#saltine challenge

[apatheticlexicographer]

people will start discourse over anything. anything. if u see something magnitudinally petty and wonder if people are really capable of arguing over it, the answer is always yes. there r bitches on the talk page of the buttered cat paradox wikipedia article getting heated over whether toast can be referred to as inanimate without an adequate citation; no hair is too fine to split

[woodywood101blog]

Experimental (Part 3)

12 weeks

It was a Saturday morning, and Yazan and Randy had the day off, so they decided to go for a walk around the nature reserve. Yazan was already feeling dreadful that morning, and had similarly felt off for the past couple of mornings.

However, today marked a new challenge for Yazan: his shirt was stretching quite tightly across his body. He kept his workout routine the same. If anything, he was staying in the gym for longer and his diet was staying pretty consistent, so he was confused with the fact his chest continued to swell, and that his abs were starting to bulge outwards, almost making his belly look like a roided-out turtle shell. Regardless, he did what he could to get the shirt to fit and got out to meet Randy.

About halfway through their walk, Yazan had an overwhelming feeling of nausea.

“Are you o-” Randy started asking, but not before Yazan turned towards the lake and vomited what was his breakfast. Randy was horrified - Yazan has an iron stomach. Yazan did an eating challenge during medical school where he ate 24 hot dogs in one sitting!

Once Yazan was done, he turned around and smiled awkwardly. “I think I have a bug of some sort? It’ll pass before work on Monday.”

“I hope it does! You need to fly to San Francisco for that presentation, remember?”

“Oh shit, that’s right! Completely forgot about that!” Yazan was mortified. He knew roughly what he was going to present on, but he was so focused on whatever illness he had that he hadn’t put thoughts to paper.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you over this weekend, don’t you?”

“Yeah…” Yazan sheepishly replied.

“Aren’t you glad that I have the hospital’s presentation templates on hand? I’ll forward it to you.” Randy was like that - always prepared for the worst case scenario.

“Thanks mate… Honestly, how have you not found the right girl yet?”

“Ah, I guess I just haven’t found the right one yet…” It was Randy’s turn to act sheepish.

Monday rolled around, after Yazan’s long weekend of writing and preparing for the presentation with the help of Randy. Yazan also struggled to find a suit that fit his bloated body. He eventually found a shirt from when he was bulking that didn’t look stretched.

Getting to San Francisco on an early morning flight was fine, aside from the turbulence which made his stomach turn, which was not good when he already felt off. He did realise that eating something simple, like saltine crackers, were enough to stave off the worst of the nausea.

His presentation went off without a problem, which meant Yazan had another day or so to go and explore San Francisco. He took the chance to go on a small walk towards the Golden Gate Bridge and look out towards the harbour. He felt exhausted, but eventually made it and looked around in awe. At the top, he asked a fellow walker to take a picture of him, and did his signature pose to send back to Randy.

However, he was a bit perplexed when he saw the photo.

Am I really that bloated, he thought. His chest was swollen, and he could see his nipples starting to poke out, and that’s without talking about the belly, which was already stretching his shirt in an awkward way. Yazan was embarrassed, and asked the person to take another picture where he was simply standing and facing towards the camera. It looked much better, and with a bit of photoshop, he could take the bloat out.

***

From what Mike could tell on Yazan’s Instagram profile, Yazan appeared quite normal. In other words, the pregnancy wasn’t viable, Mike thought. He was somewhat hoping the pregnancy would actually work, but of course it wouldn’t if he only had the hormones that one night in Sydney. His body couldn’t change that quickly to not just make Yazan hormonally shift, but be in a position to have an ‘egg’ inseminated by Mike.

However, on closer inspection, Mike did notice one thing from Yazan’s pictures: his bloated chest. Mike thought Yazan’s chest was proportional to the rest of his physique on that night, but he noticed in some of his more recent photos that his chest looked perkier than before. The last two pictures appeared to show his chest swelling, and his nipples were noticeably present. 

At best, I’ve given Yazan breasts. He can get breast reduction surgery and move on with his life in that case, Mike thought.

[morimementa]

A self indulgent whump post:

Ok, so there's some sort of illness sweeping the base. It's not overly dangerous but it will knock a grown man out for at least a week.

This becomes a problem because it leaves the 141 scrambling to keep everything together while people are dropping left and right.

And then one day Ghost comes to breakfast and realizes Soap isn't in the mess hall.

He finds him passed out in the hallway halfway to Ghost's quarters, wrapped in a sheet.

If it wasn't so nerve wracking, it'd be cute how Soap instinctively went to where he assumed Ghost would be when he started feeling bad.

Ghost informs Price and Price says that might be a problem, considering Medical is overflowing and Ghost is like, "Who said anything about Medical? I'm going to look after him."

Price is up to his ears in trouble at this point so he's like. "Sure. Why not. You've already got a bloody mask on."

Ghost ends up carrying Soap back to his room.

Soap is awake by this point but not really lucid so he is Very Confused.

He still lets Ghost sit him in his lap and give him water though.

As Ghost is tucking him into bed and preparing a compress and some aspirin Soap apologizes for getting sick.

Ghost jokes that he can buy him a round to lighten the tension, whereupon Soap pukes in the nearest trashcan.

They decide not to talk about food after that.

The fever gives Soap the strangest nightmares ever so Ghost makes sure to wake him up when the whimpering starts. Halfway through he realizes Soap sleeps better if he's being held.

(He is not at all glad that he can cuddle Soap, why do you ask?)

I'm pretty sure there aren't any baths on a military base, just showers, so imagine how awkward that is. Ghost tries the lukewarm shower trick to alleviate Soap's fever and a recruit walks in while he's holding Soap in his arms and standing under the spray, mask still on.

(The recruit leaves. He saw nothing, he doesn't know what you're talking about. )

Keeping Soap hydrated is a challenge because vomiting. Many Saltines later, he's able to keep more water down and Ghost finds himself thanking a God he doesn't believe in. He knew what he signed up for, but seeing Soap that miserable was agonizing. He was ready to break into medical to see about spare medicine.

Eventually Soap's fever drops to a manageable level, but the nightmares persist. He admits that he's been having them a lot lately, mostly about Hassan trying to drop him out of a window. Ghost is more than happy to keep the cuddling up because it also makes his nightmares more manageable.

Once Soap's recovered, they silently decide to sleep together more often.

(Just sleep.)

(For now, at least.)

Ghost manages to avoid getting sick and the moral is that cuddles solve everything and masks are vital when dealing with contagious diseases.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 17, Unanswered - Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, anxiety.

Word Count: 570

Previously On...: You met with the head of Galvin & Associate's, your PR firm, to make sure a statement went out refuting any relationship between you and Steve Rogers. Also, why the fuck isn't Bucky calling you back?!

