#but a. they will stop you when they believe you need to maintain fat for some reason

[localcryptideli]

My mother's nutritionist literally encouraged her to grill every vegetable instead of boiling it or just boiling it (even non-raw leafy greens, if they must be boiled, like broccoli, then they need to be pan grilled afterwards), with a bit of garlic and olive oil usually, and sometimes chilli. Apparently not only it doesn't make them less healthy, but it's overall more healthy to consume them that way than just boiling it, something something about the way of cooking it helping boost things and make sure your body absorbs all the nutrition and gets your organs well in motion to break everything down with less issues.

I also heard of multiple nutritionists who both teach you the right food combo to get the most out of a meal (taste included but also nutrients wise), as well as encouraging their patients to have a least a fried food meal (how friend depends on the person I think) a week, I think it has something something with activating the liver and intestine properly? These are also the same people who usually help patients who need to maintain a certain diet for health reasons (chemotherapy, surgery, colon disorders, allergies etc.)

But yeah, healthy doesn't necessarily mean boring or lacking taste, from my experience usually the opposite.

[tojiphile]

ONE PIECE LIVE ACTION MEN + DICK HEADCANONS & SIZES

a/n. i wrote this last night at 5am while sleep deprived so the further it gets the more wack it gets LOL

cw/tw. f!reader, rough sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, body hair, skinny penis, unprotected sex, for 18+ readers

MONKEY D. LUFFY

— 6.5” but thinks he’s average, so he doesn’t stretch it out with his abilities. not too girthy, but he makes up for it with his unrelenting stamina. it curves up against his stomach and leans left slightly. a little bit messy because he tried to shave it once and nicked himself, so he just settled with the hair. honey-toned towards the base and a deep red at the tip, especially when he’s raring to go.

— he wants to do it in every position, on every surface. he has you bent over the dinner table, one leg up and slamming into you mercilessly. he has you spread eagle in the bathtub, legs locked behind his back as he stuffs you full. it’s almost as if his dick is made for you, the curve perfectly abuses your g-spot as every orgasm overwhelms you, and you’re left a sobbing, babbling mess. he wants to know if he’s doing well, and he gets his answer when you chant “s— so, ah! good, fuck, d— don’t stop!” like a prayer.

RORONOA ZORO

— long, fat and heavy. he’s blessed with a stunning 7.3” length, though if anyone asks, he rounds down to make them feel more at ease. veiny. the mushroom tip is flushed purple, and it’s rests nicely on your tongue!! probably messy down there, he doesn’t see the point in shaving or trimming, but if you ask nicely, he’ll grunt, roll his eyes, and do it for you.

— you insisted that you didn’t need any prep, but as you straddled him, lining up your cunt with his cock, you soon realised your mistake. you have to spread yourself open, face scrunching up, and slowly sink down. he loves the feeling of your pussy walls fluttering as you start riding him. when your eyes flutter shut and your hips stutter, he takes control—holding you tight by the waist and fucking into you until you’re screaming.

SANJI VINSMOKE

— 6.4” and so so pretty. slender, with a pale shaft that leads into a rosy pink at the tip. it curves up and to the right. the carpet matches the drapes. he keeps it neat, though he probably doesn’t grow much hair anyway. he trims it once every few days, but he’ll never admit to it. smells the best AKA smells really clean, like soap.

— he goes crazy when you maintain eye contact and drop to your knees. you take his cock in hand, lifting it to run your tongue on the underside, tracing a prominent vein. you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head and his whole body is shaking, knees buckling as he chases that familiar high.

USUPP

— coming in at 5.8”, he makes up for it in his thick girth. when he jerks himself off, he can barely wrap his hand around it. he’s soooo sensitive that the wind can blow and he’s be hard. fat fat fat mushroom head that’s olive, golden-hued, and always oozing precum. heavy heavy balls. he might be clumsy and inexperienced, but his size alone is enough to make you drool. trims sometimes but only when he thinks he might get lucky.

— his hand grips your hair as you worship his cock, working magic with your mouth. as you jerk him off, you give small kitten licks to his leaking tip, tasting his salty precum. you whisper, “i want you” and before you know it, he has you pinned under him, rutting his thick cock into you desperately. his eyes are fixated on the way your cunt swallows him, and only strangled groans escape his lips.

BUGGY

— sorry buggy simps but he’s definitely a shower not a grower, though he still does comes in at a nice 6”! also, it’s ya boy, skinny penis. built like a tree branch but at least it’s really veiny, AND he knows how to talk you through it. so really, it might not be the most impressive but with his confidence when he’s fucking you? he’ll fuck you out and make you believe he’s 8” and 5”.

— he loves admiring your sopping cunt as it swallow him whole, your princess parts stretching to to accommodate his cock. he likes to fucks you. he presses you up against a window and fucks you from the back, choking you with his forearm and practically purrs, “taking me so well, ya dirty slut, fuckin’ cunt was made for my cock.”

SHANKS

— he doesn’t act like it buuuuuuut monster cock. it’s 7.8”, thick, and curved so much it slaps against his happy trail. let me tell you that when he sun tans, he does it naked. he lathers that horse cock up with sunblock and spreads eagle on the sand, hands behind his head, so he’s bronzed and beautiful. trims when he feels like it or if you ask, he doesn’t really think much about it.

— he doesn’t look like he’s putting in much effort when he fucks, barely breaking a sweat, but he has you writhing, hands gripping the sheets, eyes hazy and choking on your own spit. he knows what he’s doing to you. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in delicate circles making you cum over and over again until you’re absolutely wrecked. when he’s close, he picks up the pace, grunting heavily, hips stuttering as he spills his seed inside of you. when he pulls out, he takes the time to finger fuck his cum back into you, your body shaking as you work through the aftershock.

[5xlwriter]

Feedist Kinktober: Ex-Model

Part of a series of one-shots in response to @fatguarddog’s Feedist Kinktober 2024 prompts. I see this as a double response to the prompts Runway Ready and Wardrobe Woe.

“Thanks for your time, Brett,” I said, feigning a smile as I looked up from my clipboard. “We’ll call you!”

The muscle-bound hunk nodded cockily and pulled back on his stringy gymrat vest, giving us one last glimpse at his abs in the process before turning and leaving the audition room. His firm glutes shifted in his shorts as he vanished through the doors. I sighed.

Of course, there was no denying that Brett was absolutely gorgeous. He knew it, I knew it, anyone who saw him knew it. And while I might be tempted to call him up for a hookup, there was no way he was getting a callback for this show. He just didn’t have the right look.

The designer, Cherish Misère, was dark, edgy and honestly, kinda goth. There’s a lot that can be achieved with makeup and styling, of course, but nobody’s going to buy that with a jock like Brett. We were looking for skinny guys, with longer slender limbs and angled faces that we could make gaunt with contouring. Brett just didn’t fit the bill - and neither did many of the other hopefuls I’d seen that day. Ugh, Cherish was gonna kill me.

I huffed another deep sigh as I flipped the page on my clipboard, and then was stopped in my tracks at the photo attached to the next profile. That curly brown hair, those sharp, boyish features, those dark, arresting eyes… Tristan!

What a godsend! Tristan was absolutely perfect for the show. Cherish would eat him up, and all the clothes would fit like they were made for him. He and I had been students together. We’d studied Media & Communications and had gotten along well, but drifted in the couple of years since we graduated. He’d always modelled to raise funds when we were at uni, seeming to never need to hold down a real job as a result - but the last I heard, he was now skyrocketing up the corporate ladder, while I was sat here auditioning himbos for D-rate shows at the Fashion Week Fringe. It’s the sort of thing that would usually fill me with so much embarrassment that I’d find an escape route - we gays always compare ourselves to our peers - but in this instance, I didn’t care. I was just glad to finally have found some actual talent! The day was not a complete waste after all.

“Bring in the next one,” I called to my assistant and tried to make myself look as relaxed as possible. I was going to feign surprise, like I’d been caught off-guard. I needed to look busy and important. I sat up straight, eyes fixed on my clipboard until I heard someone shuffle in front of me.

“Hey, Rick!” He announced. His voice was just as I remembered it, but… maybe a touch deeper?

I looked up, ready to burst into a big smile and announce what a pleasant surprise it was to see him again. But then, I really was caught off-guard. My thoughts ground to a halt, leaving an uncomfortable pause as my brain scrambled to register what was going on.

My assistant intervened. “Um, Rick, this is…”

“—Tristan!” I interjected, finally managing the smile I’d been preparing, though I’m not sure how convincing it came off. “What a surprise!”

The surprise was that Tristan was fat. OK, that was maybe a little dramatic - he wasn’t fat fat. But I guessed him to be at least 50 or 60lbs heavier than the 135lbs he listed on his modelling profile - which made him gay fat. I couldn’t believe it!

I was so conflicted. On the one hand, I was a little ashamed to admit that part of me loved seeing perfect Tristan let himself go like this. He had always been nothing but kind to me, so it was completely mean-spirited of me, but I couldn’t help being jealous of all his achievements. It was nice to finally have one up on him, having maintained my own figure - heck, maybe even improved it? - since graduating.

On the other hand, there was no way I could cast Tristan with him looking like this. I could tell just by looking at him that it would take a small miracle to squeeze him into anything Cherish made, which meant I’d just lost my star model just as quickly as I thought I’d found him.

That, I had to worry about later. For now I had to finish this encounter with my old friend, let him down without hurting his feelings, and maybe find out what had caused him to blow up. Maybe he was depressed?

He didn’t look depressed. He was smiling that famously enchanting smile of his, which now showed off the beginnings of a double chin. I made my way over to give him a hug.

“Heh, I thought you didn’t recognise me!” He said as he wrapped his softer arms around me. He was squishy all over.

“Of course I recognise you,” I said, trying to brush it off. “It’s so good to see all of you— I mean, to see you, it’s so good to see you…” Fuck.

Tristan didn’t seem to notice - or if he did, then he didn’t seem to mind. I was happy with either. We pressed on with the pleasantries, Tristan telling me about his latest promotion whilst I did my best to make my own job sound interesting. In truth, it was great catching up with him… Tristan was just so charming, and even with his fuller figure he just exuded a confidence and charisma that was unlike anyone I’d ever met… perhaps even more so then I remembered? He was definitely flirty, and somehow I found myself flirting back despite him no longer being my type.

I wasn’t quite sure how it had happened… Maybe it was witchcraft. Maybe I felt sorry for him. Or maybe it was just that trademark smile that he kept flashing me, undampened by his rounder face…

“I think you’d be a great fit!” I said, the words leaving my mouth without my permission. My brain protested but my lips kept moving. “We’ll see you Monday for the fittings, so we can get things taken in if we need to.” What the fuck was I saying? What was I doing?

As Tristan left with his paperwork, I caught the confused look on my assistant’s face and buried my head in my hands. Cherish was going to fucking kill me.

***

Monday came around fast. In that time, I’d managed to assemble a motley crew of gangly young men to model Cherish’s collection. None of them had walked a runway in their lives, nor did they really have the face card needed for a career in modelling, but they were the best I could rustle up with Fashion Week on the horizon.

We’d started the morning with runway rehearsals and trying to get some charisma out of these boys was like getting blood from a stone. I was relieved that Tristan hadn’t shown up. I figured he had come to the realisation that he quite literally wasn’t a good fit for this, and had decided to silently slink away, saving me a difficult conversation. Now all we had to do was avoid each other for the rest of our lives!

But no, it was never going to be that easy. Tristan arrived late, commanding attention as soon as he entered the studio, smiling and greeting his fellow models as he finished off the remainder of a large smoked salmon bagel loaded with cream cheese. Now there was someone with charisma. He didn’t even try. Nor did he try to excuse his tardiness. “We both know I don’t need practice at this!” he laughed warmly when we had a quiet moment together.

And he was right. He stomped the runway like a pro, showing each of the confused wannabes how it was done. He was the elephant in the room; he didn’t belong; and yet, he was putting them all to shame. I watched bitterly as he walked back up the length of the runway, noticing the slight jiggle and bounce in his body with each deliberate step he made. Ugh, I was not looking forward to this conversation…

Later, as we prepared for the session with wardrobe, I pulled Tristan to one side.

