. so of course they weren’t going to let me have the surgery.

unfortunately i was right (cue more crying) in a way. the surgeon agreed that i needed the surgery and that my breasts were mostly tissue meaning weight loss would do nothing to make them smaller. but because of my weight i was at a higher risk for wounds and infections.

so she gave me a goal - 190lbs - and a follow up appointment in 6 months. the appointment can be changed so it’s not a hard deadline. but i’m doing it. i’m losing the weight i need and just a few days ago (a month and change after my appointment) i hit the 10lbs lost mark. my 2x and XL shirts that used to be tight are now way too big and my stomach is noticeably smaller.

anyway, this is a long winded way to say that i cannot wait to get this surgery and not only be able to function as a regular person, but also be comfortable in my own skin in a way i haven’t been in almost 20 years. i’m going to wear cute clothes and i’m going to be able to run with my niece and nephews and i’m going to be able to sleep without thinking i’m going to stop breathing.

fuck. i’m so excited.

[volleyball-dontknowher]

Hey! Can i request an NSFW Alphabet w/ Coach Ukai? I just started following your blog, and man i am hooked. You truly are an exceptional writer 💖 do keep up the good work! Gambatte~

I'm so glad you like my writing 🥰🥰

Thank you for the request!!! It was fun because damn Ukai is hot

Words: 2.1k

Requests are open 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He makes sure that you are comfortable(and completely satisfied, if not he’ll be back at it ready for another round), he grabs you one of his shirts (that smells like him and that he doesn’t mind not getting back), and gives you a heartfelt kiss and becomes a total softie. He loves you a lot and just likes to cherish you and just kiss every part of you. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his chest, he loves how perfectly you fit on top of it and end up falling asleep there, how buff he still is gives him a good ego boost. He also adores how he can hover over you and completely cover your entire body with his, and when you are riding him you can put you hands on his chest as support and it completely works. 

On you he loves your collar bones, he loves how they poke out just a little, he likes to nip at them and leave little hickeys on them because it is easy to cover up for the most part but if your shirt moves just a little bit then everyone is going to know. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He has a total breeding kink and would love to cum inside of you and just sit with him inside you for an extra minute or two just to keep it all in and if some leaks out he is going to lazily finger it back inside of you because he just thinks it’s so fucking hot knowing that you are filled with his cum, sometimes he’s going to cum inside of you then have you get back dressed and walk around with his cum still in you. He also cannot help but let out the deepest loudest moan you’ve ever heard when you swallow, he loves knowing that you swallowed for him and then you sucked him dry and then cleaned the rest off, do that and he is going to do whatever you ask, he is totally whipped 

When he eats you out he is going to lick every last drop of your cum because he wound’t waste any of it, to him it is like fucking gold and he enjoys it every time. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He would absolutely be down for a threesome and would love to see you choking on another man’s cock while he pounds into you 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The man is a sex god, he knows exactly what he is doing and how to make you a screaming moaning mess below him, he is talented with his hands, mouth and dick and he uses all three to completely wreck you. He knows what a woman likes and is going to give it to you,

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He is going to be willing to try almost every position but to him nothing beats you face down ass up, he loves pounding into you from behind and hearing you try and muffle your moans into a pillow. He also loves any position where he can clearly see your face and watch your face change as he destroys you. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He is completely serious, he wants to make you cum as many times as he can and make you feel as good as possible, he is not going to crack jokes because he’s not confident that anything he says is ever funny and he wouldn’t ever want to ruin the mood. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpet is brown like his natural hair and is going to be well groomed like his hair, he likes to keep it a little bit longer because it makes him feel like a man but also likes to think about you giving him a blowjob and keeps it short enough that you can deepthroat him and not worry about his hair. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