A/N: SUPRISE THIRD DROP!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when I update, please enable notifications from my Blog page!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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You managed to keep down some saltine crackers and a bowl of chicken broth Sam had prepared for you for lunch, though it was difficult not to gag, what with all the sass he was giving you about the headlines. You were feeling a little less tired, now that you had some nourishment in your system, but you still found yourself lying in bed, listlessly checking your phone over and over again for a new message or call from Bucky that never came.

Lisa Galvin had been true to her word, at least; you began receiving Google Alerts linking to your statement. Of course, they weren’t getting as much traffic as the original articles had, but you were relieved to know that the truth of the matter was finally out there, and you could breathe easier for it.

You sent a link to your statement to Bucky, hoping that would entice him to answer you, but were only met with continued silence. You were becoming increasingly agitated by his lack of communication. Yes, you were worried about his safety, but as much as you were loath to admit it, Carthage was with him, and two super soldiers working together was a challenge even the more elite terrorist organizations would have difficulty taking on.

But then again, he was with Carthage. What if he had seen the headlines and believed them? What if he— no. You weren’t going to let yourself go down that path. He had been so dedicated over the last two months, working to prove he was worthy of your trust, cutting her out completely. He wouldn’t – couldn’t– betray you like that. He knew it would destroy you, destroy any chance the two of you had to make your relationship work. You had to trust him. That was the entire point of your separation. Rebuilding trust, and you had to believe in him.

You had to.

With a sigh, you put your phone back on its charger, battery already well depleted from all the web browsing and non-Bucky texting you’d done so far today. Maybe you would take a nap. While you were feeling a little better, you didn’t want to risk a repeat of last night, where you couldn’t even stand on your own without assistance, so you figured a little extra rest would do you some good. Besides, maybe you’d wake up and Bucky would have contacted you, and you could finally stop fretting over the entire thing.

Yes, a nap sounded excellent right now.

You woke up, a few hours later with a start. You’d had a nightmare. You couldn’t remember exactly what it was about, just that it had been about Bucky, and it left your heart aching. Rubbing your eyes and trying to shake the feeling of pain from your heart, you checked your phone again. Still nothing, but it was quickly approaching the designated time for him to call you– his “proof of life” communication that had become a standard, every day tradition when one of you was away. Surely, he’d contact you soon. So, you waited.

And waited. And waited. Then you waited some more.

Two and a half hours after the predetermined call time, you’d had enough. You could feel your stomach practically eating itself alive with anxiety, on top of the nausea you were already experiencing, and there was only one person who had the answers you were looking for.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[dragynkeep]

they could've just not made an oppression storyline based around animals & mainlined by white characters while co-opting black oppression for their storyline.

if they didn't want to commit to writing a racism storyline with all that encompasses, they didn't have to. no one forced them & trying to pretend like they've done anything good in it now, even in pretending that blake has a culture, is laughable at best. especially with their own racist pasts.

btw those "certain" people are probably poc & bme people fed up to the back teeth of stuff like this & people playing devil's advocate for writers who will never understand. even monty would've not gotten away with it considering he's also been criticized for some of his behaviours.

also there is no faunus culture in rwby that is distinguishable from human culture. blake saying that her culture makes her who she is, is hilariously appropriate because there’s nothing there. if the white writers have made up some form of faunus culture in their heads, it would be very nice if they could share it with the class.

[diagonal-queen]

What if with an Intelligent s/o who literally outsmarts Fyodor,Dazai(separately) and they Re smiling while The two are shocked😭

Drink water!!and I hope you are healthy mwa mwa

- Literally Anon

i have the iq of a saltine- these two would rip me to shreds lol

An S/O who outsmarts them

♡ pairing: Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Dazai Osamu x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How do Fyodor and Dazai react to a reader who outsmarts them? (I guess you guys are playing chess or something idk T-T)

♡ cw: None!

note: This is one of my oldest reqs and I just...never got around to it because I'll be honest I initially had NO idea how to proceed. But I would rather die than disappoint someone who made such a kind request and so I went on and WROTE IT ANYWAY. In your face, my stupid brain. I'm so sorry this took forever anon, I love you too ~mwah~, apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

Fyodor:

So...he is speechless for a moment (and maybe for the first time in his entire life), and you definitely notice this

He relaxes after a second and smiles back at you, congratulating you for your skill and intelligence (I really did base this around you guys playing chess I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted T-T)

Fyodor makes some statement on how he's rubbed off on you and while it's admirable to see you evolving, you have a long way to go before you reach his level.

When you eagerly accept such a challenge he's amused but he does find it pretty cute how determined you are to beat him. He doesn't really think you can do it again (at least not very soon) but will encourage you anyway

He's very flattered that you're so proud of yourself for outsmarting him because it reinforces that you look up to him and thus he maintains his dominance (he's got a superiority complex I think)

He doesn't know whether or not he should bring it up to Mykola because on one hand, he could basically flex his S/O and how smart you are, but on the other hand it would also kinda be admitting defeat and he doesn't wanna do that lmao

Lowkey though, his ego is a tiny bit hurt by this whole thing ngl. He likes being superior in specific ways like niche anime intellect lol

But nonetheless he takes it in good stride and looks forward to seeing your intelligence progress in the future.

Dazai:

Dazai just isn't used to being surprised. He's been genuinely surprised like maybe four times tops in the entire canon of BSD. Alas here he sits before you, defeated (dramatic much)

And even worse is that you're so happy about it. You're smiling, not necessarily in a smug way, but just...proud of yourself. Even you seem to know how much of a moment this is.

After his minute of shock is over, his mind immediately switches to 'oh my god, they're the one. my soulmate'

He's like...legitimately emotional about this? In his life where his friends love him but don't understand him, and his foes understand him but don't love him, he's overjoyed to have found someone who does both

Dazai eventually breaks out into a smile too because honestly? He's proud of you as well. He knows you're intelligent but he didn't know you were his brand of intelligent

From here on out he sometimes has a bit of playful competitiveness when it comes to battles of wits between you two but he's not serious about it and might even sometimes do that thing where he purposefully lets you win stuff lol

He also thinks it's really cute how proud of yourself you are for this because it emphasises how highly you see him too (awhh)

All in all, he takes it well! And now you have bragging rights >:)

okay just because i couldn't beat fyodor at chess doesn't mean i couldn't absolutely destroy his ass in mario kart

[beefrobeefcal]

Dave Made Me Believe feat. Dave York

Summary: Dave is kind of a jerkwad with an agenda. for my own Dave York Made Me Believe challenge.