“Listen, Tristan, I need to talk with you,” I said, trying to sound both relaxed and in control. “You know I think you’re amazing, but I don’t think this is the right gig for you…”

Tristan raised an eyebrow for a moment, not sure what to make of what I’d said, before he burst out laughing. “Ha, yeah, good one Rick. Don’t worry, I’ll help the other guys get the hang of it. It’s not rocket science.”

I frowned. “No, Tristan, you don’t understand…” Ugh! I hated this! “I’m serious. I don’t think you’re the right… fit…” I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at his round midsection when I said it - only for a fraction of a second, but Tristan was quick enough to catch it.

“Oh…” he said, looking down at his body for a moment. “You think I’m too fat?” He looked hurt. I’d never seen him not radiating charm and confidence, but in the moment all of that dissipated. He looked like a little lost puppy. “I know I’ve gained a few… I’ve been working flat out at the office… But I didn’t think it was that bad…”

“It’s not!” I blurted out in a panic, desperate to backtrack. “You look great! Better than ever, actually. You look really healthy. That’s super in right now!” It was all lies, and I hated myself for it, but seeing that famous smile return to his face made it worth it.

And so Tristan was whisked off to wardrobe, where we tried to squeeze him into some of the pieces. I thought maybe, if we went with something layered, we could disguise his bulked up body and it might be OK. I was wrong.

Tristan was wearing a black ripped vest, designed to be tight even on a slender model, but practically painted onto him now and emphasising the ball of flesh at his waist. The fact it was ripped made him look like he’d burst out of it. When he moved his arms too high, a little slither of soft flesh would peek out the bottom. He wore a big leather trench coat, down to the floor, which I figured would do a lot of the heavy lifting in making Tristan look presentable - except, we couldn’t fasten it shut over his middle. And on his bottom half, he just wore his underwear and socks, as absolutely nothing that Cherish had designed would slide over his newly thickened thighs and ass.

Fortunately, Tristan may have been oblivious to how much he’d grown, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew this wasn’t going to work. Quietly, he wrestled himself out of the tight garments we’d given him and began to change into his own clothes. I kept my distance and tried to focus on the other boys. Later, as Tristan was leaving, I followed him out.

“Hey Tristan,” I called. “Wait up!” He turned to face me, and was still smiling, but he looked tired and pensive.

“Thanks for the opportunity, Rick! Sorry it didn’t work out.” He said, before surprising me by tapping his softer middle. “Guess I’ve been neglecting the gym!”

“Don’t worry about it, T,” I said. “You still look great and you can definitely work it off — if you want to,” I paused for a moment, hesitating as I decided whether to say what I was about to say. “Or… In the meantime, my friend runs this other company…” I handed him the card.

“Max Macdonald - Plus Size Agency”, Tristan read off the card. He sounded unsure and I thought I might have offended him again, but eventually he pocketed the card. “Thanks, Rick,” he said, giving me a quick hug. “See you around!”

***

As it happened, I never did see Tristan again. It had been four years since our awkward encounter when I found myself in a bar, catching up with my old friend Max, who I also hadn’t seen in years. Being an adult sucked!

Max had been vocally admiring a large man at the bar, telling me in great detail why this stranger’s corpulent body was so superior to the kind of talent I represented. (I’d learned my lesson and played to my strengths, now I had my own agency and was exclusively representing muscle-bound Greek Gods for high-profile names.)

None of it surprised me. Max had always been unashamedly into big guys, despite being in good shape himself. I’d seen him go through many boyfriends - usually they were varying degrees of fat, but sometimes there was a twink or two. They’d soon start to bulk up around him and usually this was when they wised up to his feeder ways and dumped him. He didn’t seem to care, and I always loved that about him. I definitely didn’t share his tastes, but I respected his unabashed commitment to them all the same.

And it seemed to be working out for him! After all, it was his love of big men that had led him to start the plus size agency that was now getting him contracts all over the world.

“Oh my god!” Max said, nearly spitting out his beer as a memory seemed to hit him like a truck. “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you!” He was laughing hysterically and I pressed him urgently for more details. Max was a great storyteller and I found myself eager to hear his tale.

“A few years ago, I was approached by this dude,” he started. I nodded. “He was young, super handsome and charismatic like no one else! He told me you’d sent him.” I paused, knowing instantly that he was talking about Tristan, though I didn’t let on. I wanted to see where this was going.

“He said he was interested in some modelling with me. I told him, ‘look man, you’re gorgeous and you’ve got it, but you’re not exactly plus size’…” He took another swig of his beer. “He was like 200lbs at most. At most!”

I laughed along. “Haha, yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t really know where else to send him. He was too fat for us, but clearly not fat enough for you!” I took a sip of my drink, feeling a little bad for leading Tristan towards more rejection.

“Not then he wasn’t!” laughed Max. I didn’t like the tone in his voice… it was… mischievous. He was relishing in this story. “But I bumped into him a couple of years later at a chub event downtown. I didn’t recognise him at first but he came right over and introduced himself… all 350lbs of him!”

“No fucking way!” My mouth dropped to the floor as my mind raced at a hundred miles an hour, trying to imagine how big a 350lb person would look… How big a 350lb Tristan would look! That more way more than twice the size he’d been at uni.

“Yes way, he was just in a jock strap and a leather harness, shaking and jiggling all over the dance floor. There was no hiding it. He wasn’t the fattest person there by a long shot - a couple of guys were almost twice as big as him - but everyone in the joint wanted to fuck him.” He sat back and smiled smugly, looking very pleased with himself.

I gasped. “You didn’t!”

“I did!” he said, a big grin on his face. “And it was great. Like really great. Man, I had to fucking work for it though. He asked if we could stop for something to eat on the way back to my place - and we did, three times!” He clearly found the story hilarious. “I paid for the lot… Worth it though!”

I was in shock, no longer finding it funny but trying my best to play along. I couldn’t believe that had happened. Maybe Max was just exaggerating. 350lbs? Surely not…

“So, did you end up signing him?” I asked.

“Nah,” said Max, looking a little solemn before finishing his drink. “When I woke up the next day, he’d vanished without a trace and I never saw him again…”

I was about to interject, to empathise for Max, and to tell him how shitty that was, but Max held up a hand to stop me. He wasn’t finished. That big grin had returned to his face and he fished his phone from his pocket.

“I never saw him again until last week…” he said, quickly navigating his home screen to pull up one of his fetish community apps. It didn’t phase me - like I said, Max had always been very open about this stuff.

“I was swiping through the other day when I saw this prize-winning pig…” he was practically giggling as he showed me the phone screen. It was a video, captioned with just two words: “Almost 500lbs”, with a pig nose emoji for emphasis. In the video, an absolutely enormous man was wearing a far too tight black half-zip sweater over a black t-shirt. He was standing close to the camera, with his head cut off by the frame. The strained clothes clung tightly to every curve, roll and fold on his fat frame: his giant tits threatened to burst out of the sweater (the zip of which would never fasten around his fat neck), while about 20cm of pure fat belly hung out the bottom, his gluttony on full view.

Why was Max showing me this? There was nothing to suggest this was Tristan. I became increasingly convinced that this was a practical joke. There was no way that someone who used to look like Tristan now looked like… this.

But then, the whale in the video took a few steps backwards as he jiggled his huge gut for the camera, and his fat face came into view. My world stopped for a moment: it was Tristan, no doubt about it.

Had I seen this veritable blob in the street, I would never have recognised him as my old friend. But I had been primed to see him, and see him I did: even though his sharp and boyish features were now buried under blubbery cheeks, there was no mistaking the charismatic allure of those eyes, which now seemed small and beady in his fat face. All the movement in his gut caused a loud burp to erupt from his mouth, and the smile that followed it as he looked upon his body with appreciation was unmistakably his. Even when being absolutely disgusting, something about Tristan was still so confident, so irresistible… he was magnetic.

“These are the clothes I was wearing when we first met back up,” he said to someone off screen, who chucked back. I recognised that laugh… “Can you believe that was only a year ago?”

“No,” came the familiar voice, as two arms entered the frame and began to pull off Tristan’s clothes, revealing his flabby body in all its perverted glory. The arms and voice belonged to someone older than Tristan by about 15 years. They were reasonably toned and thick with hair, and the strong-looking hands took big handfuls of Tristan’s tits and flesh, shaking it and making his whole body wobble. Then the anonymous figure moved into the screen, kissing Tristan on his big, fat cheek.

I almost dropped Max’s phone and had to do a double take. Was that our fucking professor?! He looked a little older than I remembered him, which was natural, but I was sure it was him.

“…but you’re nearly 100lbs bigger since then, so that’s not surprising,” he said seductively, bringing a cream filled bun up to Tristan’s lips. His mouth opened dutifully and made short work of the pastry, which got swallowed down into his giant gut.

“And why do you think that is?” huffed Tristan, rubbing his belly and stifling another burp. He looked so cocky and sure of himself… more than that, he looked like he was worshipping himself.

“Because,” said our old professor. “You’re a spoiled piggy who gets whatever he wants.”

[chu-diaries]

100 days of mental healthcare: day 100/100

Well, it's over! I genuinely can't believe it's been 100 days since I started this challenge (even more than 100, since I skipped a day or two when I couldn't post).

For those who just arrived, I started this challenge in April, the day after my birthday, when I was really in bad health. I had severe panic attacks about 4 times a day, which made me unable to do anything. I dealt with constant suicidal thoughts, I barely slept anymore and I was spending everything I had on doctors, self-knowledge courses and therapies. I found myself with two options: the first was to invest in medications that would make me dependent and drugged, but that would fix my brain. However, there was a risk that I wouldn't get the dose or medication right in time and my situation would get worse. The second option was longer and more difficult: studying how my body, my brain and my limits worked, and then adjusting day after day what wasn't going well. You know that I chose this option and that I created the 100-day mental healthcare challenge to track my progress on this.

In these 100 days I learned a lot that I want to share here. As we are all unique and different human beings, you may not agree with what I applied in my life, but I ask for respect and empathy, because all of this saved me. Also, some points have a scientific basis in research I did and books I read.

1. mental health and nutrition

This was one of the first things I learned. I realized that when I was hungry, my body didn't give me clear signals. Probably due to my autism and ADHD, I was always disconnected from my body's needs and didn't know how to identify hunger (which I expected to be something like a growling in my stomach, but it never was that way). What actually happened was that, instead of hunger, I had a critical increase in my intrusive and suicidal thoughts, which made mealtimes much worse than they should have been. Our mind is more vulnerable when the body is not properly fed and hydrated, and many of us neurodivergent people will not feel hunger like neurotypicals do. Our body wants us to move to find food, so it sends us successive stimuli through our brains to fight for our lives and, well, eat. Some of these stimuli can be very negative and, instead of propelling us forward, they drain our energy and make us even more depressed, which also doesn't happen to the same extent with neurotypicals, who deal with this type of thing much better. To avoid this, I started eating every 3 hours, and not because a doctor told me to, but because I realized that my crises happened with this frequency. By eating regularly and preventively, my body stopped depending on this resource to nourish itself and I became more mentally stable.

2. mental healthcare and intestinal system

The gut is not our second brain for nothing. The health of our mind is completely connected to the health of our gut. You have certainly heard the phrase “you are what you eat” and it is true. What surprised me most in my studies was discovering that neurotypical and completely mentally healthy people develop mental disorders if their gut microbiota is altered. In other words, we must nourish our gut to maintain our mental health. The more diverse our microbiota is, the better our mental health will be. This means eating various foods per week, as colorful and natural as possible, because food industrialization is also partially responsible for the number of mental disorders that exist today.

3. mental healthcare and eating meat

This is a difficult topic, since I was a vegetarian for many years, but I want to share what I learned with you. The incidence of mental disorders is directly associated with the levels of omega 3, taurine and tryptophan. Omega 3 is a good fat and essential not only for maintaining memory, but for all of our cognitive functioning and, although it can be supplemented in a vegan way, it is not as accessible to everyone in the appropriate dosage as fish. Similarly, meat has high levels of taurine and tryptophan, which regulate anxiety and depression and improve sleep. For many years I did not eat meat, supplementing protein with vegetables and whey, and for all those years I suffered from anxiety and depression. I never imagined that my blood type would also suffer more from this lack of protein: blood type O struggles more to maintain mental health and ideal mood levels with vegetable proteins. It is a blood type that needs animal protein. Going back to eating meat was not an easy decision, but I decided to test it out: even though I ate a small amount of animal protein per day, my cognitive function improved a lot in these past 100 days. I became more mentally stable and stronger, my mood improved, my gut responded positively and suddenly the things that haunted me were no longer so big. I never thought that mental health and animal protein had any connection, but I was very surprised to discover that eating meat (or not) influences our mind.

