#Compulsive Feeding?

[elazul-sasayaki]

I look over the invitation ticket one more time to make sure I have the right place. I'm not much of a party person, and the venue is fancy enough that I feel inadequate even in my best clothes, but I did make a promise I would at least attend. A friend of mine had apparently been invited to this "event" but had fallen ill and was unable to attend. Both he and the invitation had neglected to mention what exactly this event was, though with the manor standing in front of me, I have the social skills to recognize that asking would probably be something of a faux pas. The only clue as to what was supposed to be happening here was a photo of a chubby hybrid catwolf listed as the guest of honor. Admittedly he was easy on the eyes, but he was probably there as a speaker or maybe he was a CEO or philanthropist celebrating some big accomplishment.

I flash the doorman my ticket and he notes down the number printed on it before opening the door and gesturing me forward. The large chandelier lit ballroom is filled to capacity with all kinds of people casually milling about the place, seemingly without a care in the world, most of them appear upper class, decorated with fancy designer dresses and suits and loaded down with flashy jewelry, but I am surprised to see a number of more modestly dressed folk like myself wandering aimlessly around.

Looking around the place for what is supposed to be happening, I spot a line of people going past a table off in the distance, and make my way over there to try and at least look like I fit in. When I get closer, I find there is more activity here than I expected and get pushed out of the way a couple times by others looking to join in on whatever is happening. I fall in line, more on instinct than anything and quietly observe the room as I slowly shuffle forward.

The house is just as fancy on the inside as it is the outside, expensive looking furniture is sat neatly in its place and the occasional painting or other piece of wall art breaks up the blank spaces nicely. Clearly whomever was hosting this affair was well off enough that its cost was of little real consequence to them. How my friend managed to get a ticket to an upscale event like this is beyond me.

The line has slowly but surely been moving forward as I've been admiring the decor, and I lean around the people ahead of me to get a look at where we are going. What I see doesn't make sense at first, and it's only after a few minutes of staring that I start to comprehend what's happening.

The line passes along a table stocked with all manner of food, carved fruit displays, pasta dishes, slabs of meat, and plenty of rich desserts, it all looks mouth wateringly good and as people walk along it, they pile their plates high with the catering. When they reach the end of the table however, most of that food is being emptied into an amorphous blue blob that I realize with a start is a person! A catwolf specifically, the very same one from the ticket in fact, or at least he looks like he might have been the same one some time ago. Now he looks like a caricature of the plump hybrid the ticket depicted, bloated to preposterous proportions with a sign looped around his pudgy neck that reads "Will eat for food."

Whatever the guests don't eat as they make their way down the table is crammed into his mouth, and now that I'm closer, I can see him struggle to chew through all the goodies being pressed into his open maw. I pick up a plate as I reach the far end of the table and start piling up goodies onto it as the line makes its way down the table. Looking back, I can see only a handful of others in line behind me, it looks like everyone else has already fed the guest of honor, so I figure the most appropriate thing to do would be to treat him to dessert.

As the line ahead of me shrinks, I can only stare in awe at the catwolf, at first I thought the image of him from the ticket might have been old, but with the amount of food he is devouring, it looks very possible that the photo might have been taken only a few days prior. His shirt strains at the seams, little diamonds of blue fur showing between the buttons, and his thick arms dangle uselessly at his sides, looking like overstuffed sausage casings with how tightly they are packed into his sleeves. I can hear his stomach gurgling and churning as it processes the mass of food within, interrupted occasionally by his wheezing or gulping. He has a dim, vacant stare on his face, his eyes tearing up slightly as the person ahead of me forces a slice of pie into the half open maw of the blimp like hybrid, and then all too soon, it's my turn.

I look down at my plate, stacked high with sweets I don't remember grabbing and then back to the catwolf. He stares back at me with a pleading expression on his face, or at least as much of one as he can manage with pudgy cheeks stuffed with food like a chipmunk. I can't tell if he's pleading for mercy or pleading for more, and I hesitate, just long enough for his stomach to gurgle loudly.

I put a paw on his massive belly and gently stroke the outside, feeling it swell and shrink with each painfully full breath. He swallows more of the food he's chewing and I reach over to my plate and pass a brownie between his lips on instinct. It surprises me, that I do so without even thinking, but at the same time, it feels so right, like feeding him is what I was meant to do. Time blurs as I alternate between rubbing his churning gut and passing him more desserts, and before I know it, I'm reaching over to an empty plate.