FBI!Dave York x f!reader | Rating: 18+ MDNI | Word Count: 1,974

Content Warnings: dave york is a jerk and bad lover, aliens, back seat sex, unfulfilling sex, bad sex, male orgasm, no female orgasm, vertical defenestration, old ladies, allusions to missing cats

Author's Notes: i apologize for how dumb this is. thank you to me for being such a noob and getting this posted before midnight on halloween. also, I have only even see one episode of the x-files (the one with the tapeworm human hybrid - yeah that one) and the two movies.

Thank you to @noxturnalnymph for their eyes and support and love and @strang3lov3 for humoring me and my delusions. thanks be to @saradika-graphics for the dividers

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this in the early hours of the day after Halloween.

You were just supposed to be helping a government agent investigate the cat disappearances that were plaguing your neighbourhood. It was supposed to be simple and painless and like maybe a week’s worth of work tops.

But it wasn’t. 

Dave York had knocked on your door a week prior, looking unamused and vexed that he had been saddled with this task by the higher ups. He said he needed an ‘in with the locals’ to discuss this ‘epidemic’ while he rolled his eyes at you. He seemed like a jerk, but his badge compelled you to cooperate. It meant a week off work - paid - at least because he was able to flash his badge and official letterhead at your boss, and thusly, you were at his side while he went door to door, taking statements while he looked like he wanted to hang himself.

The first day, you couldn’t get anything out of him beyond his name and his absolutely horrendous sweet tooth. Every home you were invited into, you were offered coffee or tea, and in both of them, he would ladle sugar into the cup. Both coffee or tea became syrup and he actually drank it. You could do nothing but assume that his government job came with amazing benefits - specifically dental. 

The second day was much like the first except it rained. 

The third day, however, was different. It was raining again, but one of the old ladies that you stood back and watched Dave interview said something that gave you pause. She’d mentioned that she had let her cat, Jojo, out the back door because had been scratching and clawing at it, and even though he had been an indoor cat his whole life, the crazy way he’d been behaving made her feel like she had no choice but to let him out.

“... and as soon as I opened the door, there was this bright light and big, low noise that - “

“Thank you for your time.”, Dave interjected and closed his little leather bound notebook. He glanced at you as he stood up. 

“But the light and the-”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Roman. Please let my friend here know if little Jojo comes home.”

His forced smile and cold eyes stifled any further chance of the story coming from Mrs. Roman’s mouth and she nodded. You and Dave walked out of her house and back into the rain. 

As you stood under the awning of your front door with Dave, watching him scribble notes in his little book, you decided that if Dave was going to kill you or seize your house or force you into a small room with nothing but saltines and crab juice to eat, he would have done it by now. You cleared your throat.

“So why didn’t you want to hear Mrs. Roman’s st-”

“Mouth. Shut.”

You stared at him incredulously. This was ludacris; you had spent the last three days following him around, ensuring the neighbours trusted him enough that they didn’t give him any friction, and he wasn’t even willing to tell you what you were doing beyond asking old ladies about cats. You tried to push for more information, but you were met with a cold glare and a firm finger pointing directly at your face.

“No.”

Day four started like all the other days with Dave knocking at your door, you open it, and you are greeted with his sour puss. Normally, you would have followed after him wordlessly and begun your routine, but today, you just stood back in the open door.

Dave had already taken a few steps before he realized you weren’t following. He turned around and gave you a “Are you coming?” full body shrug and you crossed your arms in response. You knew how to talk without words, too. 

Dave huffed and stalked back towards you, and once there, he put his hands on his hips.

“What now?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. What now? How was that an appropriate response to you? When had you offered any resistance? You had gone along with everything he had thrown at you with no questions because of the badge he carried and you felt you were doing your civic duty by cooperating. But what now?

“Eat shit, pig.”

You flipped him off and slammed the door in his face. 

You didn’t see Dave the rest of the day but he did show up again the following morning, same as before with a knock and a scowl. This time though, he held out a paper coffee cup from the bistro down the block. You took the coffee and you both silently made your way to the house at the end of the cul de sac.

That house was a little weird. It never seemed to adhere to the HOA standards and looked more dilapidated each spring when winter subsided and you were always surprised to find that it was still standing. You had mentioned it once to one of your older neighbours a few years back and they said that Mrs. Anastasia von Beavertrout was a recluse and didn’t bother anyone so you and them shouldn’t bother her. On the rare occasion that you watched the house long enough, you did see movement and the occasional light, so you ignored it for the most part.

But now Dave was marching you right towards it.

In what could only be described as the let down of a lifetime, the one and only Mrs. Von Beavertrout was real and was a recluse, and that was about the most interesting thing about her. She had no information to offer Dave in his line of questioning, and was fairly pleasant, although the tea she offered you tasted odd and made your head feel light. Dave had declined the tea, despite the old woman’s crooked sweet smile and gentle pushing. Dave was not one who liked to be influenced to do anything, let alone that, even if it was an old lady asking nicely.

You’d spent the majority of the day there, feeling like you were lost in a haze as she and Dave were conversing, and the hours seemed to slip away. Now that you were walking back down the street, it was well past dusk and the kids were out trick’r treating, dressed in their spooky best. While you would have been happy to just meander back home, Dave was on a mission. When you moved a little too slowly for his liking, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you along to keep up. 

As you got closer to your paved walkway up to your door, Dave yanked you over to his car and shoved you into the backseat. You didn’t react until he was already in the driver’s seat, pulling away from the curb. 

“What - Dave?”, you drawled out.

You sighed when he didn’t respond to you and laid back, watching the houses and kids and lights pass by in a blur, although you doubted Dave went any faster than 20 miles an hour. You were fairly certain now that you’d been drugged by that weird old bat and the more you thought about it, the more the absurdity of Dave and his old lady interviewees made you laugh.

“What’s so funny back there?”

Dave’s voice cut through your giggling and you sighed with a stupid grin on your face. 

“Nothing… just funny because you’re actin’ like you’re hunting old lady aliens or somethin’.”

Dave slammed on the breaks and youabruptly smacked into the back of the front seats, getting wedged between them and the backseat on the floor.

You groaned and he got out and ripped open the back door, pulling you back up onto the seat and leaning over you.

“You didn’t hear or see anything today. Got it?”

HIs intense stare and firm tone told you that this was no time for levity, but you ignored that inner voice and sat up and kissed him. 

Much to your surprise, he kissed you back. 

Even more to your surprise, he pushed you back and crawled on top of you and he deepened the kiss. Just when you felt like your head was clearing up enough to enjoy, he pulled back and crawled off you and out of the car. 