4. mental healthcare and intrusive thoughts

Well, I studied psychology, but it was a theory that didn't deal with intrusive thoughts. In these 100 days I discovered this term and delved deep enough to understand that we all have intrusive thoughts. Neurotypicals deal with them better, while neurodivergents deal with them much worse. Unfortunately, I suffered a lot with these thoughts and suffered even more trying to understand why this was happening in my head. If you suffer from intrusive thoughts, start by understanding that they are not real and that they do not come from you consciously. An intrusive thought is something that crosses your mind and is similar to a scary radio station that you accidentally connected to. It does not belong to you. I learned to think (and I like this theory) that this is a way for the brain to prepare itself for various possibilities, even the most absurd and impossible ones. We are animals and our body wants to survive, so I understand that the brain explores various probabilities to always be prepared, no matter what happens. Of course, for anxious and depressed people this has the opposite effect and makes us want to die. Over time, you learn that you can’t control when these thoughts appear, but you can control how much power you give them. I deal with obsessive intrusive thoughts every day, but each day I’m becoming more and more able to not get emotionally involved with them. “It’s just a glitch in my brain,” I think, taking a deep breath.

5. mental healthcare and joy (which is worth more than solving problems)

I've always had a very fast-paced mind, cluttered with things and addicted to solving problems. In recent years I thought I should focus more on relaxing and opening up spaces in my mind, but I discovered that an empty mind can be treacherous for neurodivergent people. Our mind is, in fact, addicted to solving problems. That's how our species evolved and prospered. Our mind has an organizational structure that seeks, through connections and associations, to process past and future events, resolve pending issues and find solutions for what was left behind. We do this with everything, even with things that are not in our control. I spent a lot of my life trying to solve what was going on in my head and I was unsuccessful because I wasn't the one who created this situation. Although solving problems is a pattern of the mind, it is a sweet illusion. Many things are not actually solved, we only think they are. I discovered that the time I invested trying to solve mental problems that I did not create could be used to create happier foundations to strengthen myself. I learned that it is actually joy that heals, not obsessively thinking about the problem until it is solved. Every time I focused my energy on doing something good, laughing or contemplating nature, I became a little stronger and remembered who I am. I won't deny that I felt guilty - the cognitive rigidity of autism screamed at me that I was ignoring my problems and that I was creating a silly fantasy world. Even so, I fought to break out of this pattern. It is still difficult. But today I believe that I’m meant to be happy and that cultivating moments of joy makes life worthwhile.

6. mental healthcare and feeling useful

Feeling useful is essential for mental health. We all want to be part of something and be recognized as necessary. In these 100 days, I decided to resume some volunteer work within my community and I also opened a new company, with handmade products, so that I would also have the opportunity to produce something that was not only in the intellectual field (handicrafts are very good for those who suffer from anxiety). Having a dynamic routine in which you have an important role is great for mental health and your sense of self-authority. Also, getting in touch with other people's personal stories helps to decentralize our gaze from ourselves, which is very useful if you suffer from OCD. As tiring as it may be, the more diverse activities we do, the better our cognitive function becomes.

7. mental healthcare and moving the body

It's interesting that to take care of your mind, you need to get out of your head and move your body. Many of the tensions accumulated in our minds can be released by running, walking or playing some sport. It doesn't matter what it is, but move your body. We were not designed to stay still, but to do various strength, balance and endurance exercises. Our ancestors walked for days in search of shelter and food, and that's how our bodies evolved. Especially for those who suffer from anxiety, high-impact exercises not only help regulate your mood and release neurotransmitters, but also generate a stress spike that will do your body good for the rest of the day. When we trigger these spikes, our body answer quickly and creates new pathways to respond to stress, which helps us better deal with anxiety, depression, instructive thoughts, etc. Our sleep also improves, as we use our stored energy and tend to think less before going to sleep.

8. mental healthcare and sleep hygiene

I have always tried to force myself to be silent. I forced myself to meditate for many years, without much success, but after the panic attacks returned, meditating and being silent were torture. It was as if I made room for all my inner demons to dance in my mind and I always felt worse. I recently discovered that neurodivergent people struggle more with silence and that it does them a lot of good to distract their minds with sounds, images and other stimuli that allow them to emotionally engage with something real and outside of themselves. I see that it is a controversial topic, but I no longer believe in sleep hygiene without screens and complex content. My best nights of sleep were those in which I distracted myself with something until I fell asleep or listened to someone talking until I fell asleep. So if you want to test what works best for you, know your limits and do not blindly obey the orders that someone has set. Maybe you work better at dawn, maybe you only need 6 hours of sleep, maybe you are different from the average. Your life's work is to discover yourself and be true to it.

9. mental healthcare and developing self-authority

This was very important to me. I have always had low self-esteem and I have always believed in others more than in myself. I sought answers and cures for what I suffered from various doctors and therapists, but all of this only made my situation worse. I became dependent on diagnoses, consultations and sessions that never really helped me. At a certain point I decided that I would educate myself on the subjects that bothered me. I studied, and studied a lot, about psychology, neurology, neuroscience, nutrition and about the functioning of the body as a whole. Today I no longer accept any diagnosis about myself because I have developed my own authority. I am the authority when it comes to myself, you know? I don't need others to tell me what I am feeling because now I know what it is and where it comes from. I also know, fortunately, how to solve it. When I go to a doctor or have an exam, I know what I am investigating and what I need to achieve. It is very sad that today medicine is just a search for money and that you only get good care if you pay a lot for it, so it is important to get educated about yourself so you won’t fall into standardized speeches that will lead you to the ever-increasing consumption of pharmaceuticals and drugs without, in fact, looking at the cause of the problem.

10. mental healthcare and time

There are things that only time can heal. There is nothing like letting time pass. A few months ago, all I could think about was how I wanted to end my life and it was tormenting to think about living for even one more day. Waiting for time to pass was difficult, but I was rewarded. Time has a way of overcoming some things if you allow yourself to create new memories, new connections and new laughs. If you are suffering a lot, wait a few more hours. Live one more day. Let time pass and life bring you better things.

See you guys again on my next challenge (maybe a productivity one?). Thanks to everyone who liked and reblogged my previous posts! 💕

[avlxrqn]

Bakugou Katsuki - HC

Tags: smut/fluff, fem-reader, secret/private relationship, mentions of sexual acts.

Heads up: The character is aged up!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Did everyone think Bakugou was single? Yes they all did, who would want to date someone so aggressive and loud as him? Nobody would believe that he could pull a girl, let alone have a lasting relationship with him claiming they’ll get in his way. But nobody knew he was actually in a relationship and a long lasting one anyways, you and Bakugou had been dating since the last day of middle school.

Sure you two both didn’t hangout with each other around classes, training, and free periods like lunch. You and him had been dating for about almost a year or maybe two, but even though you two never seemed to be around each other you both were loyal and new how to communicate (well Bakugou had been trying on that part).

Although in private has been a different story Bakugou would sometimes come in your dorm or he’d either drag you to his and give excuses to “study”, overall since the two of you had been dating for a while you both were touchy with one another.

But who knew you two would be such freaks especially after you two losing your virginity to each other, if he was mad? He’d fuck you, if he was stressed? He’d fuck you, if he was down right just horny or pent up? He’d fuck you.

There was absolutely nothing that could stop him from burying his cock into that tight warm pussy, he just couldn’t help himself by using you like a flesh light.

Over time he had a private twitter page and on that page was only one video he had posted and he had you in doggy style fucking his cum back into you, your ass was red from him slapping or grabbing your ass cheeks and your poor pussy was leaking his cum and getting drilled by his fat cock.

Bakugou was mean he would plow into your pussy while calling you a slut, and a dirty whore that loves getting fucked. You’d just grip onto his sheets while he was rutting his damn cock inside you like he was going to leave you the next day, oh he couldn’t help it he loved it when that pretty pussy of yours gripped around his cock.

Slowly it was getting worse you both would always do a few quickies before class, during lunch (in a broom closet) or hide somewhere during training to have you ride his dick. Although you both needed to maintain to have a secret relationship, but it was hard when you’d make bedroom eyes at him from across the classroom.

Surely you both had sex a lot but overall he was glad he gave his first time to you, he did like you (and love) but he’d never admit that. He was glad he met you and did a few things he never thought he’d be doing, soon the others found out about y’all’s relationship and were surprised and teased at first. Over time it grew on them and it didn’t bother them, and y’all continued to have a healthy relationship basically.

[shiverandqueeef]

I realize i'm preaching to the choir at this point about the batshit bananas nonsense that is the current hollywood standard for mens' "fitness" but I just spent the weekend watching everything taron egerton has ever been in (shut up shut up shut up i don't have a problem it's FINE)

anyways he happens to be a particularly depressing example of whackadoo body image bullshitery and i can't stop thinking about it so im excising it via tumblr post. You all get to be sad with me. here's a clip from an interview for the 2015 movie Eddie The Eagle

[Interviewer: You had a pretty physical transformation for your role in this movie...

Egerton: Uh yeah, I got fat, yeah.

Interviewer: Personally, I found it very attractive.

Egerton: DID YOU?! Really? Oh my god.]

A lot of Egerton's fans have responded to this clip gushing over how cute it is, and i agree! it's cute! But it's also just like. really fucking sad. The interviewer comments on his weight-gain positively and the response is genuine shock.

Oh and here's a picture of what Egerton actually looked like in the movie:

That's Taron Egerton's self-described "fat" body. and I'm so sorry but seriously?!?!

and i mean. you can't exactly blame the guy for (appearing to have) a dysmorphic body image when the roles in which he plays a "fit" character required him to look like this:

and you wanna know why it's obvious the photos above aren't actually a "healthy" weight for this person?

he doesn’t believe he’s “the right choice” because of his body type — with gym time being something he regularly thinks about when choosing roles. “You have to be consistently statuesque to be that guy. And that’s something that I am still striving for. I’ve always struggled with my weight,” he said. “[Bond] is a bit like being a brand ambassador as well as being an actor. And that could be really fun in microcosm, but I’m sure I read that Barbara Broccoli said that it’s a 15-year commitment.”

that's Egerton talking about potentially playing James Bond, and why he doesn't want to. You don't even need to squint to read between those lines; Bond is a brand and with that comes a specific aesthetic, and while Egerton can put his body through the stress required to warp his body into that brand-approved aesthetic (as he did with Kingsman) it simply is not sustainable. Trying to maintain a body that is not in equilibrium for years?! Not happening.

Egerton frames his body as a problem to overcome. He's always "struggled with [his] weight". Of course what that actually means is he struggles to meet an unhealthy standard.

[flagellant]

lmao the obesity article from huffpo you reblogged is so insanely incorrect

First off, the whole "Your body is just doing what it's supposed to do, you're fat because you're MEANT to be fat!" while also saying "about 40 years ago, Americans started getting much larger" hmm... Why only Americans? Why only 40 years ago?

That seems odd, that Americans, specifically, would suddenly change to being naturally fat. Even today America has a much higher rate of obesity than other places like Japan. How is that? Wonder what would be discovered if we looked at when things like beet sugar, corn syrup, etc. started to be commonly added to foods 🤔

And then the "diets don't work!" spiel, along with emotionally charged reports of people starving themselves until they passed out.

What diets specifically doesn't work? Were the people getting enough calories? Did they stop the diet, and then the weight came back? Did they start with small, gradual changes or completely overhaul their entire meal plan right away?

They say "95% to 98% of research shows diets fail" what research? What studies? What was the sample size? What were people eating? Were they given any help to maintain their diet or encourage any other healthy habits, or were they just given a list of foods to eat and sent on their way?

It sounds like ALL the diets they talk about in the article are shitty. People starving themselves, people doing useless fad diets, etc. and presenting it as if weight loss is IMPOSSIBLE. Which is crazy, considering all the people I've seen who lose weight, maintain the loss, and feel insanely better than they did when they were obese.

