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drownedinlavender · 10 months

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Helloooo, so I'm writing a long kyman fic. It's gonna be a slow burn multi-chapter one. I got like a good 1/3 of it down with like a skeleton of events mapped out. Since I haven't been active in any fandom or like written fanfic since I was a teen, I wanted to post an excerpt to kinda test the waters a bit haha I'm kinda shy about sharing stuff but was greatly inspired by a lot of people's work.

Anyway, the premise is Cartman impulsively taking the fall on something and being admitted to inpatient cause of it. This excerpt is when he facetimes the gang to tell them about it. Stan and Kenny are at school during lunch, Kyle's at the hospital (has to do with what Cartman took the blame for), and Eric's at home about to leave.

I'd greatly appreciate any criticism or input! Thank u for ur time 💜💖 ^^)/

"Dude, a psych ward? That sounds pretty serious," Stan looks mildly concerned.

"It is serious, Stan. That's why Kyle's gonna owe me big time when I get back," Eric smuggly declares, "Like sucking my balls big big time."

Kenny sneakers at the brunette still obsessing over a bet they made years ago when they were just kids.

"Man, you gotta lay off the balls thing, Cartman. That's hella gay," Stan drily informs while munching on a fry.

"Hey! It's not gay! It's about humiliation and having power over an individual," Eric offendedly denies, choosing to die on that hill.

Kyle, who has been absolutely seething in the background, finally bursts, "Fuck you, Cartman! I didn't ask you to cover for me, you did that all on your own!"

Eric scoffs, "Okay, fine, Kahl, would you prefer me going to PC principal and telling him I take it all back. That he should take you off the team like he wanted? Is that what you want, Kahl?"

Kyle tenses his jaw muscles as he grinds his teeth. Of course that's not what he wants but is Cartman holding one over his head any better? His eyes flicker to the side as he contemplates for a brief moment. Stan continues eating, staring at his screen waiting for his best friend to speak as if he's watching an enthralling reality tv show. Once Kenny's giggling fit finally subsides, he lays his head on one outstretched arm and sneaks a French fry from whoever's lunch tray is right across from him.

"Fine," Kyle bitterly concedes with a sigh, "but I'm not helping you do anything illegal like murder or whatever. And I'm definitely not sucking your balls," he points at Cartman through the screen.

"Oh…" a small voice utters in surprise across the room from Kyle. The redhead looks up at a shocked nurse half way through the door. "I-I'll come back in a second to check your vitals," she embarrassedly scurries out of the room.

Kyle's mortified face soon matches his hair. "God, damn it, Cartman!"

Kenny practically dies of laughter, not even bothering to hold his phone up right anymore.

"Dude," Stan snorts before cracking up as well.

Kyle hides his face with one hand, trying with every fiber of his being to maintain any ounce of composure he can muster before combusting from rage.

Eric's amused smile warps into a shit eating grin, he absolutely could not be any more delighted by the current turn of events. He obnoxiously clears his throat before continuing, "Very well, I'll leave a legally binding contract in your room before departing, Kahl. Now Kenny," he seamlessly changes the topic.

Kenny straightens himself out the best he can. "Uh-huh?" He responds through tears.

"Wait a second, fatass, do NOT break into my room!" Kyle protests.

Eric purposely ignores his rival, knowing it'll anger him further. "Kenny, my mom says you can use your spare key to clear out my fridge whenever. She's gonna stay up in Denver with some cousin until I'm out. We don't want the food rotting up and stinking up the place so do it sooner rather than later, got it?"

"Seriously, dude?!" Kenny immediately straightens himself out in elated surprise. Woohoo!" He cheers. He knows their fridge is always packed so he and his little sister are definitely set for bit.

"Knock yourself out, dude, just don't let anything rot in there. Seriously, I'll kick your ass if I come back and my house reeks like spoiled ass."

"You got it, bro," Kenny assures with a thumbs up.

"Don't ignore me, asshole!" Kyle's demands only serve to further Cartman's amusement.

"Welp, gotta go pack up some essentials. Don't know how long I'll have to be admitted … but it's all worth it for my dear friend Kahl's sake," Eric fakes sincerity. With a hand over his heart, he winks at Kyle.

"Oh, Fuck off," Kyle rolls his eyes.

"Well, good luck, dude. Don't blow up the place trying to escape," Stan waves goodbye from his screen.

"Guys, wanna say bye to Cartman? He's gonna go do some time at a loony bin," Kenny asks, reversing his camera to show the rest of their lunch table.

"We heard. You guys are super loud," Craig complains before biting his burger.

"Hey! Don't call it a loony bin, asswipe! That's totally insensitive to people with mental health issues. Not cool dude," Cartman condescendingly lectures, doing what he does best, playing the victim.

"Cartman's getting admitted? Dude, that's crazy!" Tweek comments.

"Wait, who's getting what now?" Clyde looks up from his phone, unaware of the conversation going on around him.

"Cartman, dude, he got in trouble again so PC principal's sending him to a psych ward," Tweek rapidly explains.

"Oh," Clyde responds in his usual nasally tone.

"All in order to save Kyle from getting kicked off the team," Cartman adds.

"Don't act like you did it from the kindness of your heart, fatass!" Kyle quickly corrects.

"First it's Cartman, then they'll be coming for the rest of us!" The jittery blond panics.

Craig pats his boyfriend's shoulder. "No they won't, honey, we don't cause the town to blow up every other month like they do."

"Hey!" Kyle indignantly exclaims.

"We haven't been directly responsible for the town's destruction for like," Stan counts the time in his head, "at least a year now!" He defends himself and his friends, receiving a middle finger from an unimpressed Craig.

"L-l-later, Eric, don't dr-dro-dr-dro-drop the soap," Jimmy jokes before offering up his signature smile.

"Jim, that's for jail," Tolkien corrects.

"Aw, we'll miss you, Eric! Don't take too long in the psych ward!" Butters gleefully shouts.

Kyle rolls his eyes, feeling himself getting more and more irritated by the situation at hand. "Oh, for Pete's sake, it's not like he's dying, you guys." The longer these farewells are dragging on, the more he can feel a twinge of guilt spreading throughout his subconscious and twisting up his guts.

"Poopsikins, mommy can't find Mr. Kitty's carrier, do you remember where we left it?" Liane can be heard calling from the background.

"Just a second, meeem!" Eric hollers off camera before getting back in frame and sticking out his tongue with a peace sign, "Later, losers ~ " he sings-songs and hangs up.

"You know …. For someone being sent off to an insane asylum, he seems really unbothered by it," Tolkien points out.

Kyle's eyes flicker down for just a second before choosing to quickly dismiss further analyzing Cartman's reaction to being sent away. "Well, yeah, it's Cartman. Do you really expect him to react normally about anything?"

"That's true," Tolkien immediately agrees, chalking it up to Cartman just being Cartman.

For a brief moment, Kyle remembers the time he was admitted when the town wouldn't believe him about Mr. Hankey but before he can even decide on entertaining that thought, Stan speaks.

"Wow … so he's really leaving, huh?" Stan says more than asks, looking a bit absent minded.

"I guess so," Kenny pensively looks down at the lunch table, head resting on crossed arms. He turns to Stan and forlornly admits, "dude … I'm actually feeling kinda bummed out."

Kyle bites the inside of his cheek. The reality of their current predicament further sinking in.

"Aw, Ken," Stan frowns and pats Kenny's shoulder.

"It's okay, Ken," Butters comforts, patting Kenny's back, "he said so himself, he probably won't be there for long."

"Isn't this a good thing though? Things are going to be a lot more peaceful while he's gone," Tolkien suggests.

"If Cartman gets admitted for the rest of the school year, I'll be sooooo happy," Craig chants in a monotone.

A sniffle directs everyone's focus towards Clyde.

"Clyde, you okay, buddy?" Craig puts down his lunch to fully focus on his friend's concerns.

"We *sniff* were starting to *sniff* get along more *sniff* this year," he powers through a closing throat.

Kyle bites his cheek even harder. Cartman was certainly a lot tamer as of late. Things were finally getting comfortable between the two of them, too.

"He was being a lot c-coo-c-coo-cooler this y-year," Jimmy admits.

The nurse knocks before entering Kyle's room this time. "I'm going to take your vitals again, okay?" She smiles.

"Yeah, sure," Kyle replies before addressing his friends, "I gotta go guys. Stan, can you come pick up my keys and move my car before my parents get back? I have a minor concussion so I'm under observation for a bit."

"Yeah, dude, totally," Stan confirms.

"Later," Kenny mumbles, waving with one hand, his face fully immersed in his crossed arms.

"Alright, thanks, see you guys later," Kyle says his goodbyes, queuing the nurse to begin taking his blood pressure.

Kyle barely moves, too busy contemplating Eric's departure. First, Stan moves and now Cartman's going to be gone for God knows how long? He bitterly sighs.

#kyman #kyman fanfic #kyman fanfiction #eric x kyle #eric cartman x kyle broflovski #cartyle #south park kyman #drownedinthekiddiepool

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generic-whumperz · 2 months

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The Aid: Chapter 7- Sicko Fantasies and Haunting Memories (NSFW)

(Buckle the fuck up, you are now aboard the Hot Mess Express🚂)

CWs & TWs (not in order): graphic & violent non-con flashback (end of chapter and between the red *****—not to be confused with the black *****—you can read around it without missing any vital details!) including use of a knife and gun and gross details of bodily fluids (it’s a bad time, skip over it if your sensitive to nastiness, don’t say I didn’t warn you—like for real it’s gross), explicit language, insults & name calling*, Whumpee called “boy” even though he’s 24, talk of bodily functions (pee habits and general grooming after months of being deprived of toiletries and self care), suicidal ideation and past suicide attempts/details of past self harm practices (asphyxiation), recollection of being forcibly restrained to bed to prevent further self harm, illicit drug use (❄️&🧊) mixed with alcohol (Whumper), Whumpee wishing gruesome death upon Whumper (but like, good for him, Whumper deserves it), aftermath of starvation and prolonged isolation, undressing and inspecting wounds, prescription drug dependency (Whumpee), depressing self reflections, literal Caretaker turned Whumpee, asshole/bully/sadistic/taunting/creepy/intimate/alcoholic/mentally and physically abusive Whumper (Wyatt Sullivan is his own TW, he’s literally the worst), long-term captivity, slavefic/ institutionalized slavery AU, within the post-apocalyptic(ish) setting AU—mentions of: ongoing war & mass death, evacuations, terrorism and treason, cannibalism, infectious diseases (specifically cannibals with infectious diseases), war factions, extremist Regime, forced labor camps, food scarcity, class division, looting, and hostile takeovers

*We are starting strong with insults here, if this is a sensitive topic or squick for you, you’ll have a horrible time & this ain’t for you dawg, respectfully.