You sat up. “Whoa, wait - Dave? Was that - what’s-”

It was then you realized he’d driven around to the back alley and up behind Mrs. Von Beavertrout’s home on the hill, overlooking the valley below. “Why did you bring us-”

Turning back to Dave, he was hastily undoing and removing his pants. When he saw your eyes go wide, he raised his brows and gestured to you as he stood with his dress pants and white briefs around his ankles. His cock was peaking through the bottom of his dress shirt right below the last button. You took the hint and pulled off your leggings and underwear. 

“We don’t have much time.”, he grunted against your mouth, crawling back on top of you. He managed to close the door behind him.

Oh. Dave was one of those guys. No prep and he spit in his hand and pumped his dick a few times then gave you a cocky half-grin before pressing against your hole. You watched his tongue pop out in concentration as he worked his way in. You winced once but he didn’t seem to notice (if he cared at all) but once he was fully seated, his mouth came down to yours; even if he was a bit of an inconsiderate lover, he was a hell of a kisser. 

He began to move his hips, setting an even and steady pace. I might actually come. You thought to yourself.

“I kn-know you figured it out… the aliens. It’s what I’m working - uh… uh - trying to work on.”

You wanted to roll your eyes. “Aliens don’t exist. Just shut up and fuck me.”

“I know, I know…I didn’t… I didn’t actually need your help but you’re hot and - oh fuck… you’re pussy is perfect.”

Shut the fuck up and do NOT ruin this. Your thoughts were trying to keep you on track to at least getting an orgasm out of this asshole, so you tried to play along. “So what? You’re like a… like a Fox Mulder Alien X-Files guy but real?”

“Yeah,”, he nodded. “Some-something like thaaaa - oh fuck, you close, baby?”

This was painfully bad sex. You were getting poorly fucked in the backseat of some federal assholes’s sedan and he was going to blow his load before you were really even wet with something other than his saliva. 

“Yeah… sure.”, you mumbled as he whined softly and rutted into you. 

A few more thrusts and Dave pulled out and let out a long, loud, open mouth groan right into your face. His cum covered your mound and disappointment wasn’t a strong enough word for what just happened.

Before you could make a comment or push him off you in the most insulting way possible, your eyes caught movement over Dave’s shoulder in the window. It was Mrs. Von Beavertrout, but her eyes looked a little larger and her mouth was open, baring her unnecessarily long, beaver-like teeth.

“What the fu-” was all you got out before the old woman smashed the glass and a blinding light enveloped the cab of the vehicle. 

You heard Dave scream and felt his body get ripped off of you as he was sucked out the window.

And then it was dark again. The only sound was your shaky breathing and the light wind running through the grass outside. You were alone. 

Dave York made you believe, even if he didn’t make you cum. 

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

obligatory boop.

[pumperpup]

Jeff's life was a well-oiled machine, timed to the rhythm of dumbbell clanks and protein shakes. As a top fitness trainer with a chiseled physique, he was the epitome of health and discipline. But life had a surprise in store, one that would turn his well-structured world upside down.

It started one morning when Jeff, famed for his washboard abs, noticed his belly was... different. Not the usual "I-ate-too-much-pizza" different, but "Why-does-it-look-like-I'm-three-months-pregnant" different. A visit to the doctor, and several bewildering tests later, the impossible was confirmed: Jeff was pregnant.

At first, Jeff thought it was a practical joke. But when morning sickness hit him like a freight train, reality sunk in. His gym buddies were in disbelief, watching their role model swap deadlifts for ginger tea and saltine crackers.

Jeff's journey was nothing short of hilarious. His cravings were unpredictable and fierce. He once halted a training session to devour a jar of pickles. His mood swings were legendary, turning from drill sergeant to weepy mess in the blink of an eye. His once immaculate gym attire was replaced by baggy sweatpants and oversized t-shirts.

Despite the challenges, Jeff's spirit never waned. He started a blog: "Dad-Bod Diaries," chronicling his journey. It was an instant hit. People couldn’t get enough of his humorous take on pregnancy woes: from his struggle to tie his shoes to attending a prenatal yoga class, where he awkwardly outstretched among expectant mothers.

As his due date approached, Jeff’s perspective on fitness and life evolved. He learned to listen to his body, trading high-intensity workouts for gentler routines. He began to appreciate fitness as a journey rather than a destination, a mantra he passionately shared with his clients.

The big day arrived with its own set of comedic misadventures. Jeff went into labor in the middle of a spin class. Panicked, he was whisked away by his gym buddies on a gym bench-turned-stretcher, creating a spectacle as they clumsily navigated through the busy city streets to the hospital.

Jeff's delivery room was a circus of laughter and tears. His gym friends, who had become his support system, were there every step of the way, providing comic relief and emotional support. When Jeff finally held his baby, the room erupted in cheers. It was a moment of pure joy and triumph.

Life post-pregnancy was a new adventure for Jeff. He was now not just a trainer but a role model for embracing life's curveballs. His classes were more popular than ever, infused with his newfound wisdom and humility. He even started a "Baby and Me" workout session, integrating his child into his fitness regime.

The "Dad-Bod Diaries" continued, now filled with anecdotes of juggling fatherhood and fitness. Jeff's story was a testament to the unpredictable nature of life, and the beauty found in rolling with the punches. He had not only transformed his body but also his heart and mind, inspiring countless others along the way.

And so, Jeff's journey continued, one laugh, one lift, and one diaper change at a time.

[endless-summer-soldier]

cruel to be kind - chapter three

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (90s college AU)

summary: it started with a dare. Bucky restlessly pursues Y/N, seeking just one date. as he chases her, he realizes she's different from she challenges him, so he starts to catch feelings. but it all falls apart when she learns about his initial motivations. based on 10 things I hate about you!

warnings: alcohol use, cursing

word count: 1k

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Y/N woke up and let out a long groan. Her head was pounding and blurred visions from the night before slowly entered her brain. Then suddenly she realized she was parched. Water. She needed water. She crawled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. Her water bottle was about halfway full when her roommate, Carol, entered the room, back from a morning run.

“Well you look like shit,” she said.

“Feel like shit,” Y/N added.

“What exactly did you get up to last night?” Carol stretched in the living room as Y/N chugged down her water.

“Went out with some asshole. It was a mistake.”

“Oh come on, he couldn’t have been that bad. He got you home.”

“He got me drunk, I made a fool of myself, and then he rejected me.”

“Oh you left out the part about maybe having a concussion.”

“Ugh…don’t remind me about that.” She drank more water and then the realization hit her “Wait, how…?”

Carol smirked, “The ‘asshole’ left this under my door,” she held up a small handwritten note, “Wanted me to keep an eye on you and make sure you were okay.”

Y/N had no response to that. She enjoyed her disdain for Bucky. She didn’t need to go around catching feelings just because he did something sweet. Y/N grumbled and retreated to her room as Carol watched her with a knowing look.