I blink suddenly looking over at my now bare platter and then back at the doughy catwolf who is panting and groaning with fullness. It can't have been more than a few minutes, but it feels as though I had been feeding him for days. Wordlessly I step out of line and let the next person in line casually walk forward and cram a slice of beef into the immobile blue blob as they chat with another person in line, almost as if they don't even recognize what they are doing. I pull out my ticket and stare at the heavyset catwolf depicted on it, then back to the boulder sized one at the end of the table. They are unmistakably the same person, but it seems impossible that he could have gotten so fat, so quickly. Reading the invitation over, it only announces him as "Elaz" the guest of honor for this party, there's no mention of why he is the guest of honor, nor is there anything about why everyone seems to be stuffing him to the bursting point.

I look up from the ticket and watch the last person in line pour their drink into Elaz before dispersing into the crowd. Whatever reason everyone had for wanting to turn him into a food balloon doesn't seem to warrant coming back for a second round. The crowd has already started to spread out to the rest of the mansion leaving Elaz alone at the head of the table. I can't help but stare in fascination as he makes a final gulp, condemning the last of his feeding to his colossal gut. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I've already walked right up to him again and put my paws on his bulging belly. He looks at me with those vacant eyes and I can't tell if he is relieved or disappointed that I'm not forcing more food into his mouth. I gently run my paws across his bloated stomach, feeling it shift and burble as the mass of food within churns noisily. Anywhere I put a paw on him, it just seems to keep sinking deeper, first through thick fur and then through plush fat. He seems to appreciate the gesture at least, since his arms are unable to reach with how tightly they are bound by his shirt. The rubbing eventually coaxes out a few small, overstuffed burps, causing the blubbery blue ball of catwolf belly to wobble slightly.

He doesn't speak, but his panting and groaning gets ever so slightly softer, so I can tell I've given him at least some relief from the pressure. I grab a napkin from the table and lightly dab at his face to wipe away the crumbs of food that did not quite make it to his mouth before removing the sign from around his neck and laying it on the table.

Elaz shifts slightly in his chair and I can hear the aged wood creak before it snaps, sending him tumbling to the ground with a meaty slap and an uncomfortable sounding belch. His shirt, strained to the breaking point, rips a seam along the side, and soft catwolf flab oozes out through the newfound weakness.

It takes several minutes, but I am able to help haul him to his knees and eventually his feet, the entire ordeal made more difficult by his colossal weight as much as it was by his thick flabby exterior. My paws sink at least an inch into anything I grab, and it's nearly impossible to get good leverage on him when anything I can push on flows out of the way like a water balloon. When I am able to get him to his feet, I carefully guide him towards a couch lined up against a nearby wall. He can barely walk, only able to make a slow, ponderous waddle when he leans most of his weight on me, nearly burying me in warm, soft blubber. Eventually he does make it to the couch, and I have to hold onto both of his paws to ease him onto the couch so that doing so resembles sitting more than it does crashing into it.

Even as softly as I am able to sit him down, the motion jostles another belch from Elaz, and the tear in his shirt rips another few inches, but he is finally comfortable, or at least as comfortable as he can get under the circumstances. His flabby frame bulges out in every direction, and there's barely enough room left on the couch for me, but I'm able to make it work. As exhausting as getting him across the room was for me, I can only imagine how exhausting it was for him. With Elaz finally seated, I set to work rubbing his belly, receiving pleased gurgles and groans from him as he digests his massive meal. The gentle, rhythmic motion seems to help settle his stomach, and the angry growling of minutes ago is replaced by the occasional low burble. All my kneading and massaging does not erase the consequences of the catwolfs gluttony, but it does, at least, appear to make them bearable. Elaz is putty in my paws, his dim expression much more relieved than when he was, quite literally, stuffed to tears at the table.

With his tummy seemingly satisfied, I take one paw off it to lightly scratch behind his ears and under his meaty chin while my other paw absentmindedly traces patterns in his belly fur. Something about him being stuffed to the gills like that makes me want to reward him for it, I lean into my scratching and rubbing, and get pleasant sounding grunts in response.

A gurgle from his belly suddenly snaps me out of my trance, and I look around to see most of the partygoers have left. I check my watch to find it's been hours since I arrived and am surprised to realize how tired I am when I yawn. I look over to see Elaz staring at the table with that same conflicted look on his face as before, caught between wanting more and feeling like he could burst at any moment.