Maybe it's not that "diets" don't work, but that the diet industry doesn't work? After all, what would happen if they encouraged people to change their relationship with food completely, starting with small, gradual changes, and work on fixing their gut microbiome and cutting out unnecessary things from their diet like processed sugars, corn syrup, etc? Then people would lose weight. Then they wouldn't need expensive diet plans anymore.

And then the industry has no more customers. Just like if Apple makes phones that actually work and aren't pieces of trash, then they wouldn't be making money from people buying new iPhones every other year. Same with the clothing industry, and the pharmaceutical industry, and every other industry.

For someone who always talks about people researching things and checking out the sources on information before automatically believing it ya'll don't seem very good at it lmao

I'd like to start off with saying that I definitely agree with you in that the way the diet industry is structured exists to predate upon invented insecurities, just like nearly any cosmetics aimed at body alteration to some degree (makeup included). We also agree that it is fundamentally built to ensure failure and ongoing failure as a norm, in the same way that we're never going to get a proper cure for cancer when the cancer industry is so insanely prevalent and profitable.

That said, I understand your...frustration, let's call it, sure, about the fact that no, I did not do any further digging into this and took it at its word. You have my apologies for that.

However. I'd like to use this as a tool for transparency and assuming best intent. Your tone and treatment of me in this is rather hostile and I don't see the purpose that it serves. If I'm someone who claims to find accuracy in reporting important, then yes, accuracy needs to be had. And it was as simple as just Googling "95% diets fail". First result is an article from the NYT debunking it and explaining why it's a myth and bad statistics.

But that same article gets me to the heart of why I'm writing things out this way: you brought it up yourself, in fact, though in deciding to get petty you probably missed the subtext. For over forty years now these numbers have been used and spread around to the point where countless literal professional doctors don't have any idea that it's false. After all, we live in a society where diet industries have for pretty much ever been able to operate with nearly no regulation, fat people aren't actually given a shit about from medical professionals and are just told to get GPS, etc...you could even say this is a systemic issue which started long before I and likely you (and most reading this) were born.

Nobody learns these things on accident. You're absolutely right that if I looked it up and researched the claims I could easily have found out their validity to be nonexistent. But why would I? This isn't new research. This isn't anything that goes against anything I was ever taught. It's just a fact of life, just the way things are. People thought the universe was geocentric.

So with that said, I have to admit that while I've done my best to not vent my irritation at you or anyone else, it is deeply frustating, sure, we'll call it, to have you walk up to me and act in this way. It would be one thing if this wasn't a case of unlearning systemic bias and normativity. That'd be on me, absolutely.

But instead of thinking things through like an emotionally mature individual and going "Hm, this dude who says it finds research/accuracy important posted some stuff which was wrong, which I'm aware has a history going back multiple decades and is still going strong. Maybe the reason they didn't do any followup research was because they've lived their entire life hearing this same statistic over and over again and therefore thought that their systemic biases were accurate and saw nothing wrong because they couldn't,"

you decided to be a cunt for no fucking reason and you knew it because you had to go on Anonymous to hide any possible consequences coming your way for your actions. So thanks for informing me about this, I'm genuinely grateful and we, again, completely fucking agree ideologically, but/so fuck you for thinking that acting like a fucking 10th grader with a gotcha was a better use of anyone's time than just typing out "Hey that diet thing you reblogged is actually completely false if you look it up" to which I would have gone "Oh shit you're right, here's some followup research I did about this thing and how it's a systemic bias that needs to be unlearned".

[thisisthinprivilege]

[tw: weight loss talk, hypothetical abuse]

My family has always been supportive of my weight loss efforts.  In their defense, they've always believed weight loss was the default starting point for health in someone my size, just like I did.  This was especially true when I was in junior high and high school.

I remember that in addition to all the traditional feelings of embarrassment, shame, frustration, etc. that surrounded my weight - I always felt a certain amount of guilt for not successfully losing 'it all' (such a vague goal to pursue that no one, not even I, ever questioned) with each new diet I tried.  My family was always so happy for me in those first few successful months, and genuinely proud, and so every time I hit that 20lb loss benchmark, I told myself it would be the last time I'd need to worry about seeing that number on the scale again because this time I would stick with it.  The rewards were well worth the time and energy it took to inspire even the smallest shift in my appearance.  

Inevitably, though, the weight would stop coming off.  No matter how many more hours per week I added to my workout routine, or how many personal trainers I paid, or how many more calories I cut - 'progress' slowed and eventually stopped.  I'm fortunate enough to say that in my long history of attempted weight loss, I've never had to deal with the extra pressures of an eating disorder.  It was just like my body would run out of gas, in a way.  And then, disappointed with yet another failure, I'd stop trying so hard and settle back into more comfortable patterns and everything I lost inevitably came back.  

I remember, after one particular attempt, I vented my frustrations and my sadness to my dad.  In a tone of complete loving support, he said he wished he could lock me in a room with a treadmill and force me to maintain a severely restricted diet until I managed to lose 'it all.'  (I really think about 'it all' now, and what I thought that meant at the time.  Did it mean the same thing to me as it did to my dad, or my sister, or my mom?  In retrospect I think the guilt came from feeling like a bookmark in my own family, an unsightly aberration warming the seat for my thinner, prettier self, someone we were all trying to be patient and wait for while we settled with fat-me in the meantime.)  

Anyway.  Thin privilege is not having your father fantasize about keeping you in prison conditions 'for your own good.'  It's not having him believe that the way you are is something that needs to be corrected through force, simultaneously implying your inability to achieve some nebulous goal weight under your own power is a failure or further weakness in you.  

[anime-kia]

Not As Easy As It Looks

I'm not kidding when I tell you guys that I'm obsessed with Dadmonger.

Relationship: Father Erik x Mother Reader

"Bruh, they bout to be late again!" Erik called to you as you chased your five-year-old son, Jojo, while holding your crying one-year-old, Ameena, who was pulling at your hoop earring. 

You ignored him and called out for your three-year-old, "Nasir!" You could feel an impending migraine coming on from your loud children and Erik's nagging. 

Who the hell told me to have three kids in the first place? Oh right... My dumbass believing that Erik's pullout game was strong. 

You finally caught Jojo and gave him a stern look telling him to go to his father right away. Ameena was still bawling for no reason, but your motherly instincts allowed you to overhear something crash to floor in the kitchen. There you found the three-year-old standing in jam, while rummaging through the fridge as if you hadn't fed him ten minutes ago. He was already gaining weight on top of his baby fat. 

"Little boy, we need to leave." You decided to come at him with a gentle approach as a means to calm yourself down.

He looked at you with that innocent smile similar to yours that always melted your heart. Nasir and Ameena looked more like you and Jojo looked more like Erik.

"Okay, Mommy." He calmly replied, walking out the kitchen towards Erik, but you were suspicious. When you go over to inspect the fridge, you could feel your blood pressure rising. 

The child emptied out  every single leftover container into the fridge, and one of the chicken legs had a huge bite. You were so annoyed that you didn't notice the jam soaking into your sock. 

"(Y/n)!" Erik called again. 

You were ready to tell him to shut the hell up, but instead you walked back to the front door. Ameena reached out for her father and stopped her unnecessary sobbing. The two boys were in their jackets and shoes, looking like scholars as if they weren't just causing havoc. 

"Hey, Princess." He cooed at her, kissing her chubby cheeks. He finally looked at you, "Damn baby, Meena got you." He pointed at a stain of vomit on your shirt, just above your left breast. Of course you didn't notice it or feel it until now. The two boys laughed.

You deadpanned, and went to open the front door. "Get out. All of you." 

"Bye, Mommy!" Jojo and Nasir ran out, assuming you were playing.

"You just gone kick us out like that?" He looked fake hurt, but you nodded. "Meena, too?"

"Out, Erik." You held the door even wider. 

"Can I at least get a kiss?"

A frown plastered your face and he took the hint. 

"Damn, your mama is mean as hell. Ain't that right, Meena?" You could hear her babble to him as you locked the door. 

The house was finally silent. Peace and quiet was very rare these days. It was always you who got up early to get your kids ready for school. Usually, Ameena would be asleep, but this morning she had to go see her pediatrician. Initially you were going to take her, but it was your well deserved day off and you needed all of those 8 hours of silence to yourself. You both agreed that he stay out with the kids all day until dinner time.  

Erik was by no means a deadbeat, in fact he cared for his kids a lot. Growing up the way he did and not wishing it on anyone else, he promised to always be there for them no matter what. 

While you got the kids ready in the mornings and at night, he would either be sleeping (due to exhaustion from work) or preparing their lunches and breakfast or dinner. He would also handle some private business that you did not inquire about, he paid the bills and as far as you knew, he was safe. Though it would be nice if he did acknowledge that your job of getting three young children ready was not easy all while maintaining a steady nine to five.

"Mama!" Two small, but heavy bodies jumped onto your bed then crashed into you. How they still have energy, only Bast knows. You were curled up in your king sized bed, binge watching your favourite series on Netflix. Has it really been eight hours already... Internally you groan, but being welcomed by your two sons with so much love always made you happy. 

"Hey, boys. How was your day?" You smiled, allowing the to cuddle underneath your arms. 

"Good!" They both yelled at the same time. Jojo was the first to explain what he learned at school and then what happened after Erik picked them up from school. He took them out to the park, then to the basketball court and then to get ice cream.

"Hold on, the basketball court?" You slightly frown, "Who was playing?"

"Daddy and his friends." Nasir chimed in. 

"Then who was watching Ameena?" 

"This pretty lady that Daddy was talking to." Jojo admitted.

Your eyes widened, but before you could say anything, Erik came in the room, Ameena fast asleep in his arms. "Damn, so y'all just gone tell on me like that?" 

They boys giggled and ran away.

"Now before you say anything, she's just a friend. And she don't fuck with dudes either."

You glared at him, deciding not to prolong that conversation. "Whatever, E. Just call me when they're done eating dinner so I can get them ready for bed." 

He chuckled, "Bruh, why you make it sound like it's a challenge?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Are you friggin' serious?" 

"Yeah, it can't be that hard."

A smirk graced your lip. "Fine then, you take care of getting them ready tomorrow."

"Bet."

The alarm went off for six-thirty. You were already out of bed, almost forgetting your deal with Erik. He remained fast asleep on his stomach. 

You shook him, "Come on, baby. It's time to get the kids up." You said in a soft voice that you used on your children in the morning. 

"Naw, five more minutes." He grumbled from his pillow.

"Ain't no five minutes." This time you violently shook his arm. 

"Aight, aight! I'm up, shit!" He pulled the covers off his body and gave you a serious look. "Why you wearing that?" He looked up and down with hazy eyes at your sports bra and leggings set.

"I'm going to a yoga class." You smirked, and began spreading the bed. "Oh and good luck."

He scoffed and made his way to the bathroom. After taking a shower, he began to brush his teeth, but Ameena's cry sounded through the baby monitor. His first reaction would be to call you, but you were long gone before he got out the shower. 

Erik was not finished, so he left the brush in his mouth and went down the hall to his daughter's room. She was standing in the crib, holding onto the bars, rattling them. He set his toothbrush down and lifted her out of the crib, rocking her on his side. 

"What's up, baby girl? You hungry?" She only continued crying, so he made his way down to the kitchen with her snuggling against his side. It was already 7:05. 

He opened the fridge expecting to see pre-made bottles, but you always made them fresh.

"Dang, I gotta make this from scratch?" 

He sat Ameena down in her high chair, but this only made her cries even louder. Her little legs banged against the seat as she fussed. 

"Hold on, mama. Let me get your bottle."

He searched high and low for the formula, realizing that he's never paid enough attention to see what it actually looked like. He read almost every label and food item in your cupboards. Not to mention, but it was a big house, with a big kitchen and a lot of cupboards. Just then he remembered, you assigned a special storage for your kids snacks so it would likely be in there. It was higher up so they couldn't get to it, but he did find it. 

"Got it!" He applauded himself and began reading the instructions. He might as well have been reading in a foreign language, not that he didn't already understand a few, but this was very new. Eventually he did figure it out and put the bottle in the microwave for two minutes. 

"Daddy?" A sad voice recognized as Nasir echoed to him. He watched his son enter the kitchen with a pouty face, one hand holding his fuzzy panther. "Where's mommy?" 