You’ve been adequately warned, proceed with caution :)

Word count: 5,669

<-Previous | Masterlist | Next->

Hey you, yeah YOU!

If you’re still here after that novel of CWs, hi hello :) Holy shit this chapter took on a mind of its own and is a little all over the place! Besides the lengthy list of warnings, there’s also some more world building in here—like a lot more. You probably didn’t have questions, but don’t worry, I gave you the answers you didn’t know you needed anyway! I hope it fits and makes sense, idk what I’m doing, I think my brain is actively rotting out of my skull at this point. If you like insane bullshit, this is for you, and if you don’t, sorry buddy! I'm still sitting on a fatass chapter that comes after this one, but I need to give myself a break after this steamy mess right here. Expect the usual processing time of a month and a half.

Xoxo, Gen

Fuck ass. Shithead. Cock warmer—of all the overused insults his Master chucked at him, The Aid kept a particular fondness for pampered pet.

An offense it was intended to be, yes, but instead of bitter resentment, the gibe strangely restored a sense of lost dignity and sounded comparatively childish against the others. Although, truth be told, most of the snarky nicknames fell flat and lost their zest at this point, and he would’ve appreciated some effort from Sullivan to come up with more creative insults to hurl at him.

His Master made a special sport of provoking him; ergo, he figured the man would at least flaunt some star players now and again.

Nothing got older quicker than a joke worn thin.

But wait, what did the brute call him earlier—lopsie lip? He usually threw up his mental defenses and rolled his eyes when someone made cheap one-liners about his mouth (what could be said that he hadn’t heard a hundred times over?) Still, somehow, Wyatt Sullivan had a real knack for mocking his appearances (his height was another frequently abused topic) and a crafty way of singling out his assumed insecurity. The mockeries weren’t knee-slappers by any stretch of the imagination and came across as equally lame and insensitive Boomer jokes; even so, he’d gladly take these low-hanging digs with open arms over the other vile, squirm-worthy remarks Sullivan berated him with any day—or worse.

Better a poor shit taking the brunt of crude taunts than a poor shit taking the brunt of a boot to the ribs.

Pampered pet—it’s fitting, goes well with his staple stand-in name, Mutt, and even has a certain ring to it, and certainly nicer than cum bucket —yuck (he hated that one).

Pampered was right; he couldn’t stand being dirty and unkempt; indeed, his Madame never condoned sloppy looks and anything less than perfect. She’d be rolling in her grave right now if she saw the sunken state of affairs and how piss poor of a job her son was doing as appointed keeper of her precious house boy.

But oh, how far the mighty have fallen.

Long were the days of his dedication to hours a week of meticulous primping and preening and how he missed those sacred moments.

Since he awoke above ground, he didn’t have the energy or sheer willpower to accomplish anything more than a couple of weak passes with a toothbrush and a few splashes of lukewarm water on his face and called it a day. But now—poor hygiene be damned—a garden of Earthly man-made delights beckoned him.

He studied his previously revoked collection of personal care products next to the first aid caddy on the bathroom counter before him. Here sat everything his Master denied him for months; he bereaved their absences like a lost loved one—no, scratch that, he never missed a person more than a good hand cream and microdermabrasion exfoliant.

In another life, he was always a star patient when it came to oral hygiene—he sported the Colgate smile—so being deprived of his one true love, his toothbrush, during his solitary confinement was arguably worse than having to shit in a litter box next to his bed.

He didn’t know what disturbed him more, the fact that he looked like a freshly dead Jack Skellington or that he now had plaque buildup, a few missing teeth (curtsey of Sullivan’s fists), and probably a couple of cavities.

A new toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and floss picks were no dentist or oral surgeon, but they were a good start toward redemption.

This is as good as he’d get; best make do with what he got and ignore the rest. Maybe he can’t fill a cavity but can scrub off filth. He commonly recited, ‘It’s better to focus on easily fixable things. There’s an irreplaceable level of satisfaction in having attainable goals.’

He scanned the other objects in front of him, taking special note of the lip scrub and lip balm he hoped would mend his cracked and chapped lips, the tub of extra-extra hydrating hyaluronic acid body lotion tasked with soothing his bone-dry, itchy skin, comb and tweezers to tame invasive hairs, cotton swabs to clean out all the gunk in his ears (he was sure he had more than enough ear wax to fill a tea light candle); blemish control face wash, acne cream, toner, and light-weight moisturizer to get his breakout under control; and nail clippers and file to declaw himself.

He glanced at his fingers and toes.

They weren’t as bad as expected—well, despite his calluses, hang nails, and overgrown cuticles that is. At least he didn't have Althetes' foot or start sprouting weird basement mold between the toes.

Sweet Christ Almighty, the filthy and ungodly things he’d do for a good mani-pedi and facial right now.

If Sullivan weren’t such a fucking sadist with a raging hard-on for making him bleed and scream, he’d consider proposing an exchange of sex acts for a full-package spa day. The sex—he told himself—he could grit his teeth through and forcibly tolerate with minimal tears; it was the rest that canceled out any ounce of enjoyment or relaxation he’d potentially get.

No facial was that good.

His former (glorious) self was never a nail-biter or finger-picker, but his time in isolation lent a hand towards picking up some bad habits to occupy his mind in hopes of preventing him from going mad with boredom (spoiler: it didn’t work).

He picked and picked, and sometimes even nibbled, around his hang nails until he drew blood. He didn’t delight in chewing bits of dead skin peeled off in strings around his fingers, but the motion of eating something—even if deduced to bits of himself—helped drown out the hunger pains and sounds of his empty belly gurgling. He secretly wished Sullivan would catch him in the act of self-cannibalizing himself, realize just how far pushed to insanity he was, and take enough pity on him to release him of his sentence.

It was all nothing more than a stupid fool’s hope; the evil sonovabitch never even felt a glint of remorse.

His eyes scanned the razor and shaving cream, almost suspicious of their presence. Shaving himself was daunting and ostensibly impossible with one shaky hand.

But hey, at least Wyatt trusted with a sharp object; this was a step up.

How long had it been since he properly cleaned himself up and given himself a good shave? Months?

The razor looked new. Sullivan must have given him a fresh one. And if his Master went through the backbreaking effort of changing a razor head, that meant he wanted—no, was practically ordering—him to revive what parts he could that resembled his ci-devant good looks…good looks—was he ever even good looking before all this? He couldn’t tell; he was horrible with those types of things. He knew he wasn’t ugly but also wasn’t a looker, probably landed smack-dab in the middle. Perhaps his attraction level wasn’t for him to decide. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or some shit. Or was that just some junk passed around by those unfortunate souls not blessed with Holly Wood looks?

But now he knew he looked like hell, and the amount of work he needed to do on himself was overwhelming.

It was too much.

How well he’d be able to groom himself with one hand would no doubt leave much to be desired and undoubtedly felt like a set-up for sure failure, but the thought of Sullivan having to pick up where he left off and lather him up in lotion and clip his toenails made his blood run cold and more nervous than a puffer fish in a room full of balloons.

He couldn’t let those big, rough, creepy-ass hands that caused nothing but pain touch him any more than they already had. It felt like he and Sullivan would be breaking an unspoken rule if they made any skin-to-skin contact outside of anything besides the ogre inflicting harm on him. His Master’s hands were torture devices of their own; feeling them on him in any other capacity felt wrong, like a breach of contract.

As much as he refused to believe it, he knew deep down he was touch-starved, and part of him was screaming for any ounce of physical affection. He already leaned a little too far into Dr. Paul’s touch and was damn near smitten from the warm spark of soothing comfort that came from a gentle cup of his cheek; if he did the same with Sullivan, he’d never forgive himself, and his Master definitely wouldn’t let it happen without comment.

He already heard him now—“Yeah, ya like that, don’t ya, boy? Look at ya melting into me like the little needy slut ya are. I got somethin’ else real special for ya that’ll get ya howlin’ an’ really tickle up ya’r insides.”

Even an innocent touch would lead to something more; of course, it would; this was Wyatt fucking Sullivan he was thinking about.

He shivered.

Suddenly, he was all too aware of his very full bladder.

He sighed, then hobbled over to the toilet.

These days he had to piss sitting down; circumstance didn’t grant much flexibility there. The stand-up method was unsuitable for those with one functioning leg and one usable arm; if he dared test his limits, it would likely result in him missing the bowl entirely or ungracefully falling over midstream. He told himself that he didn’t mind popping a squat; it erased the worry of not shaking his pee-pole enough and leaking drops on the rim, or worse—in his underwear. (‘Pay no mind to the very real fear of your peen accidentally sliding against the cold inside of the toilet bowl; no, we don’t have room for such worries.’) Wringing his dick out like a washcloth was far more undignifying than just shoving it between his legs and taking his time anyway—that’s what he told himself, what he made himself believe.

But he deserved that, didn’t he—small comforting lies in whatever form he found them?

Thankfully, the post-catheter sting Dr. Paul warned him of went away after the first day, but his urine persisted in being a dark brownish orange (‘light umber, I think that’s called’) that reeked a pungent odor, evoking him to scrunch his nose in sour disgust every time. He drank more than enough liquids now, so it couldn’t be from dehydration—could it? That left him to conclude it must be yet another unpleasant side-effect from his cocktail of pharmaceuticals.

Pharmaceuticals—thank the marvels of modern science for those. However, what he really craved was a fat joint of Blueberry Kush.