In the moment he is a total dom and is focused on making sure that both of you are as horny as possible and are completely into it. He will be talking dirty and even be a little degrading calling you a whore and his little slut, but afterwards he is going to be all sweet nothing’s and little kisses. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Now that he has you he doesn't jack off as often but when he does he is typically away with the team and in the shower (where none of the boys could ever find him) and he is going to be thinking of you and going fast and hard imagining you under him or even that his hand was yours. He is going to take a while to cum because it is not the same as having you there and sometimes he is going to send you videos or call you so you can help him out. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He has a total daddy kink, a praise kink, he loves edging and overstimulation (on you), as well as lingerie and roleplay. He is a kinky mother fucker and will be turned on by almost everything you do. He is a total dom and is going to be all over you telling you how “you look so fucking hot” under him and that you “were made for his cock” he is the king of dirty talk and is going to be a nasty motherfucker 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He loves doing it anywhere, he loves his bedroom, the shower, his car, the shop literally anywhere he can bone you he is going to, if he had to choose probably the shower because it’s super easy clean up. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He gets turned on by every single thing you do. He loves when you smile for him, when you dress nicely, when you compliment him literally anything. He is going to also be super turned on when he gets jealous, he likes to put you in your place. If you lay in bed and moan his name he is going to lose it then and there, if you lean in and whisper it in his ear he is going to stop what he’s doing and make sure that is the only thing you can remember. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would not roleplay a teacher/high school student with you he gets weirded out and cannot do it, but if you pretend he’s a college professor and call him that he is totally down. He also will not let you leave marks that the boys could see, he is madly in love with you but he also wants to be a good role model and doesn’t want to hear their shit. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He would rather receive if he’s being honest, something about seeing you on your knees in front of him is better than every fantasy he could ever think of, he is going to be the type to let you have control at first then end up thrusting into your mouth while moaning all of the dirty things he is going to do to you when you are done.

THis doesn’t mean that he is not for eating you out though, he fucking loves it with his whole heart but he likes to save it for special occasions and eat you out until you are screaming and shaking beneath him. He is going to keep going until you have cum at least three times for him. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can be both. He likes it fast and rough when he is in a dominant mood and just wants you to submit to him so he can please you both. It is rare for him to be slow and sensual but after a long day or an exciting win he is going to take his time pleasing you and showing you how valuable you are to him. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes. All the damn time he is going to push your panties aside and have his way with you all the time, you look at him the right way and bam you’re getting dick. He also loves them before he goes to practice because it helps him not lose his cool with the boys. He doesn’t like to wait for sex so he is going to take you then and there and then again when you both get home 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He would take you anywhere if he was eh 60% sure you wouldn’t get caught, on his store counter, in the teachers restroom at the high school, in the back seat of his car, yessir. He is willing to try almost everything if you are, he is going to see things online and fall in love with the idea and try it with you, half of the time it is awful and you are both over it but the other half it is sexy and intimate. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)’

The man has a lot of experience and is going to have the stamina to show for it, he typically likes to go two rounds and can last forever. He never skips on foreplay for you so you end up cuming more than he does but when he does he is going to need a few minutes to get hard again and is going to spend that time pampering you and making you feel good. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

On you he is going to use any and everything, the man will use a vibrator on you and tie you to the bed to watch you squirm and moan and without warning is going to thrust into you. Handcuffs, blindfolds and restraints can be used on either of you. He will not let you use a dildo, the only thing going in you should be him. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He is a huge tease, if he knows that you are horny he is going to do a lot of little things to keep you wanting him, he likes to leave lots of little touches or quick neck kisses to show you that he wants it too but isn’t going to give it to you. He is also going to be a huge tease in the bedroom, he likes to trace his hands up and down your thighs and get them really close to you but waits to actually touch you until you beg for him, the same goes with his mouth and his dick, if you want it you better be begging for it. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He isn’t as loud as you are but he is definitely the type to let out little moans and groans between praises. He likes for you to be able to hear how you make him feel too. He is going to get louder as the night goes on and will unapologetically moan and curse for every thrust when he gets close. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He once tried to see if he could bleach his pubes like he does his hair after he was single for a long time and kinda loved the look and does it occasionally. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Big man big dick, like an 8.5 with a thick base and he knows how to use it 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Whenever you want it do it he will totally be down, he can do it all the time, would at least like for two to three times a week but would absolutely love to do it every single night with you. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't fall asleep unless you are asleep right next to him or on top of him. He likes to lay there and just watch you sleep and just loves the calm and peaceful moments between the two of you, but when he falls asleep he is completely out and will end up lightly snoring. 

[well-shit-im-a-morosexual-now]

“Sugar Baby” (ask meme).

Alternate meeting fic!