"She's out right now, but she'll be back."

"I have to go potty."

"Can you hold it for a bit?" 

"No, I'm gonna pee pee myself." Erik sighed and rushed to take him to the toilet in the downstairs bathroom. "Ah shi- I mean shoot. Hold up." He ran back into the kitchen to get Ameena who was still complaining. 

Her little arms reached out to him as he pulled her out of the high chair. The microwave beeped, signalling that her bottle was ready. He pulled it out the microwave and handed it to her. Just as she was about to drink it, he gently pulled it from her grasp, the silence was broken instantly. She cried even louder than the last time. 

"Daddy!" Nasir yelled from the bathroom.

"Just a second!" He replied, "My bad, Meena." He rocked her again. "Daddy's forgot to test it." He tested a patch on the back of his hand, and it was very hot. Erik set the bottle and Ameena down, getting an ice cube out of the freezer. He put it in the bottle and shook it up, testing it once again. "Better." He picked her up and gave her the bottle. She was finally silenced, suckling on the bottle, tears still falling from her eyes. 

Erik made his way back to the bathroom, only to see a dark blue stain on his son's light blue PJ's. A puddle formed on the black tiles. He noted to clean that up later. 

"I pee peed." Nasir said, on the verge of crying.  

"That's alright, little man." Erik sighed. He brought them upstairs, and set Ameena on Nasir's bed, where she continued to drink from her bottle quietly. "Get undressed, you gotta take a shower."  

Erik went to Jojo's room, entering and waking him out of his sleep. 

"Come on bro, time to get up." 

Jojo groaned and turned his body so his back faced Erik. 

Hell... Erik thought, He's just like you. 

Erik yanked the covers off of his son, "Up! Let's go." 

Jojo went on a frenzy looking for his covers, but failed so he tucked his knees upwards into his chest to keep the warmth. 

Erik scoffed. "You look like me, but you act like your mama." He grabbed his ankles and pulled him to the foot of the bed, "Don't make me drop you." 

There was a slight grin on Jojo's face, like he wanted Erik to do it. Instead, Erik pulled him off the bed, holding both of Jojo's feet with one hand. Jojo finally busted out laughing and Erik set him back on the floor gently. 

"Again!" The five-year-old exclaimed. His bedhead became even more messy from playing. You were planning on getting their hairs cut eventually, but they wanted to copy their father. You kept Nasir's hair in a little puff and Jojo's in mini twists. Ameena rocked her little curly afro. 

"Nah, we're on a tight schedule." 

Jojo huffed, but followed Erik out of the bedroom into the bathroom. You were able to give them baths individually, but he was running out of time. 

"Do you have to pee?" He asked his son. 

"Nope!" 

Erik felt relieved. 

Ameena was sleeping again so he picked up her bottle and placed it on the dresser. He allowed her to sleep while the two boys took their bath. 

"Can we get bubbles, Daddy?" Nasir asked, filling up his rubber duck with water. 

"Not right now." 

"Yeah! Bubbles!" Jojo chimed in, splashing the water with his hands. 

"When can we get bubbles?" Nasir continued to ask. 

The two of them continued to yell and cheer for bubbles while splashing the water. 

"Later, tonight. Right now y'all just need to-" Erik's eyes widened as he watched the water surrounding Jojo change colour. "Jojo! I thought you ain't have to pee, bruh!" 

He only giggled, "Oops!" 

"Eeewww!" Nasir screamed, jumping up and splashing the water everywhere. 

"Nasir, stop, man! Stop!" Erik scolded and tried to shield himself from the contaminated water.

Then Ameena's cries began.

For fucks sake....

"That took longer than it needed to cuz y'all nasty." Erik shook his head at his sons, Ameena calmed down and was playing with the chain around his neck. 

The two boys laughed.

"Y'all think I'm playing." He used a stern voice. The kids were use to Erik being the fun and playful Dad so they weren't taking him seriously. "I'm being so serious right now." 

"Where's mommy?" Jojo finally questioned. 

"She ain't here right now."

"Mama?" Ameena added. Erik looked at her stunned.

"Yo, did you just talk?" He raised an eyebrow at his daughter.

"Yeah, she said 'mama'." Nasir copied her. 

"How you gone say that when she ain't here, but you won't say dada or baba?" He sighed. Of course he was happy that she was grasping words, finally, but he would've preferred it to be dada or baba. He wouldn't tell you that her first word was mama, you never heard her talk yet and he knew you would hold it over his head.

Erik sighed and looked at the more pressing matter in front of him. By the grace of Bast, Erik had the two boys lotioned up and now he had to get their clothes on and their hairs to look decent. He'd always seen you chase one or both of them around the house with their clothes in hand as they ran stark naked or in their underwear. If they were close enough, Erik would catch them, if not, it was all up to you.

"Now I'm not in a playing mood, so don't even try to run." He was using his military voice on them, hoping that would sway them into seeing how serious he was. 

Too bad that only lasted for a moment. Once Nasir had his shirt on, he dashed out the room. 

"Nasir!" Erik yelled.

"Wait for me!" Jojo followed along, racing out the room in only his briefs. 

"Gah lee, bruh!" He huffed. Ameena was laughing at her brothers and her father, showing off two top and two bottom teeth that were just growing in. "You think this is funny too, princess." 

He stepped outside the room and waited for them to run towards his direction. Nasir was first to round the corner and Erik grabbed him right away. He kicked, screamed and laughed as he tried to break free from his father's grasp. Next was Jojo, who's footsteps grew louder as he got closer. Before he could make it fully around the wall, Jojo tripped and bumped his head into the leg of the end table that held family portraits and a small vase Erik brought from Cape Town that all went crashing to the ground. 

"Ooh, shit." Erik winced, listening to his son do that windup cry that all little kids do. He set Nasir down, "See, this is what happens when y'all don't listen." 

He picked Jojo up with his now free arm, bringing him back to the bedroom. 

"You're alright, man." 

Jojo snuggled into his father's neck, his tears and snot staining  Erik's shirt. Ameena reached out to her little brother and made sad babbling noises like she was trying to comfort him. 

"Look, Meena's checking if you're good." He smiled and sat down on the bed. 

"Are you okay, Jojo?" Nasir's voice was really quiet as he looked at his weeping older brother, who only shook his head.

"If we finish getting ready, I can get you some ice." Erik noticed a hematoma forming on Jojo's forehead. She's gonna kill me...

The boys settled down and allowed Erik to finish getting them dressed and he fixed their bedheads, then they went downstairs. You prepared a simple breakfast for them, as if you knew Erik would run out of time. In fact he did, it was already time to leave. He quickly got an ice pack out of the freezer and handed it to Jojo, and got all of their shoes and jackets on. 

"We ready?" He asked them and they nodded, Ameena babbled in her baby language.

"Never again." Erik just got back from dropping the kids off and plopped down, face first on the sofa. 

You appeared from the kitchen, holding his favourite beer. "Not as easy as it looks, huh?" You smirked.��

"Them boys is too much." He sat up and took the beer from your hand. 

"Trust me, I know." You plopped down beside him, snuggling into his side. "You did this to us, just know."

He took a swig of beer, "What? How is this my fault, babe?" 

"Last time I checked, you were the only who bragged about your pullout game being strong." You said with an eye roll.

"It is strong, otherwise I'd have more lil' niggas running around. Not just by you." 

You punched him in the chest, "Fuck you, bruh." 

"Aye, I'm just saying." 

You knew he was telling the truth. Erik was the definition of a whore until he met you.  

"So you really just out here getting me pregnant?"

"And I'm tempted to do it again." He set his drink down and pulled you underneath him. "How long before we gotta pick 'em up?" He rhetorically asked in a lustful tone.

"No, we ain't doing this!" You laugh, placing your foot against his chest. "You don't learn do you?" 

"We make mistakes all the time." He shrugged with a smirk. 

"Boy, whatever." You smiled at Erik.

(Start/Finish: April 12, 2019)

[soft-bellied-tannies]

The Magic of Modeling

How is it already the second to last day of Chubtober!? I can’t believe it’s almost over.

Today’s prompt is Enchanted from fatguarddog’s list and there is a little cameo from my favorite gal.

Read here or on AO3!

—-

Taehyung wasn’t even sure how it was brought up. They were all talking about Jimin’s latest fashion show and then somehow, they were talking about Taehyung’s modeling ability.

While he was incredibly handsome and his partners never failed to tell him that, Taehyung knew he was not the model type.

He had been chubby his entire life and he really enjoyed that about himself. Taehyung loved food, loved his soft belly, and loved his wide thighs. He was the perfect cuddler and his lap was the best seat for his partners.

Taehyung knew it was partially a lie as he said it, but it didn’t stop him from setting up what eventually would become a months long endeavor.

“I could definitely model.”

His partners seemed to fall silent, figuring out how to respond to him lightly until Yoongi took the burden on himself.

“Tae, you know I’m saying this with all my love and respect for you with no judgment, but we both know that’s not really true. The industry sucks and you would have to lose weight to be taken seriously.”

Taehyung knew Yoongi was right, unfortunate as the truth was, but he also didn’t want that to stop him. It somehow became a challenge for himself - a fixation to figure out how he could pull it off.

He didn’t feel that he needed to prove them wrong necessarily because they loved and supported him, enjoying his body and hyping up his look, but it almost was like proving the industry as a whole wrong. An unknown sleight of his own hand.

It started with a lot of research for Taehyung to figure out how he could be chubby…maybe fat if he were to be honest with himself and enter the modeling world.

That is when Taehyung remembered Hwasa, the granddaughter of his grandmother’s best friend.

They had been childhood friends and he trusted her to come up with a solution considering that she descended from a long line of witches.

Taehyung certainly wasn’t going to attempt losing the weight first because he would never give into the toxic industry and he honestly just didn’t have the willpower to do it.

After looking up types of charms and spells, Taehyung found a variation on a Cinderella-esque magical effect that could allow him to have the best of both worlds.

It would allow Taehyung’s true form to be as fat and happy as he wanted while also shifting into the “ideal” frame for male modeling.

He could maintain the perfect model image during certain hours of the day before returning home to indulge in his favorite meals and couch cuddles.

After meeting up at Hwasa’s shop and explaining his findings, she looked at him with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“You’re serious about this?”

“Of course, I told you, I need to make this point. I have to prove them wrong.”

“But they aren’t discouraging you, it’s just realistic.”

“Fine, then I need to prove the industry wrong.”

“By finding a loophole to still have the body type they require and no one knowing.”

“I will know! That’s the point!”

“God, you are so dumb…”

“So, you’re not going to do it?”

“What? Of course I’m going to do it, sit down.”

In a matter of hours, Taehyung was looking a completely different version of himself in the mirror. He couldn’t remember a time that his jaw had such a sharp line or ever having definition on his abdomen.

Honestly, Taehyung hated it. It felt and looked wrong, like everything that made him Taehyung was gone - way too small and cold.

“Man, you look hot as hell, models should consider themselves lucky that you love food so much, but it also just looks so off. You sure about this?”

Hwasa’s voice startled Taehyung and he nodded. He couldn’t agree more that it was not the look for him, however, he knew that he could easily sell the model look long enough to make his point.

“Yeah, I just need to do this until I can book a project and then be done with it.”

“Let me help with that. I’ve got some contacts in the industry. You aren’t the only one who uses magic to cut corners.”

Taehyung managed to hide his little secret from his partners, not utilizing Hwasa’s perfect charm until she sent him the details for a shoot.

Showing up to the set gave him a lot of insight to Jin and Jimin’s experiences, Taehyung making a mental note to check in on them both considering how uptight and brutally honest everyone was.

He truly had a terrible time and was happy that he hadn’t changed his life and body to work toward this. Although, he did accept a few more shoots since Hwasa went through so much to help him.

However, Taehyung did draw the line at a certain point.

“Maybe we can get you a partner shoot with someone. One last project because we call it.”

“Woah, I’m trying to prove myself, not get in trouble. No partners besides my own.”

“I don’t understand you, Tae, but somehow, I respect you.”

What Hwasa didn’t tell him was that she did find him a partner shoot that did follow his rules.

When Taehyung showed up the following week on set looking trim and toned, the last person he expected to see was Park Jimin.

It took everything for him not to run in the other direction, wanting his plan to be a big reveal once his photos were published.