I get up off the couch and survey the table as I approach, spotting a now mostly melted tub of icecream that would make for a suitable offering. Cool, soft, and calorie rich, perfect for the hybrid who doesn't seem to know the meaning of the word, "enough".

I bring the tub back to the couch and sit down next to Elaz again, he opens his mouth to say something, but I press the corner of the tub to his lips and slowly tip it forwards. He starts to gulp down the thick liquid, slowly at first, but soon his greed starts to overtake his reasoning and he starts to take bigger and bigger swallows of rich dairy dessert. In only a couple of minutes, he has emptied the tub and has to take shallow breaths to recover from the ordeal. As I'm setting the empty tub on the ground, he takes a deeper breath than before and nearly shreds what little remains of his top. The rip in his shirt goes even farther this time, letting more catwolf blubber spill out, pinning me to the side of the couch so hard I have the wind knocked out of me. The two of us groan at the same time, Elaz in relief and I in pain.

After I blink the stars from my vision, I find myself half buried underneath Elaz, squashed between his frame and the frame of the couch. Trying to stand up proves futile, I'm simply too exhausted to heft the mound of fluffy blue belly out of the way, and with Elaz starting to nod off, there's no way he will be able to help me escape either. "Ah well", I think to myself, "might as well make the best of the situation and get comfortable. I've got the softest weighted blanket around, and there's nowhere I'd rather be."

Hhhhhh... Yes, yes please, this is a beautiful expansion on my silly idea, I absolutely love it and could almost feel it as I read along.

Thank you so very much for writing this, I can't think of anything else to say to express how giddy it made me feel to read it. ~w~

[aropride]

caffeine addiction is so fucking funny. every morning for years i have woken up and had a similar type of drink with a similar amount of a substance in it and then i am comforted knowing i will not endure a headache or excessive sleepiness. it makes my hands shake sometimes but i've found that to be not worth worrying about. if i don't have it i'm tired and in pain for a few days, but otherwise it doesnt interfere with my life. i tell people this and they go "ok cool." being chemically addicted to this one specific substance is completely fine societally. nobody told me to, like, keep a strong watch over myself and my self-control when i had my first monster, i figured out myself that i need to keep my caffeine consumption at or under a certain level and it's literally fine.

HOWEVER the first time i had WEED my friends who dont have weed were like "oh... please be careful..... make sure to limit yourself... its addictive and youre mentally unwell... wdym you have it between once a month and a few times a week thats a lot... you dont want an addiction....." Like between these two substances, if i dont have caffeine for a day i get a pounding headache and im fairly irritable for a few days. i have to make sure i never run out of caffeinated beverages to avoid that. if i dont have weed for a few days in a row it literally doesnt register as a problem. because every week there are several days in a row where i dont have weed. whereas if i have it too many days in a row i go "oh this is starting to feel kind of meh. i'll cut back a bit so my tolerance doesnt start rising". and its literally fine. like out of all the substances i consume on a semi regular basis one of them i need to function and the other one is like, ok theres nothing to do and im bored time to have the candy that makes me silly

[thebramblewood]

An Ill-Fated Afterparty: Part II

Previous / Next

Lilith: Goodness, I feel so exposed now.

Helena: Oh, don't play shy all of a sudden.

Lilith: It'd help if we got you out of that dress. Now... where did we leave off?

Helena: Oh, we're going straight for the neck. You're really committed to this vampire shtick, huh? And I'm weirdly kind of... into it? [laughs nervously] Lilith, I think that's enough. You might actually be drawing blood. [attempts to pull away] Give it a rest now, okay? I said stop, Lilith! LILITH, STOP! Lilith?...

Lilith: Helena? Wake up, Helena! Shit! Fuck! No, no, no! Not now! Not yet! Oh, god, what have I done? CALEB!!!

[in-sufficientdata]

Why the Konmari method is pretty useless for people with genuine problems with hoarding and OCD, or OCD tendencies, at least without some caveats and definitions:

Hoarding is defined by a persistent emotional attachment to inanimate objects. Clutterers and hoarders often have an unconscious need to save items, whether for an imagined future ideal use, or just because otherwise they would end up in the landfill.

People with these issues often have difficulty discerning the difference between a truly useful item and something that should be given or thrown away because of their emotional attachment to the item.

They see themselves as the best curator of the items, which may range from useful items like craft supplies, display items, sentimental items, and stuff that is truly just junk.