Lucifer & Mammon are in the human realm for something or another, whatever business would require Lucifer to drag Mammon along and have them stay a few days. On the first day Mammon sees something shiny that catches his attention, it's some small trinket that they have right at the checkout counter of shops, it's basically worthless but fuck if he doesn't want it and he's begging Lucifer using puppy dog eyes that he knows for a fact will work if he just gets Lucifer to look directly at him. Lucifer refuses and they're causing a scene and holding up the line. When a human slaps down the thing Mammon wants on the counter and pays for it and then pushes it towards him. The man is absolutely flabbergasted. Just so much confusion. He's stuttering, flushing, trying to say he doesn't need the charity of some random human while also clutching on to the item with a death grip. The human barely blinks and has already started loading their things on to the counter and then Lucifer is dragging Mammon out while still scolding him.

The next day he sneaks out, he doesn't have much money because he'd just finished paying the witches but now that he was in the human world he might as well go visit the kid even if that means the witches will start making their demands earlier. No way he's gonna turn up empty handed though, Mammon needs ta spoil his brat. So he's haggling with the cashier trying to reduce the price of a soft toy (it's a crow plushie - look he didn't mean to pick it up it's just that it looked cute and the kid liked the dumb bird and it's not because of any connection to him okay) when someone drops the remaining cash on the counter and Mammon's freaking out because that's definitely the same human as last time and are they following him??? Are they a witch???? Do they want something???? Are they evil????? And the human's just like I work here????? And you looked like you really wanted it? And it's not that much money??? And Mammon just kinda walks away in a daze clutching the toy to his chest and face bright red. The human stares after him because wtf??? They worked retail part time, they had no money to spare on some random guy just cause he was cute but MC's dumb and smitten so of course they run after him and ask if they can treat him to a coffee after their shift and Mammon who's only ever fucked around and never in his thousands of years gone on an actual date where someone paid for him is so fucking confused because had this human figured out he's a demon? Is this them making a tribute? Do they want to make a pact? But free stuff is free stuff! So he agrees and when they meet up later the human buys him coffee and when he eyes some spicy looking treat in the display case they buy it for him without a word. And Mammon is giddy because holy shit what is happening!? And he's flustered because holy shit what is happening!? And his stomach feels weird and his face is hot and his heart is pounding. And he blurts out 'Do you wanna fuck?' loud enough that people turn to look at them. And the human is confused and stuttering and red faced. And thinking they don't understand he asks them what they want in return for everything they've bought him and then they're cackling and saying they just thought he was cute and obviously he's protesting and saying he's not cute and after that they both end up relaxing and actually having a fun time. Lucifer looks ready to kill him when he gets back.

On the third day he loses Lucifer again and goes to give the toy, later he hangs around the places he last saw the human. Not because he's hoping they'll run into him or anything! They do however run into him and they seem happy to see him and he doesn't think anyone has ever been happy to see him before except maybe the pipsqueak and his stomach feels funny again and his face feels hot and his heart is pounding and the human is telling him about a carnival that's in town and asking him to come with them. Obviously he agrees and they end up paying for games and rides and buying any food his eyes linger on for just a second too long. When he goes back to the room they're staying in Lucifer is there, pissed beyond belief and knowing exactly what's going on (because no matter what world they are in Lucifer still has eyes and ears in every corner). He yells and Mammon actually yells back for once and it's not just the stuff that the human got him it's that the human treats him kindly and with respect and makes him laugh and suddenly he's gushing about them and Lucifer's looking at him with something close to horror. And then Lucifer's mask is cracking and he's talking about what happened the last time one of them fell for a human and "I nearly lost my mind along with Lilith. Losing her, being unable to save her, was the single most painful thing to ever happen. Mammon. I can't go through that again. I can't lose you too. I don't know what I'll do if I lose you. How I'll survive it. Not a human, Mammon. Anything but a human. You've only known them for a few days, leave them. Please."

So Mammon does, they cut their visit short. Though the human doesn't run into Mammon again they do keep coming into money, more than enough to cover everything they bought him. They find loose change in their pockets, they get a bonus at work, they find some cash tucked into their couch cushions, they impulsively buy a lottery and actually win a decent amount.

Mammon who despite listening to Lucifer in the beginning eventually let's his greed (for the human more than the things they bought him) over take him and he makes any excuse to sneak out to the human world (what's the worst that could happen), each time he meets them and each time they buy him something different. It's never anything outrageously expensive and usually that's what he would value but he finds himself hoarding and treasuring every little thing they give him. Lucifer finds out eventually and is beyond pissed and actually locks Mammon up to prevent him from going to see the human (because there was no one in this world to tell him that locking your brothers up when they piss you off is not okay) but when he eventually releases Mammon he's off like a shot back to the human world, back to his human and to the little things they had seen and bought because they thought he would like them, while he was away. And Lucifer stops getting in the way, actually goes so far as to sigh and huff and grumble and give Mammon permission to access the human world only if it means he'll go straight to the human and not cause any trouble on the way.