Jimin turns to greet his model counterpart, eyes widening as he immediately recognizes a version of his partner that he’s never seen before.

“T-Tae…”

“Minnie, I can explain.”

“You better fucking explain! What did you do to yourself? Did you hurt yourself? Why-“

“Jimin-ah, please, let’s talk in private.”

After explaining his entire plan and the fact that it wasn’t permanent, Taehyung saw the relief form on Jimin’s face.

Showering him in kisses and gentle touches, Jimin explained how scared he was that Taehyung did something dangerous and how happy he was to know that his soft and warm Tae was still underneath the magic.

They did the shoot together perfectly, chemistry and intimacy flowing naturally between loving partners.

Jimin stole a few shots from his team to take home as proof, changing his tune as soon as they were in the car together.

Taehyung knew he was in for it based on Jimin’s adamance that he told the entire story to their partners that night.

He could barely get the words out before the scolding began, telling him it was a reckless decision for such a silly reason.

Also, Namjoon and Hoseok both lectured him, frustrated and concerned that he would look elsewhere for magic knowing that he had two perfectly capable magic users in the house.

Taehyung reasoned that it would ruin the surprise and used his photos with Jimin as proof, finding that the impressive shots silenced his berating partners who could see the appeal.

What Taehyung had not expected was for his popularity as a model to take off. His shoot with Jimin went viral and he was getting offers for more and more work.

Tae tried so hard not to be smug about it because he knows he's hot shit and in his mind, this was proving to everyone that he could have both - being fat and a top model.

Part of him was discouraged that he couldn’t just be himself though. The only reason he was not on the front page of Vogue as his true self was because the industry decisions makers were cowards.

With Jimin becoming his never ending hypeman, complimenting his modeling but never shutting about how hot he was at his actual size, Taehyung found it easier to continue.

He introduced Namjoon, Hoseok, and Hwasa who were able to maintain his secret charm, allowing him to have the best of both worlds throughout his career.

His partners would admit to having a weird satisfaction watching him grow to his normal size as Taehyung was completely transparent with them on his arrangement now.

However, they weren’t the only ones who couldn’t keep their eyes off Taehyung. He became an enigma of the modeling industry.

The man landing covers and centerfolds with Park Jimin and Kim Seokjin on his arms that also had a cheeseburger and a milkshake for lunch on set while the other models ate their salads and drank their green juice.

Taehyung never told anyone aside from his loving partners and closest friend ever learned of his perfectly enchanted weight - the key to his happiness and success.

And maybe his happiness grew a little more knowing that Taehyung had convinced Jin and Jimin to loosen up and relax, maybe sharing the love of his little charm and big appetite with his partners over the years.

No one had to know that the most successful trio of models in Korea looked much softer behind closed doors.

[kaladinsspear]

TLDR: my ex wanted me to be a fantasy, fuck that, I’m a person.

So I just started reading That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon by Kimberly Lemming and I forgot how much I love the romance genera! This book is playing with some of my favorite tropes and I am thriving!

I think I stopped reading romance because with my ex, she wanted me to BE the mail lead in a romance novel. She wanted that decisiveness, that power, that burning focus and intensity. She wanted me to be dominant, but she didn’t want to get bogged down with things like setting and maintaining her own boundaries, or giving me feedback on what’s working for her and what isn’t, or sitting down with my neurodivergent ass and having a frank discussion about exactly what she wants from me so I can ask questions about the edge cases and clarify expectations and come up with defaults for when I don’t know what she wants. None of that boring stuff, I was suppose to just be.

I think I stopped reading romance because it reminded me of all the things I’m not, and made me feel like the strain of the relationship was my fault because I couldn’t be good enough. If I was more confident, more assertive, more aggressive, more powerful more, more, more, more then I could be the man that she deserved and she wouldn’t have to settle for weak, placid, little me.

You know what, though? Fuck that. Romance novels are a delightful fantasy, but they are a fantasy and the personality traits that make for a hot vampire king do not make for a well adjusted member of society.

No, I will not push you up against the wall and kiss you, because you have given me no explicit and indication that you want me to. If I’m that aggressive with you when you’re not in the mood and ready for it, I could hurt you. I don’t care if it’s hot in the books, being manhandled in real life when you aren’t in the mood for it is frightening and humiliating and you already have ptsd from military service. I’m not going to potentially trigger your fight or flight without a very clear and unambiguous ‘yes’. I don’t care if we are teasing and clearly headed toward the bedroom, even if you told me you wanted me to pin you against the wall when we talked about it yesterday, if I take that step when you don’t want it, that’s not an ‘oops, I’m sorry’ kind of thing. That’s domestic violence. I’m gonna need a clear and in the moment ‘yes.’

I’m reading romance again and actually enjoying it because I’m allowed to see it for the fantasy and story that it is. This isn’t an example that I need to live up to. I am a pool tech and a student. I don’t have the time or spoons to do what it would take to get washboard abs. If I lost that much body fat, I probably wouldn’t be able handle the endurance work that my job requires. I’m training to be a programmer and I live in a world of disinformation. I don’t need to be able to make snap decisions with confidence, I need to think strategically and adapt to new information.

I think my ex also made it worse. I couldn’t trust her to enforce her boundaries, which means that I had very little guidance on how to avoid crossing them. It made me extra carful around her, always hedging and bending to her whims. I knew that if I crossed a boundary, I would find out about it from her betrayed tears.

The more distance I get, the more relieved I am to be out of that marriage. I know she will tell anybody that will listen that I’m an abusive asshole who took advantage of her dependence on me, but that’s fine. She can tell anyone she wants about how horrible I am. How weak, cowardly, manipulative, dishonest, unreliable, and lazy I am. They will probably believe her. But it’s a price I’m happy to pay to be allowed to be who I am, and to stop trying to be an impossible fantasy.

[bigbruthag]

1. Be consistent with your training routine: Incorporate a mix of cardiovascular, strength, flexibility, and balance exercises. Aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate aerobic activity or 75 minutes of vigorous activity weekly, along with strength training exercises twice a week.

2. *Prioritize Strength Training: Muscle mass naturally decreases with age, so strength training is crucial to maintain and build muscle. Include exercises that target all major muscle groups.(Bodyweight squats, Pushups, Burpees, Planks etc)

3. Stop eating like a fkn child: Focus on whole, nutrient-dense foods. Prioritize lean proteins, healthy fats, whole grains, and plenty of fruits and vegetables. Drink water and limit overly processed foods and added sugars.

4. Go to bed: Aim for 7-9 hours of quality sleep per night. Sleep is vital for recovery, hormone regulation, and overall health.

5. Manage Stress: Chronic stress can negatively impact your health. Practice stress management techniques such as minding your damn business, mindfulness, meditation, saying no without explaining, yoga, or deep-breathing exercises.

6. Stay Active Throughout the Day: Avoid long periods of sitting. Incorporate more movement into your day, like taking the stairs, walking during breaks, or using a standing desk.

7. Regular Health Check-ups: Keep up with regular medical check-ups to monitor and manage any health conditions. Stay on top of screenings and preventative measures. Better yet move somewhere with free healthcare.

8. Stay Socially Active: Maintain a strong social network and engage in activities that you enjoy. Social interaction can boost mental and emotional health.

9. Avoid Harmful Habits: Limit alcohol consumption, avoid smoking, and reduce intake of other substances that can negatively impact your health.

10. Listen to Your Body: Rest when needed and don’t push through pain. Adjust your routine to accommodate your body’s needs.

Implementing these strategies can help you achieve and maintain better shape in your 40s than in your 30s. I’m living proof that it works because believe me black does indeed crack when you don’t take care of it 😉

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[stiricidewrites]

The Damage You Do: ch 26, pt 6

Previously

~

“Yeah~,” wwx sighed, dramatic as he collapsed further into his stretch. “That man is just… it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking. Whenever I think, oh, he’ll do this, he doesn’t! I’m generally pretty good at reading people, yet that man…”

“I see,” lwj said, telling wwx that he also knew a few people like that. nhs was one such person, always zigging when people expected him to zag, although lwj and his cousin had become particularly adept at guessing what the Nie heir was liable to do over the years. They were nothing compared to L.J., however, and the Wens had become increasingly good at guessing nhs’s moves over the years as well, although never when it particularly mattered—something lwj was increasingly beginning to believe wasn’t a coincidence.

lwj’s fingers pulled free of wwx’s ass as the man idly agreed with his opinion that people were annoying to deal with. “I will be back in a moment,” he promised, fingers brushing over the sensitive skin of his sub’s upper thighs.

wwx moaned and shuddered at the contact, a soft smile spread across his face. “Come back soon, Lan-laoshi! You’re doing such a good job of helping me relax. I can’t wait to see what we’ll do next!”

lwj hummed as he took soft, meandering steps across the room, stopping in front of the cabinet he kept his more sex-oriented items inside. He so rarely had the chance to use this room for anything sex related—or even just joint exercise sessions with anyone—most of his former subs having been quite anti-working out for fun. That was understandable, given their jobs effectively required them to maintain some level of fitness—not that he wasn’t enjoying wwx’s lack of fitness or the gentle slope of his belly and chub that hung to his limbs. The other man wasn’t fat, but lwj could tell that having a child and not taking care of himself had taken its toll on the man’s body.

He would fix that. Slowly, perhaps, but he would get the man eating and sleeping properly. He would encourage the man to workout more regularly—preferably with him. With any luck, wwx’s son and his cousin would become friends who constantly wanted to be around each other. That would give him the perfect excuse for bringing wwx into his home again and again, slowly encouraging him to value his body and mind just as much as he did his child’s.

lwj smiled to himself as he pulled several items out of the cabinet, watching wwx wiggle happily through the mirrors. He so rarely wanted his subs in his home—in their home one day, perhaps. His home was his sanctuary, his bedroom more than anything, and while he had brought the occasional sub home after events, he had always brought them to the guest room and its en suite. The fact that he had wanted—perhaps even needed—to see wwx in his mother’s bathroom—in her sanctuary—yesterday… The fact that he had had to force himself to not push wwx onto his bed and take him right there…

That was entirely new for him. New and terrifying and somehow exactly right.

[branwendaughterofllyr]

Branwen reads ASOIAF (again) - AGOT ARYA I

yeah, uh, it’s been a couple months. I spent that time FIGHTING for my life during the last semester since I’m in the final year of my degree and it’s only going to get worse from here. But I’m back and ready for GRRM to absolutely massacre me again. And it’s going to be a rough start, because I really don’t like this chapter and, believe it or not, I’ve already rewritten this summary at least once because I’m not trying to engage in ~the discourse~ too much. 

And listen, I like Arya a lot. She’s always somewhere in my top five. I like the whole justice versus revenge narrative she has going on. I like feral little girls with knives. There should be more of them!

But this chapter is not it, y’all. Now, I’ve read quite a lot of 90s fantasy with spunky tomboy heroines in my day, and this chapter is like middle tier at best. If I’m gong to read 90s fantasy with a spunky tomboy heroine, I’d much rather go for the crème de la crème like Song of the Lioness by Tamora Pierce or even The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley (which is actually 80s and the likely originator of a least a few spunky heroine tropes.) But I’ll freely admit that I’ve always been sensitive to men writing female characters who do a lot of hating on other women. Sue me. 

ANd I guess I’ve come around on this chapter some??? I think it’s a pretty good piece of character writing and unreliable narrators upon reflection, but I still don’t have to like it. 

So onto the chapter, I guess, though  @alaynasansa has already summarized this chapter better than I ever could

That’s it, that’s most of the chapter. 

But no seriously, Arya is a nine year old kid with a well-behaved older sister, who she resents for being well-behaved, and needs a lot of recess time to in order to pay attention in class. Give Arya scheduled run-around time, and I feel like half of the problems could be solved. 

We open on Arya having crooked stitches, yet again, while Sansa’s sewing her perfect.

“Sansa’s work is as pretty as she is,” Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. “She has such fine, delicate hands.” When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. “Arya has the hands of a blacksmith.”

Mordane, I’m begging, at least put the tiniest of effort in to not showing favoritism. We all know you’re Wenda the White Fawn and should not be anyone’s governess, but a shred of effort towards maintaining your cover. please!