How long ago did he pop that palmful of pills? He contemplated with a sense of impatience, ‘couldn’t be more than 30 minutes ago…’

The Klonopin typically took about an hour and a half to two to kick in. And once it did, he was down for the count, blissfully obliterated until evening, when he would pop an Ambien to sail him through the night.

Rinse and repeat day after day, after day until—well, he didn’t know yet.

And he preferred to remain deliriously unaware.

It was better this way.

Hell, it was the only thing that made his life at all bearable—to be drugged out of his mind, not to be awake, not to think, not to feel his body, to play dead until one fateful day, his Master would finally strike a killing blow.

The matter of if Sullivan could wasn’t in question—they both knew the older man could kill him as effortlessly as a house fly stuck buzzing against a windowsill—it was more of a matter of when.

The Aid tried to carry out the deed of snuffing himself out a few times—okay, more than a few times. He lost count of his botched suicide attempts, but that’s all they were, half-assed “attempts”—a courteous word his actions didn’t quite live up to. What he carried out fell more in line with ideation.

In the basement torture den, he’d wrap the chain around his neck with minimal pressure, just enough to feel a light constriction—nothing more, nothing less—and let the fantasy of floating away into nihility mollify him as he mewled and cried himself to sleep like a squalling infant. Sullivan caught him in this self-soothing ritualistic act once before and had the audacity to act scandalized by what he witnessed as if he didn’t knowingly single-handedly push The Aid to the brink of suicide. After the initial surprise of what he walked in on wore off, Sullivan proceeded to laugh at the miserable little thing at his feet and hurl some colorful beratement at him (finally a personalized insult with a bit more spice, although the timing couldn’t be worse) as the boy bawled his eyes out and crumpled into a shaky ball.

The Aid received an extra beating for his lack of self-respect and composure; Sullivan took offense to The Aid’s actions and informed him that he wasn’t allowed to off himself.

After his Master scolded him, he made him swear he wouldn’t “pull any more weakling shit ever again” and ordered him to abstain from any method of self-harm—Wyatt liked being the only one permitted to hurt him.

The ogre’s cruelties were boundless, but at least the monster finally pitied him enough to find it in his cold, dead heart to allow him the privilege of washing himself up and gave him a change of clothes and a hot meal afterward—sometimes being a mess and pushed to your edge bought rewards.

After all was said and done, he was restrained, his limbs tied to the four corners of the blood-stained mattress so he couldn’t move—for a week—until Sullivan deemed him no longer a threat to himself (the irony of it all did not escape him).

That was the last time he meddled with ending it all. He couldn’t do it, not really—not entirely, no matter how much he wished he could. The only thing that scared him more than Wyatt Sullivan was the great unknown of the other side and being devoured by eternal darkness.

A healthy fear of death was the only thing keeping him alive at this point.

*****

He absently gazed out the window, taking in his perfect view from the side of the house that butted against rolling tan desert foothills.

They were the last house down a long winding street lined with multi-million dollar estate homes, each with a moneyshot view overlooking the Palm Springs valley. He knew better than to indulge in the crackpot fantasy of climbing over that brick retaining wall separating him and the rest of the world to scamper his way through the open desert that went on and on for miles.

He already tried that once.

He didn’t get far—‘Stupid stunt to pull when you have trackers embedded in your neck and spinal column.’

But what was out there?

His mind went wild.

Were there clans of Renegados, the lost people, those who didn’t belong to either cause or fell under contested jurisdictions, hiding deep in the rocky valleys or camping in the Little San Bernardino Mountains? There couldn’t be much of a food source besides snakes and scorpions with the occasional desert hare—not to mention the scarcity of a water source. He surmised Renegados were unlikely in this geography, but what about gangs of marauders? No, that was equally unlikely, as scavenger types preferred abandoned dense urban areas or heavily traveled routes, and they wouldn’t pay much mind to small desert towns or off-grid compounds. There wasn’t much left to plunder in visible sight, especially after the first couple of waves of looting from the mass exodus of some odd four million Los Angelenos alone fleeing the initial outbreaks.

The only people batshit crazy enough to tough it out in such a ragged landscape and unforgiving climate were bands of rebel freedom fighters, the Frondeurs, who opposed what was left of the U.S. Government and fought the rivaling extremist Regime which now controlled nearly half of the 50 states, all the meanwhile also culling the growing numbers of afflicted. It would either be the Frondeurs themselves or hordes of aforementioned afflicted—ravenous cannibals, anthrophages*, devouring their way through the rural areas in search of larger populations to gorge on. “People-eater Pox,” or PEP, was the name quickly given to the incurable disease because “idiopathic anthropophagite contagion” was too clinical and hard to pronounce.

Of course, edge lord teens, horror fanatics, and the everyday 4chan user clung to the pipe dream of a zombie invasion, but these fuckers were far from dead, which somehow made it all that much worse. Sure, they looked dead, but that’s where the physical similarities started and ended.

The afflicted broke out in rotten-smelling, oozing open sore rashes that turned into hardened tree bark-like patches, their skin dulled to a cadaverous blue-gray while the whites of their eyes turned red, and many lost their hair. The cherry on top was their maddening appetite for human flesh and heightened sense of smell and hearing. They were fast, hard to kill, and more animal than human—so he heard.

The Aid never saw an afflicted, not in real life, and he hoped he never would. If you saw one up close, you were two steps closer to being eaten alive or, worse—turning into one of them.

Or maybe instead of bands of rebel forces or diseased cannibals hiding in the desert, there were platoons of those rumored so-called “Envoys” deployed by the Regime—the Republic of Arcadia—to hunt down runaways, defectors, and Frondeurs since they needed every last body they could get. Envoys—he didn’t even know if they were real; he’d never seen one of those either. They were about as real as Santa Claus to him, but luckily, these didn’t look like something out of a Rob Zombie movie and want to eat his face off.

Would Envoys even be out this far west?

Not likely, not unless they now joined the hordes of afflicted. The Republic of Arcadia wouldn’t—couldn’t—needlessly sacrifice any Envoys coming this deep into U.S. territory, not after 11 years in a now stalemated war, not unless they were planning a final invasion.

If that were the case, they were fucked.

If the Envoys were close, that likely indicated the remainder of the U.S. was losing even more territory. Or maybe the government agreed to give up a parcel of idyllic Southern California and a couple of Pacific coast port cities in exchange for a plot of fertile land, unsoiled crop seeds, and healthy bodies to work the fields in a pedantic trade agreement. Lord knows there wasn’t much opportunity for farmland out here in the desert, and good, fertile land these days was worth more than gold, especially after the blights wiped out most of the agriculture industry, which subsequently led to PEP. He didn’t know much about the state of things anymore, and he knew fuck all when it came to the intricacies of a diseased-ravaged and war-torn world hanging on by an unraveling thread. The tidings of war constantly changed, and how anyone could keep up with the insanity of it all was beyond him.

Were they still safe here?

If they had to relocate, what would his Master do with him?

What if they ran out of food?

Would Wyatt eat him if it came down to it?

There was no way he’d let that happen (as if he had a say or any control if it came down to it); not like there was much left of him to eat. You’d get better “meat” off a wild prickly pear cactus than his bony ass. Cannibalism wasn’t just for the afflicted anymore; it wasn’t as uncommon as it used to be. Hard times called for drastic measures in certain parts of the world; not everyone still had access to unsullied food.

But a Sullivan couldn’t stoop so low, not even the worst one out of the bunch, not when the Sullivans were one of the only families left who still owned healthy livestock farms on the West Coast and supplied most of the edible meat and quickly rose to prominence and fortune because of it. Still, being left with the tender mercies of Wyatt didn’t feel promising in any capacity.

He knew he was “lucky” to be owned by the Sullivans and he should be thankful to live in a pocket of the country that remained relatively untouched from the chaos, that he was tucked away from the “real harm” and lived amongst members of high society who remained undeterred by the current state of things. He was a victim of conformity, forcibly resigned to a life he couldn’t get free from. Yet it became increasingly difficult to pretend life was a-okay when the reality of everything sunk in. Eleanor Sullivan was dead. He had five wonderful years with her, but now he suffered under the brutal hand of Wyatt. His life would have been much different if he wasn’t born with abilities. Rather than blossoming into the resident house pet and making his debut by playing mind games with the family matriarch, he’d likely be a plebeian surviving off rations and forced to work in labor camps in a resource sector. He didn’t know which life was worse—people’s minds weren’t made to deal with problems and what-if scenarios this large.

All he could do was accept it and keep trudging along.

This was the world he lived in now—a fucked up, disease-ridden world with only one-third of the population left. A world with a falling, corrupt government that re-institutionalized slavery in an attempt to fill in the labor gaps and keep the corporate overlords happy while the afflicted, marauders, Renegados, Frondeurs, and Envoys wreaked havoc below.

Despite it all and how real and terrible it was, he could only bring himself to worry about the immediate danger in front of him—Wyatt Sullivan.

Out of all his imagined scenarios of who or what was lurking deep in the desert, he hoped Envoys were staking out in these hills and eagerly waiting for the green light to launch an attack. He hoped they would rain down hell and raze this fucking house—tanks, missiles, gunfire and all. He hoped the afflicted would hear the emergency evacuation sirens go off, and every goddamn one of them in a 20+ mile radius would come running like someone rang the dinner bell. He hoped he got to witness them taking one look at Wyatt Sullivan, see the towering beast of a man he was, and look at him like an all-you-can-eat buffet and devour every last bloody fucking inch of him.

Escape.

He could do it then.

For real this time.

That would be the perfect chance to do it, during an emergency evacuation, get lost in the frenzy of it all as his devil incarnate Master got ripped to shreds by anthrophages—

He was getting ahead of himself.

A pipe dream, that’s all it was—a sicko fantasy of diseased cannibals and those terrorist-soldier Envoys and escaping Wyatt Sullivan once and for all. Who knew if he would even be able to ride the tide of freedom instead of being pulled under and drowned by it?

He didn’t finish his breakfast; he blamed the runaway people-eating scenarios on that.