Bucky woke up the next morning and his first thought was about Y/N. He hated to admit it, but he was worried about her. And he knew he had his work cut out for him since he had bruised her ego the night before.

So he put himself together and headed to her apartment. He stopped to pick up a couple coffees, hoping to bribe her into liking him again.

He softly knocked in rhythm on her door and heard shuffling from the other side. He could almost sense her looking through the peephole eyeing him up.

“Go away,” she said firmly.

“I brought coffee,” he retorted.

“Oh, well in that case, leave the coffee and go away.”

“Come on Y/N…”

“I made myself perfectly clear. Leave.”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why do you care?”

He sighed and let out a chuckle, “Because I like you!”

There was a long pause before she said, “Well, I don’t like you.”

“That’s the best you could come up with? Damn, you must be really hung over.”

“I’m walking away from the door now,” she said.

He chuckled at her stubbornness, but respected her commitment. He scrawled a quick note on the coffee cup that read Call me once you’re feeling better with his phone number.

He sauntered off, knowing it wouldn’t be that easy. He started considering his next few moves.

He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard from her in a few days. In fact, he anticipated that. So he moved on to phase two.

He approached her front door and knocked, this time hiding from view of the peephole. He heard the lock switching and knew he was in. As soon as the door was open he barged in, taking Y/N by surprise.

Before she could say anything he started unloading the stocked grocery bag. 

“I have everything you could possibly need. Gatorade, ginger ale, homemade chicken noodle soup, saltines, lemon ginger tea…” He pulled out each of the items as they were announced and placed them on her kitchen counter.

“Bucky…what the fuck?”

He looked at her with raised eyebrows encouraging her to continue.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Well you never called me. So you must still be very sick and I thought ‘Hm, if I were really sick, I’d want someone to come over and take care of me.’ So here I am with all the best remedies.”

She was so close to smiling but she kept her composure and responded. “I’m not sick you asshole. I just didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Now that cannot possibly be true. We had such a lovely time together on our date.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Whatever you say sweetheart. Just remember I was the perfect gentleman. I picked you up, I walked you home, and I didn’t take advantage of you in your vulnerable state.” He hoped the last part of his statement would help her understand why he declined her advances that night.

“What a shame, I don’t remember any of it.”

“I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it then. Oh, did I mention that you agreed to go out with me again?”

“Liar,” she joked.

“Can’t blame me for trying.”

She shook her head, “You can leave now.”

“If you insist,” he said. He didn’t move, hoping she would reconsider.

“I do,” she opened the front door wide and signaled for him to make his way through it.

“I have to say Y/N, you are really good at this whole hard to get thing.” He made his way through the door and turned to face her, shooting her his winning smile.

“Bye,” she said as she shut the door in his face.

“I’ll see you later!” he shouted through the door.

Bucky continued to pursue Y/N for the days that followed. He tried out a few different tactics but most of them involved buying her coffee or walking her to class. Her defenses came down a bit, but she still declined any date suggestions Bucky threw out there.

“What’s your endgame here?” she asked him at one point.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

“Because I have never met a girl as interesting as you. And I want to spend time with you and get to know you better.”

She rolled her eyes, “I bet you tell all the girls that.”

“Not a chance.”

“Hate to break it to you but sweet talk doesn’t work on me.”

That was the moment he realized he needed to step things up so he began planning. His friends were constantly telling him to give up, that the dare wasn’t worth all this effort. But it wasn’t about that anymore. Bucky had never struggled when it came to women. Usually his tough exterior and ocean blue eyes were enough to do the trick. Y/N was so different from any other girl and the challenge was a great motivator. He wanted to know what made her tick.

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part nine] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex (18+ mdni), nausea (but no getting sick)

word count: 3.1k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!! ; i know minho is the chef of the group but just suspend your disbelief for this series and pretend it’s jisung

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

The kitchen on the Fallin’ Flower was small, but still impressive considering it was on a boat. Everything was up to standard, as far as you knew from what you had learned from Jisung, and covered in sleek stainless steel. 

You sat atop one of the counters while Minho rifled through the cabinets in search of something for you to snack on.

“I swear we have crackers somewhere around here,” he mumbled to himself. 

“I can just eat the leftovers,” you suggested for what must’ve been the third or fourth time. 

“No! What we had was spicy, that won’t be good for your stomach,” he insisted.

“Was it objectively spicy, or spicy to you?” you asked with a hint of a smile. 

“You wanna go there? The Korean versus the American in heat tolerance?” he challenged. “I’ll have you know that I quite like spicy food.”

“Are you sure?” you said, calling his bluff. 

“You know what, when you’re feeling better we’ll see who can handle it more between the two of us.”

“Name the time and the place I’ll be there.”

“Oh, here! I knew we had them!” Minho exclaimed, holding up a packet of saltines victoriously. 

 You took them from him gratefully and ripped open the plastic sleeve. Minho watched you carefully as you ate. He was leaning against the counter across from where you were sitting with his arms crossed over his chest casually. His features were softer than you remembered seeing them, like he was actually relaxed for once. 

He was always so tense, clenched jaw, stiff posture, you had just figured it was his default. But looking at him now was like seeing him for the first time. 

You offered him a cracker and he took it, smiling.

“Thanks.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” you said back. 

He shook his head, still smiling. “It’s nothing.” Then he trained his eyes on the floor. “Are you still mad at Jisung?”

You sighed and shoved another cracker into your mouth before answering. “A little,” you admitted. 

Minho nodded thoughtfully in understanding but didn’t respond. You wanted to explain yourself, explain that you weren’t just an angry girlfriend but you refrained. You weren’t sure how much of yourself to reveal to him, how much truth you could let slip through the cracks before you crossed into dangerous territory. 

You were a side character to the Han Family, a temporary one at that. You were playing a role, and in a couple of months you’d be written off and eventually replaced. Was it even worth it to open up to them?

“The thing is,” you started, surprising both yourself and Minho by breaking the silence, “I used to do the same thing.” You still did the same thing. “Whenever I slept with a stranger Jisung would lecture me about it, but apparently he was doing the same thing behind my back and it just… feels fucked up.”

“It is fucked up,” Minho agreed. He seemed angry now. “I’ll be honest, I’ve done that too, but he never said anything to me.”

“I know he means well, and he wanted me to be safe, but now it just feels like he was reinforcing some double standard. Do you know what I mean?”

“You mean you felt like he was judging you for something men do all the fucking time?”

Hit the nail on the head.

“More or less,” you said quietly. “I know he didn’t mean to-”

“Even unintentionally it’s not okay. You’re right, he was probably just trying to be protective, but he was still out of line.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No!”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

You nodded insistently. “I should be the one to talk to him.” You glanced over at the clock on the oven and straightened up. “Actually, I should go do that now. It’s getting late.”