Also, rip to all that Gentry foreshadowing struck down by the time skip being cut. You will be missed. 🫡

 Arya thought that Myrcella’s stitches looked a little crooked too, but you would never know it from the way Septa Mordane was cooing.

The Starklings need to stop dogpiling on Myrcella. She’s done nothing to you??? She has like two character traits, both of which contradict each other, and she’s an incest baby. She’s got enough on her plate. 

She studied her own work again, looking for some way to salvage it, then sighed and put down the needle.

I ask the same question every time. WTF have you done to your sewing, Arya? I’m assuming some comically big knot that would never exist in reality. 

And then we get EVUL Sansa talking with her fellow preteens.

Sansa was chatting away happily as she worked. Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik’s little girl, was sitting by her feet, listening to every word she said, and Jeyne Poole was leaning over to whisper something in her ear.

Beth is, what, ten? And Jeyne is the same age as Sansa. Keep this in mind when GRRM decides to fridge both of them. (The wiki refers to them as Sansa’s “more glamorous retinue” and who ever wrote that needs to be shot.) 

So Arya wants to be included in the conversation, which fair enough, Arya. I, too, am a gossip hound. 

“We were talking about the prince,” Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss. Arya knew which prince she meant: Joffrey, of course. The tall, handsome one. Sansa got to sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally.

Now, now, Arya. Don’t go judging appearances, or you too will be almost raped at knife point. Also, people would (and do!) kill to sit next to Tommen instead of Joffrey, so. 

“Joffrey likes your sister,” Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell’s steward and Sansa’s dearest friend. 

It’s feeling sad about Jeyne hours.

 I choose to believe that Sansa and Jeyne have one of these:

“He’s going to marry her,” little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself.

This chapter is just making me sad. 

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.

Peak sibling behavior. Your sibling is literally just sitting there, and you're like “they’re doing this to spite me specifically” and half the time, you're right. 

“Beth, you shouldn’t make up stories,” Sansa corrected the younger girl, gently stroking her hair to take the harshness out of her words.

I hope nothing happens to these sweet kids. 😬

“What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you think?” “Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said. Sansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.”

Is she wrong? No, we all read Jon I. We saw the breakdown. Sansa just succinctly summarized one of Jon's core character conflicts in one sentence, and I have to laugh a little. More Jon and Joffrey foiling. (Actually this whole chapter is JoJo foiling, really.) 

“He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room. Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. It was frowning now. “What are you talking about, children?”

Maybe Syrio’s greatest lesson was teaching Arya how to use her inside voice. 

“Our half brother,” Sansa corrected, soft and precise.

EVUL Sansa. How dare you!!!!!! (Nevermind all the times the other Starklings call  Jon their half-brother, shhh, Sansa is the evil Catelyn 2.0)

She smiled for the septa. “Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today,” she said.

Look how smoothly Sansa covers for Arya! 

One thing I’ve noticed about this chapter, is how chill Sansa really is to Arya. She’s just very relaxed and isn’t that interested in picking a fight with Arya. It’s such a contrast to their later AGOT chapters, when both of them are under immense amounts of stress. It seems that fist fights at the breakfast table is, in fact, not their default state. 

Septa Mordane nodded. “Indeed. A great honor for us all.” Princess Myrcella smiled uncertainly at the compliment.

Somebody help Myrcella. She has no clue what's going on. 

“Arya, why aren’t you at work?” the septa asked. She rose to her feet, starched skirts rustling as she started across the room. “Let me see your stitches.” Arya wanted to scream. It was just like Sansa to go and attract the septa’s attention.

Unreliable narrator Arya Stark. You were the one being loud three paragraphs ago. But love the commitment to blaming it on your sister, peak sibling behavior! (Is George an only child? He must have a sibling, he captures the dynamic so well). 

The septa examined the fabric. “Arya, Arya, Arya,” she said. “This will not do. This will not do at all.”

I am once again asking what Arya has done to her sewing. 

Everyone was looking at her. It was too much. Sansa was too well bred to smile at her sister’s disgrace, but Jeyne was smirking on her behalf. Even Princess Myrcella looked sorry for her.

Yeah, being the negative center of attention can be rough. I get it. But also, love the assumption that Sansa would of course smile at Arya getting in trouble if it wasn't rude, when she was covering for Arya five seconds ago. I will not be commenting on Jeyne at this point in time. 

Arya felt tears filling her eyes. She pushed herself out of her chair and bolted for the door.

I am struck by how similar Jon and Arya are. Both them run out in tears in their first chapters. This is probably on purpose. 

Arya stopped at the door and turned back, biting her lip. The tears were running down her cheeks now. She managed a stiff little bow to Myrcella. “By your leave, my lady.” Myrcella blinked at her and looked to her ladies for guidance. 

Myrcella is literally just here. She’s only got brothers, she’s completely lost here. 

“Just where do you think you are going, Arya?” the septa demanded. Arya glared at her. “I have to go shoe a horse,” she said sweetly, taking a brief satisfaction in the shock on the septa’s face. Then she whirled and made her exit, running down the steps as fast as her feet would take her.

Arya Snark makes her first appearance. Rip that gendrya foreshadowing. 

I don’t know who’s more glad that Arya escaped that sewing lesson, me or her. 

It wasn’t fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left.

This is just what having an older sister is like. Most realistic thing George has ever written. This is peak realism. 

Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse.

The realism of the steward’s daughter name-calling the lord’s daughter aside (because, really? You don’t think Vayon is pulling Jeyne aside and nipping that in the bud?), Arya is usually covered in dirt and can mistaken for a stable boy and she loves riding horses, so I feel like this nickname might be for multiple reasons. 

Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

We’ll see about that, Arya! Sansa’s taking a summer class on how to run a castle in two books, and we’ll see what grade she gets. 

(But love the hyper nine-year old asserting that she could be a better household manager than the patient eleven-year-old. Never lose that confidence, Arya)

Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. She bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did. They went everywhere together, and Nymeria slept in her room, at the foot of her bed.

I am not immune to the cute prehistoric killing machine and it’s cute little paws. 

She had yellow eyes. When they caught the sunlight, they gleamed like two golden coins. Arya had named her after the warrior queen of the Rhoyne, who had led her people across the narrow sea. That had been a great scandal too.

Somebody smarter than talk about Nymeria’s golden eyes. Doesn’t Lady also have golden eyes?

Also, love Arya’s naming choice. When I was ten, I named my cat Cleopatra. Very relatable. (But also, what's the scandal? Did the septa sniff when Arya announced it? Seems like a fine and very Arya name.) 

But a warrior queen and body of water. HMMMMM. The ship girl foreshadowing starts early.

Sansa, of course, had named her pup “Lady.”

Be still my heart. 😩

The boys were at practice in the yard. She wanted to see Robb put gallant Prince Joffrey flat on his back.

Have I mentioned how fond I am of Arya?

There was a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where you had a view of the whole yard. That was where they headed.

Another puzzle piece for the people meticulously reconstructing WF in Minecraft. Godspeed to them.

Jon is watching from the window, and Ghost and Nymeria have a cute moment that melts my frozen heart. 

To her disappointment, it was the younger boys drilling. Bran was so heavily padded he looked as though he had belted on a featherbed, and Prince Tommen, who was plump to begin with, seemed positively round. They were huffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of old Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms, a great stout keg of a man with magnificent white cheek whiskers.

I know that this moments gets a ton of callbacks, being a big moment of King Bran and dead Tommen foreshadowing, but look at the bundled-up seven year olds! SO cute! 

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed. “A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him.

I mean- we all know where this is going. 

Jon had their father’s face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.

I am not immune to Jon and Arya being adorable together. 

Little Arya is afraid of being a bastard because she sees how Jon is treated, so she goes to him, and Jon puts all of problems to one side to comfort his little sister. Argh, my heart. 

“Why aren’t you down in the yard?” Arya asked him. He gave her a half smile. “Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,” he said. “Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.”

It’s- It’s irony. Becuase- because the Baratheon kids are bastards, and Jon is a prince. 

(Is Jon actually a bastard, or is he true born through some horrible shenanigans? Let’s keep a running list.)

“Oh.” Arya felt abashed. She should have realized. For the second time today, Arya reflected that life was not fair.

I feel like this speaks for itself mainly. All of Jon’s siblings can be thoughtless when it comes to Jon’s situation. 

She watched her little brother whack at Tommen. “I could do just as good as Bran,” she said. “He’s only seven. I’m nine.”

The sibling age hierarchy is so very real. 

Jon looked her over with all his fourteen-year-old wisdom.

This will never not be funny to me.

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.” “The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

Get em, Arya! 

“Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.” “A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh.

I- I can’t. What do you want me to do with this??? Because my mind is in fact a gutter. Someone put me out of my misery. 

“Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms.

This feel significant on multiple levels. The way that daughters and bastard sons are permanently slotted below true born sons in the Westerosi patriarchy. The way that a bastard son and true born daughter could consolidate their claims together to make a stronger one. Something something. 

Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtle on its back. Bran was standing over him with upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he regained his feet.

Yeah, Tommen’s pretty toast. There can be only one apparently, and its going t be Bran. 

Ser Rodrik has got to one of my favorite silly old men, with his silly little beard. 

And then we get the Joffrey-Robb conflict foreshadowing that feels like they were actually supposed to have a more personal showdown but it got dropped.

Arya could see Robb bristle. His pride was wounded. He turned on Ser Rodrik. “Let me do it. I can beat him.” “Beat him with a tourney blade, then,” Ser Rodrik said. Joffrey shrugged. “Come and see me when you’re older, Stark. If you’re not too old.” There was laughter from the Lannister men.

Is this or is this not fulfilled by the war of the Five Kings? You decide, I guess. 

The Hound is terrible, Joffrey is terrible, Theon has to hold Robb back from committing some serious treason, Jon has a cryptic description. 

Jon watched them leave, and Arya watched Jon. His face had grown as still as the pool at the heart of the godswood.

Huh. Always interesting to see how Jon is identified with WF early on. 

“You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You’ll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers.”

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, JON. DO not foreshadow your little sister like that. Now she’s definitely losing her fingers, if not her hand. You’re worst than Ned, I swear. 

The chapter ends with a funny haha sitcom moment that does not make me want to gouge my eyes out at all.

It was worse than Jon had thought. It wasn’t Septa Mordane waiting in her room. It was Septa Mordane and her mother.

I’m laughing so hard, guys.

Conclusion: Uh. Arya is peak sibling behavior in every way, Sansa is actually very chill when her spirit animal hasn’t been killed, the Bran and Tommen see saw is real, and Jon is a great big brother when he’s not foreshadowing. 

And no women wins under patriarchy?

Who’s next? Bran? Thank god!

[shinsukeee]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞? 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐲, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧."

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬: 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

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In the far-off, distant past, there was once a coiling collar.

At the age of 6, Prim was raised to believe one thing. If she were to make her parents proud and happy, then it means she's a good child.

“I want people, I want people,” it cried, this cursed collar.

And so she did. She met every expectations whether small or big, she earned medals at a young age and even had her certificates displayed on the wall.

Don’t get angry. 

"I'm sorry..." Prim softly choked on her sobs as she is kneeling down, clutching onto her father's pants.

Don’t abandon me.

"I won't do it again, I promise!" She begged and cried. All because she made a mistake, she hates it when people yell at her. Why is her father looking at her coldly? Is he leaving her?

Don’t go anywhere.

She was alone in the room, crying. Why did he leave? Didn't she promise to be a good girl? Why? What did she do wrong? She thought she was making him happy!

(Hey.)

As Prim gets older, she kept hearing the same thing from her parents. 'It doesn't matter to us if you're an achiever or not, we just want you to have better grades, but it's better if you are an achiever.'

It strangles me tightly, til I could throw up, whenever no one's, no one's around.

She didn't know when it happened, but she started fulfilling their expectations. She studied hard, getting recognized by teachers and even scoring high marks.

Nice grades, huh?

Prim is holding her report card, the average is high and her conduct is highly satisfactory...yet it feels so...empty to her.

Hey, hey, aren’t I a good kid?

Everytime her mother is viewing her card, she is praising her child for maintaining the high grades. But she nitpicks when her grade in a certain subject is lower than the previous semesters and quarters, causing Prim to feel more pressure.

Aren’t I a cute kid?

Soon, it even turned to appearances. Ever since her father had passed away, she gained weight. She wasn't really all this 'fat' or 'chubby', she's fit.