He blinked a few times to shake himself out of his trance, then turned his attention back to himself.

*****

He cautiously unwrapped his shoulder and inspected the stab wound for the first time—appropriately disposing of the soiled bandages in a waste bin, of course (he wasn’t a slob-kabob).

The wound looked better than he expected, not that he doubted Dr. Paul’s work; it’d just been so long since he saw a non-infected wound and received proper medical care.

Five stitches held his skin together. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the skin fusing with a nice crusty scab filled between the gaps of flesh. To his surprise, the swelling mostly subsided and was hardly more than a bump.

He continued undressing his wounds, inspecting each one, surprised by the level of visible healing each time—he usually healed slowly and lacked the gift of quick recovery. Even his splinted wrist with screws tacking the bones together looked better than he imagined it would. The stitch line was smaller than expected, hardly longer than the one on his shoulder.

His eyes blurred over the revealed three-inch scar on his palm and the back of his right hand as he let his gaze maunder to the shower across from him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at this old scar. Unlike the other marks, the memory of this one haunted him with agonizing detail. He went to great lengths to conceal this one, mostly from himself, typically covering it up with a strip of old ace bandage to seal away the constant remainder of Wyatt Sullivan’s unending barbarity.

It was a strange and horrible memory, one he constantly pushed back into a lockbox buried deep in the recesses of his mind, a memory that came in heightened, broken fragments like cutout frames of sun burnt film. It didn't feel real; it seemed like a planted evocation from someone else, more similar to a blurb he would see in a premonition than an echo of his past. Instead of his mind, his body predominantly cataloged this event and all similar events thereafter; he disassociated through most of them in an act of atavistic self-preservation.

Most of his life became staticky blurs alongside indistinct garbles and muddied out-of-body experiences since.

*****

It was the first time.

The monster was hopped up on grade-A Bolivian coke cut with street crystal, riding extraordinarily high, and very drunk, on a weekend bender.

After chasing him around the property with a knife and gun in hand for what felt like hours, the monster cornered him in the home office located in the back of the house.

With that knife, the monster stabbed his hand into the wooden desk, pinning him bent over.

He scremed, hot tears flowed from his eyes, the pain shot through him like a lighting bolt.

The pain stunned him, he stood watching, unable to process what the monster did.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him.

Blood, so much of it.

It spurted out in matching pulses to his quickening heartbeat, the red liquid pooled on the desk and painted his arm in crimson.

The monster grabbed at his waist.

He yelled, thrashed, and fought with everything he had, buying as much time as possible and refusing the inevitable, but he didn’t have much steam after hours of running from and fighting off the lumbering beast.

The monster took his other hand and wrenched it behind his back so he couldn't move.

It felt like the monster was seconds away from snapping his arm. He shrieked.

The monster’s fingers hooked around his waistband and pulled down. Still, he fought—he threatened, he begged, he screamed—he screamed so fucking loud.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him.

The monster groped his bare ass, pinned his legs open, spread him apart, and forced something inside him.

He couldn't see, but by the feel, he knew it must be one of the monster’s fingers.

It didn’t hurt, but it felt wrong, out of place, intrusive.

He screamed more and pleaded for the beast to stop.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

The monster spoke, but he couldn’t hear the words.

The monster wasn't stopping.

The monster added another finger and wriggled it around, stretching him out.

He wailed and told the beast he’d do anything to make it stop.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

He pounded his head on the desk; that hurt, too, but he didn’t care.

He wanted it to stop; it had to stop.

He couldn’t take it.

He’d never done this before.

He never wanted to do this, not with the monster, not with anyone.

He kept headbutting the table until his vision was covered in red like his hand.

The monster grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, yelling more words he couldn’t hear.

The monster’s fingers crammed deeper inside him, his body froze.

He begged with everything he had for the beast to stop.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

Everything got fuzzy.

His mind went blank.

Something else was pushing inside him now.

Something bigger.

This wasn’t the monster’s fingers.

He wanted to scream, but his body seized, and he held his breath.

This time, it hurt; this time, it hurt really bad, more than any other kind of hurt he ever felt before.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

His mind went blank again.

He came back around.

The monster violently pushed into him, slamming his hips into the corner of the desk.

The monster sunk deep into him, deeper than he thought any monster part could possibly go.

He made noises he had never heard himself make before, noises he didn't recognize as his own.

The squealing and yawping coming from him sounded like a faraway dying animal.

He thought he knew what this was, but at the same time, he didn’t.

He couldn’t accept it.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

The monster moved around inside him, still pushing into him, still hurting him.

He weakly squirmed, still trying to plead with the monster.

The monster pushed down on his back to hold him still and plowed into him, making gross monster noises.

He knew what this was called.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

No, not him.

It couldn't be. But it was.

The beast liked hurting him, and the beast was good at it.

He screamed and cried, begging so loud his vocal cords gave out until his voice pruned to a dusty croak.

No. No. No. This wasn't supposed to happen to him.

Why was this happening to him?

What did he do to deserve this?

He breathed so fast, but it wasn't enough; he couldn't get enough air.

He thought he was dying.

Everything went dark.

He didn’t exist anymore, and the monster was gone.

But he came back.

He still felt the splitting intrusion inside him—the monster still jackhammering away without the faintest concern for the internal damage dealt.

He felt his insides ripping, it hurt so fucking bad, it felt like he was on fire.

He tried to scream, but his throat stung. So he wailed out broken sobs even though that still hurt, too.

The monster laughed, then spoke more words he couldn’t hear, and he knew it was good that he couldn’t make them out. He wasn’t a monster, so he didn’t speak monster. That made sense.

He wept.

The monster stuck something in his mouth. An object. The gun.

No. Please not him. Not him. Not him.

The beast spoke more monster words and sounded mad and happy at the same time. He couldn’t feel the monster's feelings because he turned off his monster-reading senses.

Why was the monster doing this to him?

He drooled around the gun and tried to bite down on it to quiet his screams, but it hurt his teeth.

He was terrified.

All he could hear was his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

He felt sick.

He thought he was going to die.

He felt wetness.

He realized he pissed himself.

The monster didn't notice.

The air smelt like a gross gas station bathroom mixed with copper.

He felt more wetness, a different wetness spilling from where the monster was.

Blood and monster cum leaked out of him.

He felt the mix of wetness slicking between his thighs and drip down his legs, only stopping when his socks soaked up all the fluids. After some unknown amount of time, it settled in his shoes. It felt like he had stepped in a puddle, a smelly, rotten puddle.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

He felt nauseous and dizzy.

The monster grunted and huffed on top of him; he could smell the alcohol, the beer, and chewing tobacco on the monster’s breath.

He smelt his blood and some other gut-churning smell he assumed was sweaty, unprepared, raw sex.

He hated sex. He never wanted to do it. But the monster didn't care what he wanted.

He cried until his eyes swelled, and he couldn’t see anymore.

His whole body ached.

He was tired, so tired. He wanted to go to sleep. He wanted this to be nothing but a bad dream.

This couldn’t be happening, no, not to him. Not to him. Not to him.

But it did happen. It happened. To him.

*****

He surmised whatever deal Sullivan made with the Doctor’s experimental drugs was paying off, at least for now.

As relieved as he was with the healing of his noticeable injuries, his main concern sided with the non-visible wounds, what lay beneath his skin—the injuries Sullivan deliberately exploited because he knew better than to dig his trigger-happy fingers into freshly fused flesh and meat and consequently be stuck with the Doctor’s wrathful hospital bill.

His sprained ankle and cracked rib still pulsed with a dull ache.

He hoped by the next check-up, whatever damage his Master dealt would remit, and the memory of this incident would evanesce like the rest of his forgotten scars.

<-Previous | Masterlist | Next->

Footnotes:

*Anthrophage: a person with PEP (People-eater Pox), medical diagnosis “idiopathic anthropophagite contagion.” This is just a fancy name for a diseased cannibal who has PEP that exists within this AU. Anthrophage is not a “real word,” but it’s a play off of the word—anthropophagite.

Taglist: @sacredwrath @potterhead5ever @the-name-is-reaper @little-rat-dragon @pirefyrelight @whumpyourdamnpears

If ya wanna be added to or removed from the tag list, just let me know! Leave a comment or message me :)

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beestungdog · 25 days

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🩸 MY LOST BOYS DR 🩸

🩸 DESCRIPTION 🩸

Summary: Ex Circus Performing Werewolf x 4 Vampire Brothers

I Come Back To Santa Carla After Being Gone For 60+ Years After Being Turned Into A Werewolf. The Only Person I Know Is Max So I Search For Him On The Boardwalk And Find Him. Needing A House To Stay In Because I Finally Decided To Leave The Circus, He Allows Me To Stay In The Guest Room At His House. Its Late At Night, Were Chatting In His Kitchen When 4 Young Vampires Burst In And Sees Me For The First Time. Since Being Their Age, I Decide To Befriend Them. They Find Out Im A Werewolf And Since Im Not A Human They Are All More Drawn In By Me. Anyways, They All Start To Like Me I Have A Fatass Crush On All Of Them And I Start Dating Them All.

🩸 BACKSTORY 🩸

Its 1923, Im 16 Years Old And I Fucking Hate School. Being The Rebellious Little Fuck I Am, I Decide To Drop Out Of School, And In Turn Im Kicked Out. Walking Along The Boardwalk, I Meet Max. Hes A Kind Man, And Decides To Help Me Find A Job. I Find A Flyer For The Santa Carla Circus And Im Interested. Being A Ringmaster Seems Cool As Fuck, So I Try Out And Get In. Years Later, Im 18 And Extremely Famous In The Santa Carla Area For The Circus. One Night Im Walking With Max Back To My Trailer After A Sucessful Show When A Wolf Jumps Out Of Nowhere And Attacks Me. See, I Had Known Max Was A Vampire For A While Now And I Never Seem Interested In Turning, Until Now. Bloods Gushing Out Of My Neck And Without Thinking I Beg Max To Turn Me. Without A Second Thought, Max Latches Onto My Neck, With Intent To Turn Me. I Pass Out And Wake Up With... Ears And A Tail? Turns Out Since I Got Attacked By A Secret Werewolf Before Max Turned Me, I Turned Into A Werewolf Instead Of A Vampire. One Problem Though, Instead Of Drinking Max's Blood And Making My First Kill, He Ended Up Biting Me, So Im His Mate Instead Of His Daughter. Im 18 Years Old And My Used-To-Be Father Figure Is Now My Mate. Obviously That Wasnt His Intent So We Decide To Just Awkwardly Ignore That And I Decide To Join The Traveling Circus, Cutting Ties With Max Up Until 1987.