"Sunk costs" is a term from economics that means that a cost that has already been incurred and cannot be recovered. Although the original term refers to finances, the sunk costs of the time and effort someone has put into an item can influence their decision to keep the item.

Therefore, another factor in this attachment is the sunk costs of money, effort, and time that a person has put into an item. A person may no longer be personally attached to an item, but will keep it because they have always meant to use it or simply because it's not yet ruined.

This is also a reason those with fewer economic advantage tend to be hoarders more than those with a comfortable financial situation. Someone like this realizing they've obtained two of an item will take on the responsibility of curating both instead of getting rid of one.

Because of all these factors, the expression that was translated as "sparks joy" in the English version is too easy for a clutterer to confuse or redefine in their own mind as they work to sort through their items.

In my case, for example, I had a situation where the basement, which was full of our excess saved items, needed to be cleared so the cracked foundation could be repaired. I had to decide what to save in the limited storage space we still had, and what to throw out or donate.

If Konmari had been in vogue at the time (this was in 2004) I'm certain I would have kept far more items than I should have. This language is too easy for a clutterer to massage and redefine in their own mind based on what the item is.

First, clutterers need to be clear-eyed about the fact that they suffer from excess emotional attachment to objects. Flylady's declutter method was in vogue at the time I engaged in this declutter session, and she has a whole checklist of questions to ask oneself about an object:

Do I love this item?

Have I used it in the past year?

Is it really garbage?

Do I have another one that is better?

Should I really keep two?

Does it have sentimental value that causes me to love it?

Or does it give me guilt and make me sad when I see the item?

This may seem needlessly complex to someone who is not a hoarder or clutterer but this addresses many of the reasons that a sufferer would keep an item that they shouldn't.

Another factor is that they are perfectionists. This seems at odds with the idea that they may have a huge mess in their home, but what happens is they often can't deal with their persistent need to have a perfectly clean home that matches their vision.

Because of this they put off starting on the project until it can be done perfectly.

This is why methods like Flylady and Unfuck Your Habitat (which is really just Flylady without the cutesy rhetoric) help these people so much, because people with differences such as ADHD become clutterers because they don't know how to regulate their own time or how to organize.

The emotional attachment to their possessions is, incidentally, why decluttering on behalf of your hoarder friend is a very bad idea. The person will need to work through this process on their own, in order for it to stick.

Getting rid of these items can be intensely emotional and difficult for someone with these tendencies.

Time limits, routines, consistency, and persistence are the best tools for someone who needs to declutter. Don't try to do this all in an afternoon. Not only is it a difficult process, it should become a consistent habit.

For resources and further reading please check out Squalor Survivors (archive.org link).

[skitskatdacat63]

Oscar Piastri feeding Logan Sargeant [x]

[girlyaois]

I honest to God think a lot of the moral fears surrounding whether you think about your f/os enough or if you comfort your f/os enough in your mind or if YOU do enough FOR your f/os can... really and truly be answered simply by being reminded that they aren't real. you do not morally owe any of your f/os your time, effort, or emotional availability. because they aren't real, and you are. and it's OKAY to say this. it will never be immoral to acknowledge we daydream and draw fanart for ourselves and our joy because we're real people, they're not, they don't need anything from you. don't exert yourself worrying about people who don't exist.

[cephalosaur]

Give me Sonic Neurodivergency Headcanons

Any and all Sonic characters accepted and demanded.

Note: I'm tagging a few neurotypes, but if you have any ND headcanons that I did not tag, please share.

[stuckasmain]

I invite you over to my house and show you my “rescues” it’s just a tub full of 2001: a space odyssey DVD’s.

[stormofdefiance]

Thinkin about this. Thinkin about how Black Swan is so divorced from her own physicality, her own capacity to feel. Thinkin about how when she first looked at Acheron she must have thought those would be interesting memories, but nothing more. Thinkin about her face at the end of Rondo. Flushed and heaving and undeniably quivering from sensation, burnt through with an intensity of feeling that must have left her so ALIVE in that moment. HHHHHHHHHHHHH

[soulsxng]

Name: Hope (Elpis)

Age: ???

Species: Spirit/personification of false hope

And so it was Hope that saved humanity from the evil and miseries that were unleashed from the depths of Pandora's box...or so some would believe. So Hope themself wants to believe. In actuality, the story is a bit more complicated than that. After all, Hope emerged from Pandora's box just the same as the others. There's a good reason that other stories suggest Hope is just an extension of suffering.