Hey, hey,

Yet their insults never stopped, it was suffocating to the point she wanted to carve a knife to her skin until she cuts out the imperfect parts of her. Until she began to slowly lose weight, exercising and starting diets even if she has a medical condition that doesn't allow her to eat less.

I’m good, right?

She hated seeing her face, her reflection and body since she gained weight. But as she slowly lost the heavy weight, the fat and chubby cheeks...she could finally be confident in herself, to finally look at a mirror without breaking it.

It hurts, hey...

But why does she sometimes feel like she needs to change some parts of her?

Love me.

She seeks validation, whether through academics or just compliments about her body and face.

Love me.

She even decided to have curtain bangs, to cut her waist-length hair and turn it to a wolfcut.

Love me.

She learned how to use makeup, to make herself look more pretty and hide her ugly parts.

more and more.

"Your eyeliner is amazing!" A girl from Prim's class commented when Prim entered the room. Prim puts on her usual smile for formalities and façades, someone noticed? It felt nice. "Thank you." She softly replies.

Love me.

"If you all need complete notes, you should all talk to Prim." A teacher says during a review session, Prim's eyes widened as she didn't expect anyone to acknowledge her notes. It's pretty, clear and those aesthetic notes you see in pinterest.

Love me.

They were having an activity where a paper with a student's name gets passed around in a circle and everyone writes what the think or see of that person, once Prim read hers, she received many compliments.

So much that it's maddening

Prim gets praised by her teachers that whenever she enters the faculty room, her teachers smile when seeing her.

It's painful

Prim slowly finds herself piled up in duties that were way worse than before, causing her to feel overwhelmed and pressured.

It hurts

She wants to cry, to scream, to be angry. She's human too, why can't they see that? She's not always the Perfect and Smiling President.

Break, break this binding spell, okay?

"Is this what my life would be like?!" She cries to her best friend who remains quiet, gazing at her with pity. She was always known to be perfect, to be able to handle pressure and always come out on top. Yet her closest friends see the truth, how broken and how much pain she endures.

It can't be stopped...

Yet she can't stop this, this responsibility, this pain and this pressure. She was never supposed to be involved in design team for competitions anyway, why did they have to include her in the design team? Once she sent the design, there were no objections. Yet when it was finally discussed upon, those bitches had to fucking ruin it and act arrogantly because someone older was backing them up.

"I'm fucking older than them, I'm the President. I don't use any of these as a way to get things my way, so why the fuck can't they understand and comply when their own ideas are fucking garbage?! I fucking tolerated everything, every fucking headache and stress they give me and this j what I get in return for being so nice, for not being a bitch?!"

Prim throws her bag, destroying everything she sees. Screaming and punching and even kicking things. Destroying graded projects and papers and even attempting to hurt herself. Scratching her body, pulling her hair or hitting her head.

Yet her mother never comforted her, only telling her to stop crying, it's annoying. And it triggered Prim.

No matter how big your body, your body grows, this collar remains small.

Prim continues onto living, putting her dark humor as for 'jokes' when she's thought about offing herself. The fucking adult in the room can't even act like one, yet gives the eldest the fucking responsibility of one. It disappoints and disgusts Prim.

It's agonizing now, but this is nothing new.

She grits her teeth underneath the face mask she wears as she fakes a smile, luckily the face mask hides it. It hides the hatred Prim bears for everyone she despises.

People just, people just—they're not enough.

Prim slowly loses herself in all this pain. If it's not academics she struggles with, it's life.

I vow not to lose to anyone in my class, aren't I a lovely child?

Prim's heart aches and sinks to her stomach each time she reaches the achiever's list, she's happy but only for a short while. Of course, if she tells her mother, that woman would be proud. Yet Prim has to bear the weight of expectations and responsibility again.

(right?)

She can't even play her video games as much as she wants, she can't even laze around for a bit when it's the weekend as much as she wants.

Way more than that child and more than that child. Everyone, marvel at me!

Prim climbs on stage, receives her certificate and smiles brightly before bowing and leaving the stage. Finally, all her hard work and breakdowns made it to where she is now. Is it all worth it?

Behind the gymnasium when I told you that I was in love

"I like you for a really long time now. I know you'd figure that one out easily since you pick up hints that fast." A girl confesses to Prim, she was taken aback of course. Under all that much insecurities and issues she has, someone actually likes her? Or is it just because of how they view her?

Wasn't that kind of a lie?

"Ah, I see..." Prim replies before noticing the girl's nervous expression, she's sensitive to people's emotions. She's scared that if she makes the wrong move, people will hate her and it's all her fault. "How about I think about my answer to you before replying? I...wanna make sure if I feel the same way." She replies, it gives the girl hope. The weight in Prim's chest feels a little light.

I love you so, so very much

Prim accepted the confession, made the relationship work even in long distance. Yet as time passes, that girl seems to change. Be moody, start a fight and not even hear Prim out, even calling out Prim's issue and struggle of being too sensitive to other people's emotions. "You would atleast understand what I'm feeling!" It echoed to Prim's head, she wants to tear that girl apart and rip her to shreds.

Even though I think you are trash.

That girl never went through the abuse and trauma Prim had to undergo, they were never kicked out of the house when they were sick, they never had to experience in facing expectations of everyone or having to change their own body for someone else's sake! Or needing to discard their own pain and feelings because their significant other or family is in pain and need comfort! Or having to fear mirrors because she dislikes the way she looks! Or having to bargain God to atleast change places with her dead father!

Love me.

Now the girl is ghosting Prim. During that time, Prim slowly learned things herself, is this what she really wants in a relationship? To be this hurt and misunderstood just like her mother does? To hate arguments because it reminds her of her mother's fights?

Love me. Love me.

She slowly realized she was losing feelings during the 4 days the girl ghosted her—No, this isn't right! She's supposed to keep her promise! She swore to never be like her father who can't keep a single promise! Why us that girl so cold? Why is the spark gone?! Are they not interested anymore?! Do they not love her anymore?! But Prim loves them! Whether they were being an asshole or a dick, they still accepted the insults and called 'dramatic' for writing Prim's own issues in writing as a coping mechanism.

I'll give you everything.

Everyone knows how devoted and loyal Prim is when she falls in love. Even if there were pretty and handsome people in her school, in her class, she only had eyes for her lover. Wasn't that loyalty enough?! Being excited to talk to her lover after school, to be able to talk to them again...

I'll have you.

And that person broke it off in Halloween, just when Prim had made a gift. Prim felt her world shatter, she didn't know what came of her when she suddenly burned the gift just to feel something. She already lost her own identity, emotions and personality because of everything. She can't feel, what's going on? After all the nights she spent awake trying to understand why this gurl was just so important to her, finally accepting that she is bi...just to be replaced by someone near that girl? A boy?

I'll have you.

She hid the pain from her family, heartbreak is normal after all. People only confess to her because she was the fat pitiful girl, she was used to it. But why does this hurt so much?

I'll have you shoulder everything for me.

She can't cry, she has duties to fulfill. She pushes that pain down and focuses on completing her project and duties as the girl people see her as. Usually, being the President could mean that you are the 'head' or leader of the class when the teacher isn't around, it feels like a dream isn't it? But for Prim? Being the President means needing to do things a Secretary or Monitor should do, needing to keep everyone in check or having to announce events going on in class. Yet the 'popular' girls think they're high and mighty and don't respect Prim, even though Prim wants to hurt them—she never does. She's surprised her patience last that long. Her own adviser is a useless adult as it doesn't even really act like one, giving Prim all the responsibility alone and it makes Prim sick.

It's not enough.

Her eyes lost their shine, she doesn't feel like her body is her own anymore. She doesn't even feel anything, she feels so numb.

You're not enough.

Everytime her mother tries to act affectionate after fighting with her, it makes Prim so sick. She knows she has mommy issues, yet her mom makes everything worse to the point she even questions her own life.

I won't let you go.

She doesn't know what went through her mother's mind, telling her details before, during and after Prim was born. Her father was never present during the time of her mother's pregnancy, he was staying at another girl's house and they broke it off when her mother found out. Yet, they got together when Prim was born. Their anniversary is Prim's birthday, causing her to dislike it.

Please forgive me.

She hates herself even more, disliking her own date of birth. Prim slowly underwent an identity crisis, she has thoughts she wishes to escape that even no internet or music can't help her escape it. She hates her own being, feeling betrayed and offended by the act that her parents had to keep. Pretending to be a 'happy' family, making her think abuse is normal when it isn't. She hates it.

Love me.

Prim doesn't understand why her life became like this.

Love me.

She's been sexually abused since childhood even up till now, no matter what her body looked like.

Love me.

Prim wants to fall in love, to trust someone again after that horrible relationship but...is it really worth it?

More and more.

A lady matures faster than a man is what her mother would say, yet it irritates Prim that her mother never let her experience a proper childhood without all the trauma and abuse or needing to be a perfect golden for validation.

Love me.

When Prim wants to wear what she wants, her mother acts dramatic about it. When Prim wants to put on makeup to make herself look pretty, her brothers act as if it's the end of the world and Prim hates it.

Love me.

Whenever Prim complains, her mother goes "It doesn't matter, you're an honor student now." It makes Prim wonder if that's what's really important to her mom.

So much that it's maddening.

Is her life even worth it just to be a trophy daughter? Is this what she'll grow up to? Pleasing people, putting on façades and always needing to put her pain away because her feelings aren't validated?

It hurts.

She can't breathe.

I won't let go.

Prim gasps for air as she sits up and tries to count to 10 as she takes deep breath.

It hurts.

Prim grips her hair. She's never had an anxiety attack before, she doesn't know what to do. She grabs her phone and tries to breathe. "Hello?" "Mom, come here please." She drops the call and phone as she cries, why can't she breathe?

More, more and hey.

Prim works hard everyday, to make people happy, keep her grades up and to make sure her body maintains it's healthy shape so she won't be rushed to the hospital anymore. She spent her childhood in a hospital and it was torture. White plains walls, machines and tubes around you, oxygen tanks, needles and you feel like wanting to die. Prim's used to the needles poking her skin, she has high pain tolerance after all. Puking acid, that horrible smell of soap they mop the floor with and the food.

This is happiness.

[feederandfeedee]

Not the same anon who asked you about being confident in their fat body, but I have similar struggles and maybe my context ends up being different enough from theirs that it sparks a different answer for you.

That said, TW for EDs for anyone reading this and/or in case that makes you hesitant to answer this, which I'd completely understand.

I don't feel allowed to be fat. I feel like I'm breaking the rules, I feel like there's no amount of work I can do on myself to be a good, attractive person inside and out that will make up for how big I am. I feel extremely guilty every time I eat, every bite feels like a personal failing.

I have an eating disorder, I'm working on recovering from it. My dietitian has made it explicitly clear to me that a big part of why I'm so upset with myself is because of my ED and that I'll start feel better when I've gained back the weight I've lost from restricting food. But that will put me back over 350 pounds.

Being into feedism doesn't help at all. It just adds to the guilt and the feeling that I'm pathetic and weak-willed by eating and gaining the weight back.

I don't know how to feel like I'm taking care of myself, like I'm improving my health, like I could possibly be someone who could be loved and wanted this way, by eating as much as I have to eat and by gaining to and staying at my biggest size. I don't know how to hear my dietitian say this is what my body wants to be and I'm better off in a fatter body and feel like it's true.

I know I can't keep fighting my body anymore, but I don't know how to feel good about it when both diet culture and most of the feedist community maintain that I'm ruining my body, damaging my health, and being greedy and selfish for being fat.

I personally think the answer to your problems would become a lot more clear if you stopped caring about what everyone thinks. It seems like you have a lot of problems and I am not qualified to give you any answers but just think for a minute about how your feelings would change in regards to everything you just said to me if you just didn’t give a single fuck about what anyone thought. Society, family, your dietician, anyone who has ever said anything negative about you or your habits.

Now realistically I’m aware that that’s not an easy thing to accomplish. But if you were able to set aside everyone else’s opinions, I truly believe you would be able to do a little introspection and find out what you truly want and need. I think that’s what you need to focus on. Doing what’s best for yourself and your body and your mental health. Not trying to abide by these standards set up by other people that fit their life and their narrative. Set those standards for yourself.