🩸 DRSELF 🩸

I Havent Made A Proper Drawing Of Me Yet So Heres Some Pictures That Represent Muah

🩸 ILL MAKE MORE POSTS 🩸

Ill Make More Posts About This DR Soon Because Im OBSESSED But Feel Free (PLEASE DO IM BEGGING) To Make Asks About It I Love Yapping About Anything Lost Boys 🥰

Imma Make The Hashtag "attys tlb dr" So They Are All In One Area

ALSO I Will GLADLYYYY Add Any Of Yalls Self Inserts Into Here Cus I Feel Like That Would Be Really Fun

🩸 REBLOGS APPRECIATED 🩸

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jewbeloved · 2 years

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Cartman, Kyle, and Clyde with a s/o who is a food addict💖💖💖

Warnings: weight insecurities, mentions of past relationships (with Heidi), and eating habits.

Gender: Neutral

Basically in this post you like to eat a lot of food and you sometimes even end up stealing theirs, and here's how they react to it.

❤️ Eric Cartman 🩸

Man eats a lot of cheesy poofs so he knows what your getting at with this.

He doesn't appreciate that you secretly eat his cheesy poofs while he isn't looking though.

You both would lie down in the couch at his house while eating food that he asks his mom to make for you both.

You both even go around stealing other kids foods by breaking into their houses.

All of them are literally mad at you both for stealing their food that they were going to eat for their lunch/dinner/breakfast (especially Kyle-)

Kyle is severely pissed at how he finds you both sitting down in his couch eating food that his mom provided you guys with because she thought that Kyle invited you and Cartman over.

"Goddammit Cartman and Y/n! get your fatasses out of my house!", "Hey! don't call y/n a fatass you stupid Jew rat!".

"What did I do to deserve being called fat Kyle :(". You had a sad look on your face.

"Thanks a lot Kahl! now you made them cry, fuck you!!", "Don't worry sweetheart, let's raid KFC for more food to cheer you up".

You eventually become overweighted like him.

You have eaten too much that you became insecure of the fact that everybody is now saying that you're taking the same path as what Cartman did to Heidi when he was dating her.

The time you told Cartman about your insecurities was when he found you crying on your bed in the middle of the night. (He sneaked out to see you)

Cartman isn't the best with comforting people with insecurities and he prefers to rip on them for it instead.

But since it's you, he'll reassure and cuddle you all through the night while giving you little kisses on the cheek <3. ❤️❤️❤️

💚 Kyle Broflovski ☘️

He will definitely lecture you that you shouldn't be eating too much food.

And like in Cartman's scenario, he doesn't like that when he turns his back you would just swoop up his food in your mouth and he would wonder where his food went until he looks over at you and see food crumbs on your face.

He wasn't really happy with you about that.....

You done this on purpose a lot of times since you find it very funny whenever Kyle is pissed.

You would also flop down on top of him with your belly and crush him.

He was sleeping and you really had to wake him up with that nonsense of yours >:(

My god, he is definitely annoyed at your tactics.

He still loves you, but he doesn't appreciate you eating a whole lot of food.

You will have to give him cuddles in order to get him to stop being mad at you-

But when you start getting insecure about your weight and expect Kyle to shame you for eating too much.

This boy will literally drag you to the couch and start cuddling you until you feel better.💚💚💚💚

🤎 Clyde Donovan 🌮

He eats tacos all the time so he kind of understands.

But don't try stealing his tacos, because he keeps them well hidden 💀💀

But if you do end up finding the tacos and start eating them, he will be a bit pissed but since it's you he doesn't mind that much.

But don't think you will get a slip by pass because of that.

He also doesn't mind you stealing food from others, in fact he finds it quite funny tbh.

If you are insecure about your weight.

He kinda has no clue on how to reassure you, but he tries his best alright? :(((( 🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

I want food right now -~-

#south park x reader #eric cartman x reader #kyle broflovski x reader #clyde donovan x reader #south park #southpark sp #sp x reader #southpark blog #x reader #southpark x y/n #food #food addiction #insecurity #clyde donovan #eric cartman #kyle brovlofski #southpark scenarios #southpark headcanons

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templetogavage · 1 year

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I posted 941 times in 2022

That's 941 more posts than 2021!

35 posts created (4%)

906 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@reluctantloser

@uyuiuyui2

@bulking-texan

@softjigglyprince

@yourenotsafehere

I tagged 940 of my posts in 2022

#fattening feed - 895 posts

#content type: image - 637 posts

#lard work and delicatessen - 206 posts

#before and fatter - 199 posts

#chasable chub - 156 posts

#content type: video - 149 posts

#temple to gluttony - 135 posts

#content type: text - 130 posts

#1k - 89 posts

#content type: gif - 81 posts

Longest Tag: 34 characters

#lifestyles of the thick and fatass

My Top Posts in 2022:

Weekly Weigh-In: 05/08-05/14

As usual, here are some fat-related, feedism-related, or gaining-related posts from this week that I enjoyed.

1. https://doughydreamboat.tumblr.com/post/682600069982273536/doughydreamboat-is-creating-feederism-content

This still image from one of @doughydreamboat's videos shows the wonderful sight of someone appreciating a feedee properly while he eats.

2. https://bigjockchsr.tumblr.com/post/683640995299164160

A fun little video in which a guy acknowledges that he's not losing weight anytime soon.

3. https://menbearbeauty.tumblr.com/post/679124834827075584

See the full post

26 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

Weekly Roundup (10/16 to 10/22)

Every week, I round up my favorite posts of the week (including one post of my own). Here's this week's Weekly Roundup.

1. https://www.tumblr.com/lardassboy/697844106961076224

Thanks to @lardassboy for putting this video on my dash.

2. https://greenrangergainer.tumblr.com/post/697871353581305856/what-was-the-moment-that-made-you-go-screw-it

@greenrangergainer giving an excellent answer to an anon question about what finally broke the camel's back and led to his gain. I recommend reading the whole thing.

3. https://www.tumblr.com/gainingprogress/697869537326039040

See the full post

34 notes - Posted October 23, 2022

Satiating Slop (06/12-06/18)

As usual, here are my favorite posts from my dashboard this week.

https://bellylovr.tumblr.com/post/686990758897664000

Libra of @thic-as-thieves looking nice and chunky. Sometimes you just have to appreciate the fat male body.

2. https://reluctantloser.tumblr.com/post/687122234920337408/chubstffr-mrjaime20s-perfect-chub-chaser

See the full post

46 notes - Posted June 20, 2022

Weekly Weighing (11/20/22 to 11/26/22)

Here is this week's roundup of my favorite gaining and encouraging posts.

1. https://www.tumblr.com/sumbellies/701744377010290689/by-the-way-i-love-seeing-pictures-of-you-from-your

See the full post

74 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Satiating Slop (09/25-10/01)

1. https://www.tumblr.com/creator/templetogavage/696572656212951040

Shameless self-promotion! Audio encouragement around the idea of milestones you hit while you're gaining. Follow the link and subscribe to my Post+ if you want the full audio. Moving on...

2. https://www.tumblr.com/fat-male-celebrities/696279277444939776

Lewis Capaldi's music not withstanding, I think we can all agree that there's a lot else to appreciate about this video. (The music is pretty good too, IMO, but that's not why we're here.)

3. https://www.tumblr.com/chub-redfield350/696745262106935297/thinking-of-going-as-the-brawny-guy-after-he-let

See the full post

87 notes - Posted October 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#satiating slop #yearly weighing #content type: text

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wannabee-succubus · 1 year

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Wanna know the amount of times that my ed actually did its job? one time. ONE fucking instance of this shitstain of a disease ever doing anything for me. I remember everything that went on in my head very vividly, possibly because I used to put a lot of effort into completely eradicating any memory tied with my ultra fatass days. Still, I can very clearly remember the determination with which I went from 90 something kgs(almost 200 pounds) to 62(130 pounds, my lowest weight to date), while being around 183cms, or 6-6'1ft. So it was pretty fucking great. I actually looked the part. I could play on my ribs like fucking guitar strings and I had such bony legs it literally hurt to put them together when I was laying on the side. (Still does, but it's not the same). It was cathartic. But you know how it always is with these stories, you never actually get to develop a lifetime regimen out of this crap. It ebbs and flows like hell and it's really hard to relapse sometimes. For me it has been. I've been absolutely STUCK at 68 kgs now and I've never felt more shit. Even when I was double my size I didn't feel this horrible. But you know what? This terrible feeling isn't permanent. It comes and it goes. I could wake up feeling all body positive, eat a shit ton of sweets and suddenly have a nice cherry on top in the form of my ed coming back into existence to shit in my mouth some more. Can't you be there before I commit these things? Can't you just stay and not toy with me like this?