Minho looked conflicted, words lingering unsaid between you. But he cleared his throat and offered you his hand to help you down from the counter. You took it and hopped down, almost colliding with him in the narrow kitchen alley. 

Your chests were nearly pressed together, that’s how small the walkway was. You thought that if you breathed you would surely brush up against him. So you held your breath.

“Okay, goodnight,” Minho said finally.

“Goodnight. Thanks for the crackers.” You held the half-empty package out to him to take, but he refused.

“Keep them. You might feel better now, but you’re going to need more food to soak up some of the alcohol.”

“Thanks.”

“Make sure to drink a lot of water, too,” he added. “I don’t want you to feel hungover in the morning.”

You promised him you would and let yourself out of the kitchen to go back to your and Jisung’s bedroom. You clung to the wall in the hallway as you stumbled to your room. You couldn’t tell if your inhibited balance was due to the rocky sea beneath the boat or your own drunkenness, but it felt like the room was spinning. 

Once you found your room you practically fell through the door onto the carpeted floor. Jisung caught you clumsily, saving you from rug burn on your knees. 

“Y/n!” You could hear the surprise in his voice as he hoisted you onto the bed. “I went up to the top deck to look for you, but you were gone, so I came back here- but you weren’t here either.”

You didn’t have the energy to explain yourself so you just held up the crackers that were still in your hand. 

“How much did you have to drink?”

“I don’t know, enough for me to lose the fucking game,” you grumbled. “I forgot to have dinner too, so that didn’t help.”

Jisung grimaced. “Oh, that’s right.”

“Yeah.”

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to stop the dizziness, but it only made it worse. Jisung was looking down at you solemnly, hands on his hips like a worried dad. You avoided his eyes, too ashamed and angry to meet them. You knew that if you did you would start crying. 

“I’m really sorry,” he said gently, after a moment had passed. You could tell he meant it, but a little part of you doubted.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” you sighed. 

“I think I do.” You stared at the ceiling, waiting for him to continue. “It’s because I was an asshole about hookup culture, isn’t it? I always tell you that you shouldn’t sleep with strangers, but I went and did the same thing. And I never told you about it. Does that about cover it?”

Your silence was a confirmation in of itself and Jisung shook his head at himself. “I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, it really was before I met you. And it’s the only time I never got their name.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, not even convincing yourself. “You can fuck whoever you want, just don’t be a hypocrite when it comes to me. I know you want me to be safe, but I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” 

Jisung looked at you like he didn’t believe that last part but ultimately agreed. “I’ll try my best,” he assured you. “Just promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“No more frat guys, please.” You laughed. “I have a heart attack every time I check your location and you’re at a frat house. If you care about my health you’ll go back to athletes.” 

“Fine,” you sighed. “I guess I can do that.” 

Jisung gave you a satisfied hum and took a seat on the bed next to you, pushing stray hairs out of your face. Even lying still, you still felt like you were being tossed and turned. The boat’s steady rocking was doing nothing to help your state. 

“Ji, I don’t feel good,” you complained, holding your stomach.

“Want me to run you a bath?” he offered and nodded towards the door to the ensuite of your room.

“This boat has a fucking bathtub?” Jisung just chuckled and nodded. “Jesus Christ.”

“Do you want me to run you one?”

“Yes please.”

Jisung slipped from your side and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard him turn on the faucet and let the water run until it was hot before plugging the drain. He appeared in the doorway again before you could process anything else. 

“C’mere,” he said and beckoned you over. “It’s ready for you. Call me if you need anything.”

He had left a towel out on the counter for you and turned out all the lights except for the one above the mirror so it wouldn’t be too much for you. The water was the perfect temperature too. 

You felt a pang of guilt twinge in your stomach thinking about what had gone down between you a few hours ago. You’d yelled at him, embarrassed him in front of his brothers, and here he was admitting he was wrong, apologizing, and doing something nice for you. Even if he was in the wrong, you weren’t absolved of all responsibility. You had been the one to let your temper and insecurities get the better of you. 

You blew out a breath and slipped under the surface of the water, letting it overtake your senses. You took your time washing your hair and body, content to sit in the bath until the water got cold and your fingers pruned. 

Jisung was lying on the bed reading when you came back into the bedroom. He looked up at you and smiled when he saw you wrapped in a towel. 

“Cold?” he asked, as if your shivering wasn’t apparent enough. You nodded. “Put your pajamas on and come warm up in bed then!”

“But that’s so much work!” you whined, even though you were already searching through your suitcase for your PJs. 

Jisung rolled his eyes at you and went back to his book. You got dressed and promptly hopped into bed next to him, pulling the blankets all the way up to your chin. 

“Do you think tomorrow will be awkward?” you whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“Like with your brothers and stuff, because we kind of had a fight.”

“Oh, maybe a little,” he admitted. 

“I think we should have makeup sex then,” you decided. “And then we can just pretend like everything’s fine.” 

“My brothers are all the way on the other side of the boat, though. It’s not worth it to have fake sex again if they can’t even hear us.” 

“I’ll just give you a hickey this time.” 

“But you’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

Jisung shrugged. “Fair enough.”

You wriggled out of your blanket cocoon enough to reach his neck and licked a stripe up the column of his throat before settling on a place to suck.

“Fuck,” Jisung let out with a surprised shudder. You forced yourself not to think about it and kept going until a nice rosy bruise had blossomed under his skin. 

“I think that’s good, what about you?” 

Jisung stood from the bed and walked over to the mirror to admire your work. He angled his head so that the light would shine right on the mark and swore. It was still pink and raw, but the purple and blue shades were already starting to emerge underneath. 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “What am I supposed to tell my parents, y/n?”

“I don’t know, that you got hit with a ping pong ball or something?”

“Like they’ll believe that!”

“I made it low enough so that it can be covered with a t-shirt, just wear your shirt around them if it’s that big a deal.”

“But it’s going to be hot tomorrow.”

“Oh my god, stop being a baby. Yours isn’t even as big as mine was.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“Jisung,” you pleaded, “please just come back to bed already. I’m tired.”

Your best friend relented and returned to the bed, this time slipping underneath the covers next to you. He turned off the lamp on the bedside table and rolled over to face you. For whatever reason, you felt compelled to be closer to him so you rolled onto your side and pushed your body back against his. He took your cue and snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you so that he was spooning you. 

You fell asleep tangled together like you had hundreds of times, only for you to dream about his brother.

-

It wasn’t your fault, really. It’s not like you could control your subconscious. The dream was innocent enough… 

You were with your friends in your old apartment playing beer pong when Minho came up behind you and slung an arm around your waist. He pulled you close, kissed you on the cheek once, and turned his attention to the game. 