Mammon's spends a good amount of time with the human and even his brothers slowly, one by one trickle in to the human world to see what's so special about this particular human. And though this pisses Mammon off a part of him is glad that they seem to be willing to accept his human and even more pleased that the human seems to have no inclination to shower them with gifts for seemingly no reason.

At some point Mammon realises he's in love with the human, deeply so, and he's pretty sure the human actually loves him back, and that's a crazy thought isn't it. Eventually of course Mammon decided he loves the human too much to keep lying to them and he needs to tell them what he actually is. So he spends the day pampering them. After, he sits them down and after a lot of stuttering, yelling to himself, dragging his hands through his hair while they sit patiently next on their couch, he slumps down next to them and looking at the floor says, "I'm a demon." When he doesn't get a reply he looks up at them. Their face is blank and they blink slowly. "Mammon," they say gently, "we've been together for 217 years."

The reason Lucifer stopped trying to get in the way is because after locking Mammon away for close to 60 years and then letting him leave so that he'd either see his human aged or dead, only for Mammon to come back as chirpy as ever with more of his little trinkets Lucifer realised oh wait maybe the human isn't actually a human afterall and this should be okay then right

[rnistergoodnite]

TMI health nonsense

So, in April or something last year I got a blood clot. Which wasn’t great, especially since there were like next to no offices open to meet with a doctor in person due to Covid. (And it caused a lot of drama because the one branch of a particular practice that was open didn’t accept my insurance and the one that did was closed indefinitely -- not important, other than to say the office that did take my insurance didn’t even check the records when I went there and tried to shame me for not going forward with a surgery THAT DAY that wasn’t even presented to me as an option up to that point) Anyway, bloodclots run in my family so it was kind of a big deal to try to get it taken care of. 

At this time I was also taking medication for PCOS, which is a hormonal imbalance that causes all kinds of totally awesome problems due to excessive testosterone. Among them, weight gain and insulin resistance that can lead to diabetes and heart problems and all kinds of * other * totally fun things. So, I was taking birth control pills to, essentially, give me a period so I didn’t develop cancer as well as to help counteract things like hirsutism so I can be (visibly) socially acceptable ~! I was also prescribed metformin to help with the cool insulin side effects. Anyway, I was warned the birth control could lead to clotting so it had to be closely monitored because of my family history.

Long story short I stopped taking it when I got the blood clot. And the metformin. And the antidepressants. Because it was impossible to go in to see a doctor, the birth control scared the fuck out of me, and the metformin from my new pharmacy was causing all kinds of internal distress to the point where I didn’t want to eat ever and felt like death at every single moment. And, what the fuck, the happy pills weren’t doing shit for me anyway. 

Anyway, I haven’t felt good for a few months, which usually means something is going very wrong because I start to get menopause symptoms, essentially - really bad hot flashes to the point where I feel like I am going to faint (this is actually how I got diagnosed in the first place except back then I was actually fainting -- not to mention 60+ pounds of weight gain for absolutely no fucking reason), fatigue, etc. I also work in a store that refuses to let the temperature go below 80 degrees and have to wear a mask, and, you know, I have stupid bangs that cover my eyes. And I am ~*fat*~. Which is all good and fine except it is so fucking hot I feel like I am going to collapse. So I decide to be an adult and go to the doctor. A new doctor since mine left the practice.

After not taking any medication since early 2020. 

Get some blood work, I’m prediabetic - not surprising, since again, I am insulin resistant and haven’t been on medication for over a year. Slightly high cholesterol. . also not surprising since . . I haven’t been taking medication for over a year. . . etc etc. Have also gained 10 pounds since I --- well, you know.

Honestly I’m pretty happy with myself because this is similar to my last bloodwork, 2019, when I was taking medicine inconsistently. 

Then the doctor makes some comment about my weight. Which sucks, but I expected it. She was nice about it. Told me to see a nutritionist. Asked if I snored. Everything that can be explained by, “you are fat” -- which,  I am - but I am also many other things. Again, this is a new doctor - my first time seeing her.