My attention span is nonexistent, I can hardly commit to any goal or thought lately. I can't tell what the fuck it is that I need to do to relapse successfully. I've never wanted to grow out of it, but somehow at a certain point in my life I felt that I was enough for a while and that shit was all I needed to "cure" me forever? I fucking refuse to believe that. That's nuts. I simply need something or someone or a combination of both to keep reminding me how absolutely pathetic I look and that no matter how many tricks I pull, nothing, NOTHING is going to compensate for the lack of discipline. For all this goddamn fat. I need a drug of some sort to keep my filthy pighole shut.

it's exhausting. I look back at the things I write, I recite all the insults I say to myself and it just doesn't do it for me anymore. I don't feel the same guilt I used to. I no longer feel like I'm so gut wrenchingly hideous anymore that I need to stay in my room 24/7. I no longer shy away from buying and eating snacks when I'm out with my friends because I'm afraid of making someone else conscious about their weight. ana has done a lot for me and I owe my life to it, but I still wouldn't wish it upon anyone else. They all have incredible souls and personalities that shine through and their weight literally never matters to me, they're all equally gorgeous all the time. I don't have that privilege. I need this shit to be beautiful, I need it to be appreciated and desired. Even if it objectifies me in a way, I couldn't care less. I pray daily to any deity out there who would hear my plea and simply grant me the willpower to do what I need to do, but they never do. Even the goal of my life, which is to transition successfully, has been made so fucking daunting NOT because of any gender related implications or passing, but because I read somewhere that hormones can make you gain weight. There's still time before hormone therapy, but I can't trust myself with having my weight issue resolved by that time. Mtf btw.

I'm ranting at this point, but that's exactly what this account is for anyways. maybe I'll magically remember to visit this place regularly. maybe seeing my thoughts laid out like this is just what I need to successfully relapse. I'd love to have a following with which I could share my progress, I feel like that would help me out a lot. although I'm fine with doing this on my own as well. I'll just make a.. rule of sorts, to post my weight update every week or so. hope that's enough to keep me in check. hope I return victorious.

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infernal-jokesses · 4 years

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there are salamanders in the compost.

#why #what are they doing here #salamanders #reptile appreciation post #i guess #compost #gardening #why are they there tho #big salamanders with fatasses #bigass lizards #the fuck

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horiizonsstuff · 2 years

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TTTE DOODLES #5

local news: sassy duo dating confirmed?!?!!????!! (REBLOGS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED)

i want what they have sometimes. they boost each other's egos. they're that type of couple who just brags about their relationship on twitter or instagram. they gossip behind ur fake ass. they are that type of couple who takes time to be emotional and shit like that. they are equals. they are my serotonin. my new fixation until i move to the next fixation.

Anyways, 4x5 doodles for the homies 🗣️‼️ can't believe this ship is underrated, I'll carry this ship to the grave. (both are adults in all the doodles and the rest of the 4x5 doodles i will post one day <33 chu chu)

midterm is in 2 weeks and my fatass is instead drawing humanized trains being in love cuz its a coping mechanism don't touch me

me and the homies will suffer in Midterm studies soon help✌️

#ttte humanized #thomas and friends #doodles #doodle #ttte gordon #ttte james #4x5 #gordonxjames #otp doodles #my otp #doodle dump #ttte 4/5 #ttte

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ask-feederjin · 3 years

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Hi Jin! What are you favorite things to do with each of the boys separately and what's your favorite thing to do with everyone together?

Jin logged onto his Lavender Love-Handles from his desktop computer. Might as well have it running in the background as he gets back to some higher ups.

Ping!

Oh, another comment! Jin clicks on the link.

“Hi Jin! What are you favorite things to do with each of the boys separately and what's your favorite thing to do with everyone together?”

That’s a fun one to think about, let’s see…

That’s a really great question!

When it comes to non-kink related activities, one thing we all have in common is our love of music and movies! It’s a great hobby to share now that we’ve decided on fattening them up, cause you don’t have to move around much to enjoy it. Jungkook is really the movie buff, so he tends to pick those out, but since we all have such different tastes in music we’ll have what we call a ‘jukebox night’. We all sit down together and take turns introducing each other to new music. It’s actually super relaxing and it’s one of our favorite things to do post-stuffing.

Individually… Hmmm, let’s see.

With Yoongi, he likes to do his own thing for the most part. He claims that he’s a lazy fatass, but he’s actually a total workaholic! I have to sometimes drag his ass out of his office for dinner cause he lost track of time. It’s a miracle he’s gained any weight at all with how often he would skip meals! Really, it’s only thanks to his completely sedentary lifestyle combined with constant snacking that he’s packed on any pounds.

Since he doesn’t come out of his office often, we like to spend time together while he works. We don’t talk a lot, but’s a comfortable quiet that we can just exist in. The younger boys can be pretty rambunctious sometimes, but with Yoongi there’s no expectations of doing things, you know? Sometimes he even asks for my advice on a track he's working on.

Kink wise, I like to make sure he’s always topped up on snacks. Yoongi doesn’t like feeling too full, at least not to the point of nausea, so we’ve decided to just make sure he’s never hungry and see how that goes. I will come into his studio while he’s engrossed with a project and feel his tummy. If I think it’s getting too soft, I'll feed him a few snacks while he works. It’s so cute how he absentmindedly takes them from my fingers, chewing slowly. I only leave once his belly his nice and tight again.

Namjoon and I enjoy going out together. There’s a park next to a nearby river that’s always beautiful this time of year, so we like to have picnics together there. Sometimes the other boy’s come too, but it can be a little too much of a walk for them now. Joonie is the only one who’s maintained the majority of his muscle mass so far (it used to be him and Jungkook, but Kookie is actively trying to lose mobility so he doesn’t like to leave the house much).

We talk about books we’ve read recently, our favorite cafes and watch the ducks toddle around.

I’ll tease him about how soon he’ll be the one waddling like that. It’s so funny seeing him try not to get flustered in public when I say those things.

When we feel a little friskier, we’ll go out with him dressed in his smallest clothes. The lower curve of his belly is always on display, sometime with a little of his butt crack if the pants slip down. He’s gained over thirty pounds of fat since we started and it seems like it’s only really gone to his waist, so no double chin yet :’(

Those are the days I’ll pack a massive lunch. He’s required to eat all of it while we’re out, and by the time we’re done he’s so stuffed his shirt often rides up over his belly entirely!

It’s so hot, as he gets fuller, seeing him slowly stop caring about strangers watching. He goes from embarrassedly tugging down his shirt and wiping his mouth to belching openly, belt buckle undone.

Jin had to take a short break from writing to slap his red cheeks. Oh man, this was so weird talking about these moments. The time he spends with his boy’s has always been very intimate, especially their kinkier interactions. Seeing it written down like this made Jin feel like an old man that just saw a slip of ankle from across the street.

Joonie usually needs help standing after one of those outings. We take a cab back home too, so no worries about him getting any cramps!

Hoseok is interesting. Before he started gaining, he was actually one of the most active people I knew! He would frequently attend dance lessons and even wanted to start his own studio at some point. He actually confessed to me once that although he does love dancing, a lot of his commitment to it was an attempt to suppress his desire to let himself go.

He still likes to dance, just not for hours every day like he used to. I’ve got two left feet myself, but Hobi never makes me feel bad about my abilities, or lack there of. We will turn on some of his favorite music and totally let loose. I used to be the only one that would get out of breath, but now it’s the both of us. He turns bright red when I mention this, haha! He totally likes it though, he’s one of the ones that gets off on teasing.

Lately, he’s really been enjoying dancing due to feeling his new fat jiggle. He’s gained the least out of all the boys, no thanks to his hobby, so there’s not a lot of pudge to feel.

He swears up and down that he can feel his upper arms and belly shake slightly though. I believe him. It’s only a matter of time anyway before it’ll be visible to others though, so we’re looking forward to that.

Jimin is a people pleaser. He likes being helpful, and what a sweetheart he is! I cook a lot for the boys, and now that their caloric intake has practically doubled, I have a lot of food to make!

Jimin enjoys playing sous chef for me. He’s a great assistant, grabbing the spices I need and chopping up the more tedious ingredients. We chat about our days while we cook. Jimin likes knowing that people are interested in and listening to what he’s saying, it’s his way of feeling acknowledged and appreciated.

He’ll try to sneak bites of food while I’m not looking, and most of the time I’ll let him. He’s also my little taste tester! So by the time food is ready to be served he’ll already have a half-full tummy.

So far he seems fine getting around the kitchen, although, with the way that he’s growing, I may have to do a little rearranging! Minnie’s getting pretty bottom-heavy, so I worry that his larger hips might bump into something and knock it over. We’ll need to remodel in the future anyway, so I can take care of that then.

Taehyung likes to be babied. He’s not our youngest (that would be Jungkook), but he sure acts like it most of the time. He’s very interested in fashion and loves to sit down with me to explain the newest trends and upcoming designers. Now that he’s a little pudgier (and often very stuffed), he can’t fit into some of the clothes that he buys so he uses me as a model. I try to make him laugh with funny poses and exaggerated runway walks which makes him all whiney. I see him trying to keep a straight face though!

Although we get most of his wardrobe online, one activity we like to do is go out to the mall and shop there. I like to dress up all the boy’s before we leave the house to accentuate their new bodies, so I make Tae wear button ups that don’t button all the way anymore, and slacks that visibly cut into his hips.

He lives for the embarrassment of looking fat and sloppy in public.

We’ll go to a store and have him pick out things to try on that are too small for him. He’ll go to the dressing room and call out quietly for help. I act like I don’t know what’s wrong, so he has to explain it to me, and I scold him for growing too fat. Oh man, he absolutely loves that.

Jin stopped writing briefly to remember that moment. When he had walked into the dressing room, his eyes were greeted with a titillating sight. Taehyung was sweating and red from embarrassment, the store’s black skinny jeans only pulled up to the boy’s upper thighs before having gotten stuck. The white button-up dress-shirt was completely unbuttoned, sleeves tight around his upper arms.

Oh, Jin teased him so much that day. About how soon he’ll be spilling out of his largest pair of sweatpants, how everyone sees how much of a little fatty he’s become. Even the store’s cashier made a couple lighthearted comments that went straight to Taehyung’s libido.

Jin shook his head. There was no way he could write that down! Going into full detail of the erotic event would be so TMI!

He should probably move on...

Jungkook and I like to watch movies together. He’s a massive Marvel fan, but up until we all started dating, I’d never seen a single one of them. He was soooo upset with me, haha! He sat me down and we started getting caught up. Once a month about, we cuddle up and watch a Marvel movie together. I think we’re on Infinity War right now. I’ve… definitely heard spoilers at this point, but that doesn’t detract from the experience at all. Jungkook is so fun to snuggle. He’s a little taller than me, so I like to sit on his lap and lean into his front while we watch. Sometimes when there’s a really exciting part, I can feel his heart race.