“Who’s winning?”

“Y/n’s up by two,” Ruby, a girl from your cohort explained.  

“That’s my girl,” Minho said with a wink, squeezing your hip. 

His girl. It rolled off his tongue like he’d said it a thousand times, like he’d say it a thousand more. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and sighed. “I’m tired.”

“What? You’re winning! You can’t quit now,” he insisted. 

“Sure I can.”

“What if I join your team and play a couple of rounds for you?” he suggested. “How does that sound?”

“Fine, I guess. Just don’t ruin my score.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Minho lifted his head to address your friends. “Mind if I take over for a sec?”

“I feel you’re going to do it anyway regardless of what we say.”

“You’re right,” Minho quipped before aiming the ping-pong ball at the other side of the table. He sank the ball into a cup in the upper left-hand corner effortlessly, shooting you a victorious grin.

“It’s not fair that they’re playing together,” Ruby’s teammate whined as Minho scored another point. 

“Drunk and drunker always win,” your friend said matter-of-factly, bringing the plastic cup of beer to her mouth. 

“No, we don’t!” Minho argued. 

“When you’re sober you don’t,” Ruby agreed. “That’s how you got your nickname.”

Minho handed the last ping-pong ball to you. “You make the winning shot, babe. You’re the one that did most of the work.”

The next thing you knew he was kissing you in celebration, swinging you around like you’d just won the World Cup. You kissed him back, but something felt off. You never did this with Jisung- then it hit you. 

“Where’s Jisung?” 

Minho set you down and gave you a look of confusion. “Who?”

You jolted awake with a start, guilt immediately flooding your senses. The dream hadn’t been anything sexual, but you still felt like you had done something wrong. 

Jisung was still holding you, his arms wrapped around your midsection and his legs intertwined with yours, and you suddenly felt suffocated by the position. As gently and as quickly as possible you untangled yourself from your best friend and climbed out of bed. 

Your head was pounding and you remembered what Minho had said about drinking a lot of water last night, and about how you’d ignored it. 

You splashed some cold water on your face in the bathroom, but all it did was get your hair and shirt wet. It didn’t wake you up at all. 

When you tiptoed back into the bedroom you saw that Jisung was still asleep and breathed a sigh of relief. You weren’t ready to face him yet. You knew he wouldn’t know about your dream, but for some reason, you felt like he would. Like he’d take one look at you and know your subconscious had replaced him with his older brother. 

The hickey you’d given him the night before was peeking out of the collar of his shirt. It had faded a bit since then but was still noticeable. You wondered if anyone would say anything about it. 

-

“Jisung, what the fuck happened to your neck?”

You nearly spit out your drink when you heard Felix ask his twin brother the question in front of everyone. 

Jisung turned bright red and automatically looked to you, even though you were screaming at him not to with your eyes. 

“I, um, burned myself,” he sputtered.

You wanted to tackle him to the ground. What happened to the pep talk you’d had with him yesterday about this very scenario?

His parents thankfully looked uninterested, but Felix just smirked. Minho had raised his head from his phone, but you couldn’t read his expression. He was paying attention to his brothers’ conversation but seemed annoyed. You thought he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to clown his younger brother, but he was acting like he couldn’t care less, like he wanted them to stop talking about it altogether. Felix had to fly solo on this one.

“I didn’t know burn marks could be purple.”

“You learn something new every day,” Jisung said through gritted teeth. 

“Mhm, you sure do,” Felix mused, biting his lip to keep from smiling too wide.

-

You only had one more day on the boat, then one day in Venice where you docked. Another taxi, another train, another two-mile walk because you got lost and you were checking into another hotel in Florence with the Hans. 

There was barely any time to settle into your rooms before you had to reconvene in the lobby. Apparently, you were already running behind on the itinerary and needed to be in the next location for the day in less than an hour. 

You had hastily changed into your matching t-shirt and walking shoes before dragging Jisung downstairs with you. The couple days of rest on the yacht had made the soreness in your legs subside, but ten minutes of walking through the city had it returning with a vengeance.

You couldn’t even enjoy the scenery because you were too distracted by the blisters forming on the backs of your heels. 

Florence was hotter than Paris, and even more crowded. There were people everywhere.  Every corner you turned had you nearly colliding with another group of tourists who, more often than not, were also wearing matching t-shirts. 

Jisung was holding your hand, but the contact was beginning to feel sticky and unbearable. You let go and wiped your hand on your shorts, earning a silent thank you from your counterpart. 

After what seemed like an eternity Dom and Nikki finally stopped in front of a small storefront with a small wooden sign hanging from the overhead balcony that read Vivanda. 

The second the air conditioning hit you you breathed a sigh of relief and sank into the nearest chair, only to be forced to stand up again when you were all ushered into another room. 

Instead of sightseeing today you were taking a class where you’d learn how to make pasta by hand. Jisung had learned how to make pasta a couple of years ago in his culinary arts program but wanted to take another class in the pasta capital of the world. He also wanted you to learn yourself since you were constantly asking him to make it for you. 

The other students were already waiting in the kitchen for you when the six of you filed in. Your instructor introduced himself as Leo and passed down a disposable apron for each of you. You wrote your names in print big enough to read as he gave you the spiel. He was handsome, a little older, but still handsome with a 5 o’clock shadow and thick-rimmed glasses that were balanced on the bridge of his nose. You had to remind yourself not to stare. 

Jisung helped you tie your apron in the back and then did it himself with the expertise of a practiced professional before you both joined the line to wash your hands. The table was covered with wax paper and in front of everyone was a pile of flour and a couple of eggs.

Leo demonstrated how to create a little bowl in your flour mountain and then crack the eggs inside. He started to mix the ingredients together with his hands and everybody else followed suit. You didn’t like the feeling of the dough sticking to your skin, the texture of the flour was gritty and the runniness of the eggs made it feel wet, but you tried to ignore the discomfort and knead it as fast as possible.

Jisung was finished first, unsurprisingly, and tried to help you with yours. He stood behind you and held your hands in his, pressing his thumbs over yours to show you the technique. 

“Like this,” he said, pressing with a little more force than you had been using. 

“It’s hard,” you complained. 

“That’s what she said,” Felix whispered next to you, immediately followed by “sorry” when you and Jisung both glared at him. 

“It just takes practice,” Jisung assured you, despite all of the other first-time students kneading their dough with ease. 

“Jisung, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were the teacher of this class,” Leo complimented, testing the firmness of his dough. 

“He’s a chef,” you said proudly.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Minho interjected. 

Jisung scoffed, giving his brother a dirty look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

i see skz in a few days and i'm freaking out adkjfhsdj anyway lmk what you think, i always appreciate feedback!