Get told to try some exercising before following it up with, “Maybe try swimming because this might be hard for you”, or,  asking about pain medicine I was taking (in 2018!)  because of a genetic knee cartilage issue and kind of insinuating it was due to size --- She wasn’t rude about it, I don’t want to give the wrong impression but I also don’t feel like she was listening to me. The weight is a symptom of a condition. It is not the condition itself. More to the point -- like I said, I have excessive testosterone. I am kind of stocky (?) consequently. I am 220 pounds in this photo, which classified me as “obese”. Like???

So I am asking - Walking counts as exercise, right? I spend 9-15 hours a day on my feet and do anywhere from 5 to 15 miles of walking per day. All she has to say is, “Sure -”  . . I know working isn’t extra exercise, and I am not saying I don’t need to try -- I do, I am not well and this syndrome can spring upwards of 100+ pounds on a person if they don’t keep it in check. I get what she was saying, I do, but, like, on the other hand - my blown out Achilles is due to a ladder incident, not because I’m fat, alright? 

All in all, not a terrible experience, just wish she’d have listened a bit more to me and didn’t make me feel dumb for stopping the Cymbalta, which “isn’t going to cause clotting, you know that, right?”

THEN I GET THE FOLLOW UP REPORT which just comes down to “patient admits to gaining weight and needs to lose 5-10% of body weight by next visit, declined sleep study due to snoring, declined bariatric help, claims to understand but . . .” 

Like I am kind of stunned? I don’t even know what to think. I don’t even know if she listened to a third of what I said or read my history. “Patient admits to gaining ten pounds”, yeah, no shit, a normal person doesn’t gain ten pounds in a month for no reason.

. . Oh, and she told me to take the antidepressants again but didn’t give me a prescription and the pharmacy won’t take something from 2019. Yay. (I do have to start taking the metformin again but at half the dose and it still makes me gag, hurrah)

--- I don’t know, I’m just fucking tired. Like, yeah, lecture away about making poor food choices because who doesn’t like french fries and fried chicken  -- and I take responsibility for that -- but someone shouldn’t be shamed for seeking out help for a larger problem. 

Of course I’m not happy with myself right now. Of course I understand this can lead to problems down the road. But if this purely came down to poor eating choices, I wouldn’t have pants in storage that range 12 sizes because my choices are just 30% of the problem. I need help. And now I’m not sure I want to seek it out. 

PS- No solution to the birth control causes clotting problem, so fuck me I guess, hormonal imbalances are cool to live with but hey least we can fix the insulin problem -- assuming I ever feel like eating again because right now I feel sick to my stomach and it’s only been one day.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

NSFW ALPHABET

MICHAEL “RIZ” ARIZA

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy, I had to do it. Gif credits to: @fromthesixteenthfloor

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Depends of the time. Usually, he helps you to clean all the mess you’ve made, having a shower together after that. Even if he’s tired, he likes to cuddle with you on bed and know how was your day, till he falls asleep between your arms and listening your soft voice.

If you do it out of home, like in a dorm of the clubhouse or at Vicki’s place, he helps you to clean yourself, before going to have two beers and bring them to the room, so he can share them with you. Then, you usually make a bet of which Mayans you’ve traumatized because of your loud moans, screaming out his name.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Of him, his chest. He actually loves his chest ‘cause it’s at the height of your face and you’re constantly kissing it and rubbing your cheeks on it, without caring about where you are, nor who is looking at you. He loves all those unexpected and sweet kisses you give him.

His favourite part of you it’s your hair. He loves the smell of it, how smooth it is, and also because he can grab it between his fingers when you’re fucking. Riz also has a rule for it. You can’t cut it more than his fist can be tangled on it. (He cried that time you cut it over your shoulders, for almost one week).

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

Inside. Always inside you. He’s obsessed with the warm feeling of your legs around his waist, pounding you till he cums. The view of it, getting spilling out between your thighs is his favourite thing in the world.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Riz loves watching you kicking the shit out of Vicki’s girls when they try something with him, putting them on their place as the savage and jealous Old Lady you are, whenever someone looks at him for more than five seconds. You trust him blindly, but not them. Then, he likes to tease you about it making you lose your mind, till you ride him to make sure he’s satisfied with you. Even if you well know he is.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He knows what to do in every moment. Riz has the experience of his years, but seems like he continues learning, because he has never had to worry about the pleasure of a girl, until he met you.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Doggy style. He’s less romantic that people thinks. He likes to bite your neck, your nape and your shoulders, touring your back with his tongue and filling every inch of your skin with bruises. But when you’re about to cum, he needs to be on top of you face-to-face, looking how you bite your lips keeping your gaze on his.