Of course, we have snacks too. Lots of popcorn and soda, hot dogs and soft pretzels. We buy bulk movie theater candy online, so we’ve got all his favorites. Jungkook usually starts eating by himself, but once the movie really gets going he slows down. I take over then so that he doesn’t have to split his attention.

Eventually I can feel his belly pressing further into me, hear it gurgle as it grows tighter and tighter. His breathing gets really heavy near the climax of the movies, and every few bites lets out the smallest moan. Jungkook loves getting stuffed past his limit, so we go all out.

Jin wonders if he should leave that part in. Would people find it too personal? Whatever, it’s not too weird. He’ll leave it as is.

I like to give him belly rubs while we wait for the end credit scenes. He lets out a little built up gas from all the carbonation which I tease him about. Sometimes he’s too stuffed to move so we pull out the couch a bit so he can just lie down and sleep right there.

So… yeah! I guess that answers your question. Sorry for the essay, I just love talking about them.

#lavender//ask #lavender//jin

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elle-smells · 3 years

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I watched Bare The musical for the first time...

ok Honestly, as a musical and as a separate thing, it's not bad. Before anyone says anything, I think I get what it was trying to achieve with bullying (and social media) playing a big role in the development of the characters, I saw it and I am very aware. Anyways yeah as a musical, It's got a coherent plot, the songs are catchy and good, it flows well, I guess it works for what it is, so it is by no means a horrible show. However, as Bare? that's where I have more thoughts:

What I liked --

once again, songs were not bad, I would listen to them again.

Jason's little phone call with his Father, we get to have more moments alone with just him.

I appreciate that they tried to fix some of the stereotype-y things in the og. For example, Sister Chantelle was rewritten and not made into a typical sassy black woman. There is no "there is a black woman inside of every gay man". (she could've still been POC tho. there are ways to write a black woman that doesn't make her fall into that trope)

Nadia's duet with Ivy was cool. It added to layers to them.

I didn't exactly mind that Role of a Lifetime was given to Jason instead of Peter. It works for where they put it in the timeline of the show and actually, I think it would've been interesting if the Pop Opera had Jason sing a reprise of this song.

Overall, some of these little changes worked for the way they wrote the show.

Now, things I didn't like --

THE LACK OF RELIGION. One of the things Bapo does well is showing how the characters' faith plays a role in how they see themselves and the world. All the references to god, to praying, literally all of Epiphany, are almost entirely gone in the musical apart from a few exceptions. I felt like it was really lacking in this element that gave the original some of its heart and soul

Peter's coming out to his mom. See Me is such a good moment in the show. I missed it here

Idk, the length of Peter and Jason's relationship still matters so much to me. I wrote about this in another post but the fact that it's all built up frustration over years of hiding and telling each other that they would finish the journey how they started it, together, adds a whole other layer to each of their motivations and desires.

They butchered Portrait of a girl and I am SAD. They just took away Ivy's moment with that song and kept making her someone who is "not satisfied" bcs "oh I wish (Matt) being nice was enough for me"...why just why. Because that's not the point of Ivy's character at all or the point of this song in the original I-

They took away Nadia and Jason's moment in Plain Jane fatass (a song they didn't have at all but ok I get it). Their little sibling bickering and bonding showing how they had each other's backs, how much they cared, how much their parent's affected them. Also, they made Nadia Lucas and I still don't know how I feel about her being the one to give Jason the- yeah

The little plot with the sister and priest felt a little unnecessary, their purpose is to serve as parallels to one another in my mind but...ok

Not to say the Pop Opera is in any way perfect, because it's not and we all have to admit that it needs some change. But I wouldn't do it to the extreme of Bare the musical. I definitely prefer the Pop Opera jsut bcs I think it hits a lot more things better, and at its core, it really is a beautifully crafted show. So yeah, I wouldn't say I absolutely hate the musical but yeah it was just not it for me overall in terms of wanting to see a production of Bare.

#wow ok I made it through skfjsdjf #too many thoughts head empty #I think I'm still on the fence about it #bapo #bare a pop opera #bare the musical #dani watched btm

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dankali · 3 years

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Things I Liked About The Haikyuu!! English Dub That No One Asked For Pt. 1

I promise this is my last Haikyuu post for now

Hinata

- “UuuHH- tHANKS BRUH”

- As much as I adore his original seiyuu’s higher timbre, the lower voice in the dub makes Hinata a bit easier to listen to (as someone I have to hear in every episode)

- His little “BLEH!” after that one time Tanaka speaks

- “BATHROOM, BATHROOM, I GOTS TO PEE-”

- Every time he gets all adorably excited, my heart grows a bit warmer

- This sounds weird, but his voice blends well with Lev and Kenma’s english actors

Kageyama

- Alright I know a lot of people like to shit on his dub bUT-

- I’m gonna make my case here

- The fact that Kags’ english voice is just awkward enough to be a constant lingering feeling when he speaks is strangely comforting to me???

- It kinda pulls me back to Earth and reminds me that Kageyama used to be a sweet, clueless middle school first year. And his ENVIRONMENT had a big hand in his growth into the “King of the Court”

- And as prideful and short-tempered as he can be, he’s really just a socially inept, emotionally constipated sixteen-year-old

- Also “Uh, let’s see! Uh, the frickin’ MOON?” and “WOULD YOU JUST FREAKING DROP IT?!”

Daichi

- I’m going to venture to say that I like his voice better in the dub-

- It doesn’t hold as much bass and that makes it easier to associate it with an eighteen-year-old that had to mature fast in order to effectively parent 10 children

- And that slightly gravely tone holds a special place in my heart

- Not sure why, but when he says, “Don’t let him get under your skin!” to Tsukishima is a memorable point to me

- It also meshes with Kuroo’s english voice in an oddly ship-fueling way

- Ngl it was pretty cute when I heard him talk with his mouth full during the training camp bbq

Suga

- Oh WHERE DO I BEGIN

- It’s the “Hey~” for me

- It gives me those Canon!Suga vibes

- Y’know, those “Tequila Aunt”, “Nurturing Enabler” energies that so many people seem to forget about him

- And his little voice cracks when he gets embarrassed make me go “UwU” in the most humiliating way

- “I wouldn’t brag. The cutoff is a forty and you barely passed.”

Asahi

- I honestly NEVER thought I would simp for Asahi’s english voice. Yet, here we are

- This is where I think the added bass in the dub really helps

- Most people already perceive him as this big, scary, dangerous dude. When, in reality, he’s a huge softie

- So, when his timbre matches his “look”, it adds on to that preconceived misconception

- Then, when his tone breaks and his true personality shows, it comes as a more...intimate?? Moment?

- “OoOhH mAn, ThAt WaS rEaLlY sCaRy...” MY HEART

Noya

- ANOTHER ONE I LIKE MORE IN DUB??

- Like, I know why Noya’s voice is deeper in sub to contrast his small stature with a more intense voice matching his personality. BUT!

- I think a smaller voice like Greg Ayers’ doesn’t give me as much whiplash when I hear a small-framed, 5′2″ gremlin speak

- And his voice is just raspy enough to sound scrappy and chaotic

- I may just be biased because Kaoru Hitachiin Supremacy, but the casting was quite spot on for Nishi

- “Ughhh, I’m sTARVING.”

Tanaka

- My close-shaved KING

- THEY DID YOU RIGHT

- I’m just gonna put quotes here

- “You have to establish dOMINANCE!”

- “That would be,,,ridiculously,,,,,,,ridiculous.”

- “MEAT MEAT DINNER! MEATY MEAT DINNER!”

Tsukishima

- Talk about Slightly Sad Bastard Energy™️

- His voice, to me, is just muted and “ugh” enough normally so that the moments he shows genuine feelings give a bit more impact

- “What the hell are you talking about,” and “Hello, I’m Mr. Vanilla,” live in my head rent free

- You can kinda tell that he feels uncomfortable with so many people being so nice and supportive to him (since he really only had Yamaguchi’s passive support)

- I can’t describe it, but his voice has a certain lilt when he goes “Bitch Mode” on people

- “Man, you are such a fatass!”

Yamaguchi

- Okay, I get why people are upset that Yams’ english voice wasn’t the “uwu soft boy” tone it was in the sub. But, hear me out.

- His voice is actually what I imagine a real high schooler with Yams’ personality would sound like

- Kinda in the middle of childish treble and manly bass, slightly nasally or in the back of his throat, SCREAMING “I have consistently resurfacing insecurities!!” It’s awkward enough to be real, but endearing

- His “Uhh, hi?” is literally the cutest thing

- And his little “No......NO...” to the alumni teaching him the jump float asking him about his first time serving basically shattered my heart into irreparable pieces

- It sure wasn’t my favorite, but I appreciate the different interpretation

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!!#hq #haikyuu dub #haikyuu!! dub #hq!! dub #hq dub #sub vs dub #shoyo hinata #tobio kageyama #daichi sawamura #koushi sugawara #asahi azumane #yuu nishinoya #ryuunosuke tanaka #kei tsukishima #tadashi yamaguchi

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rikorene · 4 years

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@weiampenguinblog : Hey can you a Tsukishima one shot where he’s dating a chubby girl and she gets teased by another team during a volleyball game so he defends her with number 3 in the fluff/crack?

[ OF COURSE LOVE! sorry for the late post hhh. y’all should love & appreciate your bodies no matter what shape and size it is <3 ]

PROMPT LIST || MASTERLIST || REQUEST RULES

TSUKISHIMA KEI X CHUBBY! READER [requested]

warnings: mentions of insecurities about your body, weight shaming, an angry tsukishima.

The cheers of your fellow Karasuno students pumped up the whole team as they had tried to keep the ball up in the rally between the enemy team. They were at the final point of the 2nd set, if they won this, they would advance to the 2nd round of the Interhigh Prelims of the Miyagi Prefecture Volleyball boys club. You were sitting next to Kiyoko near the court, you were gripping the clipboard tightly and then the whistle sounded off. The opposing team had called a time out, the score was currently 24-25 with Karasuno in the lead. They only needed one more point to win but the opposing team was eager to break the flow.

