Well Its Officially My Birthday Today And Ill Be Spending It Thinking About How Badly I Want An Irl Version

well it’s officially my birthday today and i’ll be spending it thinking about how badly i want an irl version of this cake and how i specifically want lucifer to give it to me

that’s it. that’s the post

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐒 — tw: disordered eating. body dysphoria.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚

540. 364. 241. And 806.

For breakfast I consumed 540 calories, for lunch 364, and dinner 241. I managed to burn 806. All in all, I consumed 1,145 calories, burned 806. My net is 339.

This tedious act of counting and recounting my calories had become some sort of religious act in what I had deemed “bettering myself,” but what could possibly get better? Do I think a skinny outside makes a happy inside? Even so, I chisel away at myself, like how a sculptor does in creation of their magnum opus. Nothing about me makes sense, the only sense I can make is to whittle away at the bits of my I do not like, only, I do not like any bit of me.

I want to see my ribs and count the spaces between them. I want to feel the bones of my hips flex and move beneath my skin. I want to squeeze my arm in a clasped fist and see my fingers wrap round and round. I want to feel my spine and dance my fingers down my vertebrae. I want to have just enough mass, just enough skin and bone, that I can disappear at will – that I can sink beneath dirt and soil from which I once came and then come back to Earth again.

I want to see my silhouette, shapely and curvaceous, dance against midnight walls. I want to caress my skin and feel soft, plump flesh beneath. I want to run my hands down either side of myself and feel the gentle slope of waist to hip and back again. I want to press my mounds and watch them entice prying eyes. I want those around me to sink into my flesh and devour me whole.

I want to be desired, to look like the magazines – to preserve curves or idolize heroin chic, I am conflicted. To love my curves or love my ribs, I have never understood the virtue of either, only ever understood that I am cut from a different cloth. An unsightly cloth from which no one wants to be stitched to.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚

moodyhaaze | 07•25•23

Lucifer: I trust Barbatos.

Simeon: You think he knows what he’s doing?

Lucifer: I wouldn't go that far.

while it’s justified to complain about x reader fics taking up space in the main tags or people not using a read more, the conversation around it is so hurtful to people who read and write x reader fiction. The main problem here is tumblr’s tagging system and individual users not adhering to basic curtesy. Like there’s no need to insult people who self-ship and pretend that character/character or OC/character fics are inherently any better or less cringe. Labeling an entire subset of fandom, one which thrives on inclusivity, self-love, and overall body positivity, as cringe and awful, says more about you than it says about people who self-ship imo

AHHHH

he’s so fucking adorable

LOOK AT HIM ! SUCH A HANDSOME WITTLE GUY !

the lucifer plush is fully funded and releasing in october / november !! i can’t wait to have him in my grasp (つ﹏⊂)

i’m gonna chew on his skrunkly little feet :)

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄? — tw: suicide

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚

"what does it feel like?" i asked.

the cool grass sprang between my toes.

you laid still.

the grass was freshly mowed and the smell would normally be inviting, but the air sat differently because of you — uncomfortable.

"i wish i understood," i said.

i squeezed the cool earth in my hands.

you laid still.

the dirt was cold and the worms within it lively. you always loved the outdoors and all of its creatures.

"i wish you could talk to me," i said.

the sun shined much like your smile.

you laid still.

the sun was bright and out in full, but today stayed chilly without your warmth in it.

"i always wondered what it felt like," i said.

i could smell the honey suckle in the air.

you laid still.

the flowers i had picked for you flew in the summers breeze and gently decorated the surrounding cemetery.

"i hope i get to join you soon," i said.

i placed my hand on your tombstone.

you laid still.

the beauty of this summers day

would have contrasted well with

the horrible, selfish act you committed.

the green of the grass would have

contrasted well with the red puddle

we found you in.

the light of the sun, the dimness in your eyes.

the beauty of the garden, the slits in your wrists.

all contrasting in the worst ways.

but please, tell me,

what does it feel like?

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚

© moodyhaaze | 07•24•23 — do not repost, modify, plagiarize, or translate my writings. likes + reblogs appreciated.