Plus, he also likes when you ride him, dragging your nails on his chest, while your hips are dancing over his hard cock.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He’s not a clown, he’s the whole circus. He likes to make some jokes about the looks on your face, making you laugh and interrupting the ride with a “good god, mi amor, I can’t focus please turn around”.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He doesn’t have much time for things like that and he also don’t care at all. But he usually keeps it a little short just for comfort, even if he has asked you thousand times how you like it like “hey, baby, it’s too long or it’s too short”. You can’t help but fuck him every time he does it, starting to think that he does it on purpose.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect��)

Depends of the moment. He usually goes hard on it, filling you with bites and some slaps on your ass, ‘cause Riz says he’s like a hungry wolf and you’re his favourite piece of meat. Does it count as romantic? No? Well, he is after being one or two weeks out of home. He becomes the most romantic man on earth, wanting to let you know how much he loves you and how much he missed you, covering every inch of your skin with lovely kisses as he makes you love.

J = Jack/Jill Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s not comfortable jacking himself off. He used to, but not now. He likes your body under his, your lips taking away his breath and every touch that gives him pleasant chills. But if he feels needy when he’s out of Santo Padre, he fucks off the crew to facetime with you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Riz favourite thing is watching you walking in slow-motion, in front of everyone and playing the innocent till you lean to his ear, just to beg him to fuck you. Probably you’re gonna have to stop doing it when he passes his 60s, or you’re gonna provoke him a heart-attack. He’s a God’s blessing. So keep safe your man, lady, please.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Wherever. He doesn’t care. Riz is always ready to please you at bed, in a bathroom, in your car… Even on top of his bike.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He doesn't need motivation. Is he breathing? Then he’s ready for you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would never do anything that could hurt you, bother you or make you feel angry. Under any concept. He wants to make you feel loved and desired at all cost, so that’s not an option.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Let’s be realistic, Riz goes crazy every time you make his hard cock disappear between your warm and wet lips, pressing his skin with your tongue till his hand pushes it to your throat. But he’s most the kind who prefers to eat you out. He likes how you taste, the way you have of squirm under his hands, begging for more and more. Thursday is your favourite day of the week, ‘cause he usually wakes you up with his lips sucking gently your clit. It’s a blessing.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s mostly rough. He has too much desire contained because of you, that he can’t help but pounding you hard with his fingers tangled on your hair, pulling it back to him. Except when he’s back home from a travel, then Riz takes his time enjoying every part of your body. Especially marking your neck with a bruise collar.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Yes, he loves it. He’s always desperate to feel you, no matter if it’s a pre-game or playing the whole match. He’s on it whenever you want it.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s a little classic, and that’s not a weakness. But if you want to experiment with a position, he would do whatever to please you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Usually Riz is in the good mood to do it two times per day. One fast, rough, full of pleasure at any moment of the day. And one by night kinda slow, taking his time to enjoy every moan and every gasp you do, on your bed.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No. Absolutely not. He’s the kind who thinks he’s good enough to please you with his fingers, his tongue ad his cock. Use toys is like setting on fire his ego, making him feel insecure.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A lot. Like a lot. When you take him away, feeling angry because one of Vicki’s girl bothered you talking about him, he loves to tease you. So you ride him rough.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Bishop told you once he used to be so fucking loud, till he met you. That night, you asked him at home, thinking that maybe you didn’t please him as other women did. Then he said that every sound he makes, owns you. That’s why he likes to whisper it on your ears or against your lips.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

When he makes you feel angry about anything, that night Riz prepares you dinner and does with you a Disney marathon drinking Möet. You’re like a child with refined tastes.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Did you see him? He’s a fucking heaven’s gift. I don't need any more words, ladyship.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Again. Is he breathing? He’s in. Riz is your fan number one.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He usually falls asleep first, once he’s sure that you’re okay and you don’t need anything else. You hold him between your arms, as he sinks his face on your neck letting himself go listening your voice or your breath.