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[popuruu]

another oc: the kitchen's second-in-command, Cassia Cardamom. the only one who challenges Saltine's ego.. which causes them to bicker all day (though they always reconcile in the end)

[goodluckclove]

oh you'd like to embarrass yourself? yes? here's a dumb "question," but it comes with a challenge.

pretend two different flavors of cheez its are some really mean writers with some silly takes on writing, which one is better?

challenge? read what you're writing out loud to riley. pretend you're not crazy. do not offer an explanation for why.

This is a dangerous thing to ask me when I've had most of a Pina Colada.

Okay, so regular, original Cheese-It is very active on Booktok. At first you think that's a cool thing because it gets kids to read, and maybe at one point it was. But then you flash forward a short time and suddenly people are allowing a short-form video social media app to control a big chunk of trad pub culture. There are other faults, sure, but I don't need to get into those because it's not like a majority of people here have any respect for Booktok.

But then there's Tabasco Cheese-It. That's a spicer one. They believe it's not worth publishing at all, due to a variety of reasons. It's too risky. There's no audience. So they just release the whole thing online with no option for financial support and do very little to market it outside of a small circle.

I get it, spicy cracker. Marketing is hard. Social media is hard. The standards are constantly changing and there's a reason why people make careers out of this. It sucks that authors have to market themselves, spicy cracker. But you can't complain about that and also complain that no one is reading your stuff. That. There's a REASON why that's not happening, hot sauce cheese-it. It's a rough reason, but there's also a solution. And if you work it the right way it's actually not even a painful solution. Building relationships with collaborators and colleagues and friends online who can not only support and share your work, but create a community of art and insight, is actually very fun and cool.

I'm rambling. What was the question? I don't like either of them. I would prefer a Saltine. I would prefer maybe six Saltines.

Also I'm out of the house so I can't read this aloud to Riley but I did send them this:

They were not surprised. I think I say crazy shit to my wife on the daily so I don't think I could purposely make myself look more unhinged to them then I already am.

[pwippy]

guess who gets to fuel their saltine cracker addiction again! what was the saltine challenge again. 6? in 1 minute?

[winchesterszvonecek]

“For Joe Cruz and I… Are going to attempt the saltine cracker challenge.”

CHICAGO FIRE | 2x03 - Defcon 1 🔥

[morbid-rxse]

guys i just had to set a timer to make myself chug this vitamin stuff cause i’m sick

for your final challenge… drink this whole cup of awful orange liquid suffering befire the timer runs out and you will get the five (5) saltine crackers to your left. if you don’t, you may not be able to go out for halloween later tonight. make your choice.

[servitudeofsadness]

relapse & restriction

CONTENT WARNINGS: EATING DISORDERS, RESTRICTED EATING, TRIGGERING DISCUSSIONS OF FOOD

Remember food is fuel and fuel is absolutely necessary for your body to stay alive. Don’t let silly beauty standards dictate your eating and your life. If you are easily triggered by discussions of disordered eating and negative perceptions of food, please do not read the following prose. eat & stay hydrated! <3

…

i.

“she has malnutrition,” my home doctor says as she checks my wrists and prescribes me on sugar fluids and nutrient pills. i have not been eating for a week. it is code for eating disorder.

mum looks on. ”is it treatable?”

“yes.” time ticks on and my brother waits outside.

i am starved out of my soul. deep hollowed eyes, violet-knuckled bruises, and devoid of thought. one week.

ii.

my one week low-calorie morninglunchdinnersnackfest! guaranteed to loose more than 20kg! foodspo/mealspo thread!! <33:

one medium-sized fried egg? ~ 78 cals!

1 cup matcha protein almond latte? ~ 60 cals!

1 saltine cracker? ~ 10 cals!

½ cup of tomato soup? ~ 105 cals!

⅓ slice of white bread? ~ 22 cals!

⅓ roasted chicken drumstick? ~ 33 cals!

½ cup white rice? ~ 121 cals!

4 oz air-fried salmon? ~ 194 cals!

½ gluten-free medium-sized oatmeal chocolate chip cookie? ~ 33 cals!

diet coke? ~ 0 cals!

do the math and tell me if it’s less than 1000 cals!! <3

remember kids, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels !! <3

iii.

if beauty standards are a person, and the purge is real.

they are the first i’ll tear the door down to

on account of falsifying the determiners of beautiful:

skinny legs tutorial!! look, brandy melville carries a one size fits all??

do you fit in? “bye-bye booty: Heroin chic is back!!”

try this A4 paper thin waist challenge!! see how fat you are??

noo why is th1nsp0 content banned on twitter??

tumblr?? tiktok?? join edtwt!! though, pro-recovery dni!!

(i was in scout camp when i dizzied, circus of purple visions

collapsed with blood soaking my undergarments and

half awoke to blankets that weighed heavier than me on my near dead body;

i still feel the bland slick of porridge forced down my throat.

proana girlies?? mitigating censors in the prospect of

pursuing an early death. ed tumblr diaries of all hedonistic thoughts.)

these are fruits you should avoid as it induces sugar euphoria!!

clean girl aesthetic!! kale smoothies will help you lose weight!!

i walked 20000 steps today to achieve a thigh gap!!

body-checking disguised as ootd and grwm tiktoks

sketchbook detailing rampages of eating disorder content

the striking thump of my collarbones and my wobbly knees

a 2 hour loop subliminal messaging “i am so skinny“ “i am 44.4 kg” “ i am thin—“

SHUSH! SHUT UP. SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

this is existing in a society that curbed the living in me,

to strive for an empty heartbeat and rotten-tinged bones for legs

low calorie food still eaten in moderation

the constant desire to clasp my wrist in assurance of how skinny i am

clumsy rhetoric spilled in between sips and spits

of my no calorie pungent pomegranate mineral water

you should skip your lunch too and snacks except

water and maybe some yogurt-zero

starvation is never salvation

thin is glazed over with honey

And so easily fractured with bones

hunger. starving. eat. EAT. EAT!

on december 18 2018, i started recovery

i have relapses, days of unintended calorie deficits;

but i am healing unlearning,

trying, escaping, living ~

…

“you are embarrassed about your blood, its redness, the way it is just coming out of you with no concern for anyone’s feelings. You are … embarrassed to be alive.”

- Carmen Maria Machando

—————

is 90’s thinness coming back? - Mina Le

please stop romanticizing eating disorders on tiktok - Sarah Hawkinson

tiktok is bad for women, actually - Jordon Theresa

The Evolution of Pro Anorexia - Of Herbs and Altars

i lost weight to fit into Brandy Melville - Letao Chen

“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” - Kate Moss

Are you a femcel? - Roisin Lanigan

bye-bye booty: Heroin chic is back - Adriana Diaz