The entire team went towards you and the coaches and you immediately handed them water bottles and towels. Your loving boyfriend, Tsukishima sat down next to your form as you finished handing Daichi a towel and water bottle, he looked at you with an uninterested face, but his mouth was forming a pout. When you turned your expression to him, you smiled and grabbed a towel to pat and rub the sweat from his face, hair and neck. He just let you, it was a regular thing for you and him to do when he plays and gets sweaty. Of course, the team would send you both a teasing smile and he would just glare at him, but they were used to it.

“Yo Fatass.”

Your ears perked up at the word, slowing down your movements slightly as your heartbeat quickened. You looked around to find the source of the word and found the opposing team snickering and smirking, slightly nudging each other with their elbows as they kept their gazes on you. You were insecure about your weight and constantly doubted yourself for it, Tsukishima in return would just hug you and whisper sweet words in your ear to ease the doubt. But it would just keep coming back to haunt you when others point it out.

Tsukishima wasn’t an idiot, he wasn’t deaf nor blind to when others would stare at your body, silently judging you. But he loved your body and he wouldn’t have it any other way, he didn’t care if you were skinny or chubby, he just loved you in general.

He took notice of your anxious expression and cupped your cheeks, squishing it slightly making you whine at him.

“That hurt!” you yelled at him, whacking his face with the towel you used, and he just raised an eyebrow at you and gave you the look. You knew what it meant ‘are you for real listening to these losers?’ after dating Tsukishima for months he would always pick up on your habits and their meanings, nothing could get past him. He just sighed and said as he stood up from the bench, the reflection of his glasses shielding his eyes that held the look of silent rage.

“I’ll fuck ‘em up.”

You were about to scold him but then the whistle blew, making him hand you the water bottle as the whole team said their thanks and went back to court. The rotation was different now and it was Tsukishima on the front of the net, facing the enemy team. He didn’t like people talking in general, except when you talked, and he certainly hated it when people make comments about your body. He glared at the opposing teams’ front liners as he put his hands at the back of his head. The opposing team shivered under his gaze, literally feeling cold chills.

“Don’t scare them too much, Tsukishima.” Tanaka called him out as he had a wide grin on his face, mocking the opposing team. Tsukishima was just quiet as he nodded, still glaring at them.

“You wanna fight, huh?” he asked them, making them grow pale as the tall boy glared down at them. They lost their focus as the setter called them out, setting the ball to the wing spiker on the left. The opposing wing spiker finally regained his senses and jumped to spike the ball, but in an instant the ball fell on their own side of the court.

It was Tsukishima who blocked the ball, the evidence of the block was the red mark on his palm as he closed his fist tightly still glaring at them. Daichi called him to line up and say their thanks for a good game. When they lined up to give each other handshakes, Tsukishima gripped theirs a bit too tightly with a glare on his face.

After the match they had all went to the hall, you slapped Tsukishima’s arm as you caught up to him, handing him a towel you crossed your arms.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said, he sighed and took off his glasses.

“They were being jackasses.” He replied, placing his glasses on the top of your head and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You were a bit surprised because it was a fact that Tsukishima Kei was not a big fan of PDA. You sighed and leaned into his hug, he placed a soft kiss on your hair.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, placing your face into his chest.

“Don’t mention it.” He mumbled back and the entire team cheered as they saw the soft side of Tsukishima, he grumbled and pulled away from you as he grabbed his glasses and put it back onto his face, glaring at them he walked away and went to the bathroom.

You smiled at his retreating form as you placed your hand on your blushing cheek.

God, you loved this boy.

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei imagine #tsukishima kei fluff #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine

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shorkbrian · 3 years

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ASKS

Hello again, asks are compiled under the cut. Please block the tag #shorkbrian answers a lot of asks# If you’d prefer not to see these types of posts from me. If I haven’t answered your ask, it’s because I’m saving it for a thirst, drabble, or fic.

I don’t ignore asks, but sometimes getting around to them overwhelms me lol. pls accept my apologies lol k here we go

I am very glad, I legit was so scared that it was too long and that it’d be disappointing bc the smut wasn’t super IN YOUR FACE yknow? But man am I glad to hear that.

I’m looking directly @ you

Someone noticed omg!!! A lot of times I just put whatever song I played on repeat while writing that fit, but I have a *yandere* playlist that I listen to and it gets me going. Ty for noticing!!!

I’ve considered opening them permanently but I just... idek. I’d have to start deleting or ignoring the requests I don’t vibe with and Idk how to handle that lol. But thanks for the well wishes, hope your next few months treat you well friend!

Watermelon sugar why

Srsly you’re sweet but just wait until I start to really get going with all my nasty kinks okay, then you’ll be rethinking this strategy hunty lol!

I literally stalk @.vermiliren and @.kazooli and @.seita lol. Maybe when I get my blog more cleaned up, I’ll create a list of creators that I enjoy, along with fic recs. For now, here’s a link to my AO3 bookmarks which I read one like almost every single night bc I’m a horny gremlin.

I am the shark king. Sharks are my thing bro u don’t even know. I love them so much, they're dumb and big and beautiful and yeah I wish I was a mermaid who got to swim with them. Also I changed it bc I’m trying to make my blog more *professional* and all that so I can start being taken seriously askjakjdf

Compliments suck, if I'm being down and out honest. This does not bother me at all, I’m just unsure how to respond. I think I would prefer no comments, but I’m trying really really hard to just say “thank you!” and move on before I get uncomfortable. Having to fight with someone about how I perceive my self worth is exhausting, and especially so for the poor person that was just trying to say something nice and be nice to me.

They do make me quite uncomfortable my dear lad/lassie/lasso. Say what you wish in the tags tho ! I don’t really reply to those, so there’s no pressure on me to have to say something back. I do however, see all the tags ppl use and some of them make me laugh so hard cause they’re so spot on, and it makes my day. like “Mark me down as scared AND horny” and “Bakugou better be able to bench 165 cause imma throw my fatass in his mf lap” and it kills me.

I SCEREAMED AKDHGSYDGASJSD this is the only format I'll be taking asks in now, no compliments just a yes/no answer to if my works help u cum god bless

you used the /gen!!!!! IDK what these are called but the /S and /gen and /J save my life!!!!

Frick you’ve figured me out, I do try to put like a nail-in-the-coffin sentence at the end. A lot of times it never works right, but I cannot for the life of my figure out how to end a single post ever. If anyone knows hmu pls ty

(Also ps I checked out ur blog cause yans are my jam and it is very much Not garbage!!)

That’s very kind of you, but pls don’t stay up past midnight it’s bad for ur Brian you’ll make bad decisions bro trust me all of my stuff is written after midnight

You will lafff..... but I will tell anyways..... I was prescribed a “life coach” after I got out of the hospital, which was really just a poorly disguised softcore “make sure u don’t yeet urself” type of thing. He had me write down things I liked about myself, and when I returned the sheet of paper still blank, he wrote stuff down for me. Like five sentences of “My hair and skin are unique and special” “I like animals and enjoy being kind to them” “I am worthy of respect” etc etc. and I had to look in a mirror twice a day and say those sentences to help “boost my self worth”. It sucked so bad dude, and I like got upset about it every time it came up, until finally my therapist was like “... this aint doin this sad bitch no good” and my parents got designated for yeet watch instead.

I know, logically, that (the majority of) people are not purposefully taking time out of their day to make me feel bad. They're trying to be encouraging and loving, and I appreciate it so much. But like... what do I say? If I say thanks, it’s almost like acknowledging what they're saying as true, and I can’t live with myself thinking I’m more than I am. I’m sorry you’ve had experiences that make compliments difficult for you also, I understand bro and I hope that your future holds healing and peace for you.

Hopefully I won’t vent as much anymore lol, I’ll try to do that on my sideblog where I reblog really trigger-y memes akjdafhkjf. But thank you for your kind words bro, they’re appreciated and put in a nice lil jar.

Ah dw! This doesn’t sound like a jab. I think all of us r so sad n depressed and feel unworthy of love, so the fantasy of a Yan coming and forcing it on us and not leaving even when we lash out is just..... so attractive my heads gonna explode

me, thinking about kiri at any given moment like:

I have the next Hybrid! Kiri fic like lined up, but I’m so demotivated be I was SO CLOSE to finishing, and then wiped my computer like an IDITO

Waso, I’m taking horseback riding lessons bc my mom went:

and my grandpa told me that one of his horses was named Awaso and I immediately thot of u fun fact. But you’re so very kind, and I enjoy seeing you in my inbox. I’m never tired of u homie. You are loved and important, and it’s not an illusion. Even random strangers on the internet can feel soft towards you bro, and dats me, I’m the random stranger that likes u.

So I took Russian for a year, my dear friend, because I wanted to see if the language myth of “Russian is the hardest, Korean is the easiest” was true. I would say yes. So instead of like translating this and typing out a coherent response, I’ve resorted to google translate I’m so sorry but Виктор мог плюнуть мне в глаз, и я бы поблагодарил его. Also, the way Vitya is written in cryllic makes my heart swell it looks so cozy idek what I mean by that but it does? I treasure you man, hope to see you around in the new year and maybe??? we be good friends

Can any year be good when Kirishima Eijirou doesn’t exist?

cryface;;sad.jpg

I just imagine anyone who comes across my stuff, sitting at their computer shocked and slightly horrified, maybe turned on like

Daddy Aizawa makes me

Wait!! I have something to aid your troubles!!

ur welcome now u can be horny whenever you’d like

pls every time we talk about Kirishima I have to act surprised like

LISTEN BBYGORL I have had therapist Suga in the works since *checks notes* November. I am excited for it yeahhhhhh but sadly, I don’t think I will be continuing piano teacher Suga. The story is petered out in my mind, idk where it would go. Therapist sugarbird tho? We have some thots about this. Coming soon to theaters near you

#shorkbrian answers a lot of asks #pls block that tag if you don't want to see these kinds of posts #inbox was getting fulll #tysvm for continuing to support me

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