An extension of Moros, who wants to reclaim them. To make them realize that the "hope" they give is just as vicious as the things that he, himself, could inflict.

But they will never accept that. Not truly.

They tell themself that the hope they spread amongst the people is good. That it's better for them that way, to deny and ignore their destinies until it's finally claimed them. Everyone deserves comfort. Deserves to believe that everything is okay-- that they are okay.

Even if it's only a beautifully woven falsity.

[drac0nequus]

ok im gonna take a sidebar to bitch my face off about "natural selection" like girl what. that's a manufacturing company. what fucking aspect of this is natural. im gonna do a series of somersaults and flips. it's not even funny as a joke because that's not natural??? saying "natural selection" as a punchline to a listeria death isn't funny because it pulls the implication that the victim was to blame for purchasing and eating contaminated food. that's insane! they had no way of knowing! that's not natural selection bitch that's literally capitalism im gonna eat a sofa. if we can all agree that racism is systemic then let's put our kindergarten hats on and understand that those systems that enforce minority victimhood are in fact more likely to victimize minority groups. like girl. that is not natural selection. come lie with me face down in the mud and let's look at some bacteria together. if i take a blow torch to the puddle, that's not natural selection because i did a thing. me doing a thing makes it not natural. we have a name for selection that is not natural. it's called "artificial selection" isn't that cool? it's called "artificial" selection because a person made a choice to change things, or they made an "artificial" change. do you see now? can we all see that saying "natural selection" is not only incorrect? it doesn't mean what you think it means AND it implies something at best rude and at worst blaming a victim for their own death (evil) like come now. we never need to dress up our emotional reactions in pseudo scientific speak. begging the groups who do this to please look up the definitions of terms they use. im on my last straw with this shit. it's not natural selection when a corporation kills people. please

[strigops]

bunny has always been deeply neurotic abt eating dinner ever since we had to stop free feeding them years ago bc her brother lost most of his teeth, but lately she has gotten so much fucking weirder abt it. in every new house we have to go thru the "which room and exact spot IN that room are you willing to eat" with her, which is a trial and error game that usually lasts a couple weeks. at this apt she will only eat in front of the dishwasher, at the threshold to the kitchen. however. abt a year ago she decided she would only eat if i was in the kitchen with her, and a few months ago she decided that she would not eat unless my mom was sitting on the couch. after weeks of me periodically hand feeding her bc she has a new quirk and i haven't figured it out yet, i have deduced that she wants my mom on the couch, me in the kitchen but NOT looking at her and NOT standing, but crouched somewhere at her level. so now every time i feed her i need to crouch in the opposite corner of the kitchen, staring into space, while she stares at me with her concerned gooey eyeballs to make sure im not breaking her rules

[syn0vial]

so, i've been seeing a lot about the new BG3 epilogues, but i gotta ask: do you get a similar epilogue if you choose to become the absolute at the end? i know it's unlikely, but... i have thoughts about how that could go 👀

[goddesstrolls]

You've talked about undead hoarding around more powerful undead but do you think any have instincts just to be around or avoid their own specific type of undead? Are any territorial against other undead? And do you think any of that would affect sentient undead?

Not so much, imo. As they're meant to be unnatural creatures, they have fewer instincts (especially of a 'social' variety) than a living animal. Their goal is to gorge themselves on magical energy via whatever medium (flesh, blood, or other undead in the case of necrophages) their species dictates and their bodies and behaviors change accordingly.

So if it isn't to serve that purpose or related to it (feeding on magical energy leads them to be inherently sensitive to and drawn to it, which is what leads to the hording phenomena and sunlight seeking) it's probably not related to undeath specifically. There probably isn't even a particular instinct to avoid or way to discern a necrophage from other undead.

I'd say maybe some 'solitary' undead species might be territorial, but I thought about it and couldn't think of one that would specifically be solitary except for maybe a created undead- And if they have some innate desire to avoid or inflict harm on other undead, that's probably an order from their creator rather than "natural" instinct.

[starfilled-galaxy]

HELP!??? /GEN

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

Very fond of the tma headcanon of influence from the fear entities causing white and gray steaks in people's hair. It is just fun. Also I am gonna abuse the heck out of it when giving them all designs, and just about everyone is gonna have a little white/grey by the time I'm done with them >:]